Colin Sheridan: How fun would it be if the FRC gave us a transfer window next?
LA STORY: LA Lakers guard Luka Doncic (77) confers with teammates forward LeBron James, left, and forward Rui Hachimura. Pic: AP Photo/Mark J. Terrill)
Imagine for a moment the GAA had a transfer market, and Galway decided that Shane Walsh was a little too unpredictable a player to build a team around.
That, despite being a Top-10 footballer in today's currency, Walsh’s obvious brilliance was a luxury a little too heavy for Padraic Joyce's team to carry.
Imagine, as the trade deadline approaches, the Galway brains trust gathering in the bowels of Tuam Stadium, barricaded into a windowless war-room staring at a white board with a hundred names on it. Pen-pics accompanied by mini profiles of potential acquisitions.
Grizzled analysts drinking their tenth cup of bad coffee as they pore over scouting reports.
“I like Leitrim’s Ryan O'Rourke,” one of them would mutter, prompting the others to turn to page 43 of their dossiers. “He can score, and he's not afraid of the heavy lifting. Throw in a corner back and sub goalie, and I think we could make a trade.”
It would certainly liven up the off-season. Such a trade would be the hill an inter-county manager would perish or triumph on. Indulge me the fantasy a little further and you would have Joyce forced to defend the decision on Galway Bay FM, on RTÉ, on Al Jazeera. “We love Shane,” he’d say, “and are sad to see him go. But the truth for us is we've been close twice with him and haven't gotten over the line. Ryan is a great inside option and we've strengthened up our defence. We did it for the greater good.”
And so Walsh would head off to Carrick-on-Shannon, unsure he'd ever see Croke Park again, only for Leitrim to trade him to Dublin in the wee hours of the morning for Paul Mannion, Colm Basquel and John Small.
In the stroke of a pen, Dublin would go from yesterday's men to championship favourites. Walsh, angered at being ditched by his home county and with a point to prove, would enter summer like Maximus striding into the coliseum seeking vengeance.
It'll never happen, of course, but it's a fun thought experiment. The more scientific and formula-driven we make our sports, the more we tend to overthink how we can become better. Take the Dallas Mavericks in the NBA as an example.
Like Galway, they had an unlikely run to the finals last year. Like Galway, they have a Shane Walsh level in the Slovenian Luka Dončić.
A truly generational talent whose level of consistency since he entered the league has only been bettered by LeBron James in the last 20 years.
Dončić was extremely happy in Dallas. He was the sun, and every player that came and went understood they were a planet whose job it was to revolve around him. Even the notoriously difficult Kyrie Irving accepted his part as supporting actor with little or no complaint. Even though the Mavericks were brushed aside by a superior Boston last summer, the consensus was, get Dončić more support, and the Mavs were de facto contenders.
Somewhere in a darkened room, however, some epic overthinking began. Luka likes a beer. He looks heavy on his feet. He smokes Argilla.
He's maybe a little too European in his proclivities. He was a little slack on defence. Despite him being better than literally every other player in the league, bar five, the Maverick's front office over-thought themselves into an unthinkable scenario, and traded him last month to the most storied franchise in all of basketball: The LA Lakers. Correction; to LeBron James and the LA Lakers.
Dallas made the case that, in acquiring elite defensive player Anthony Davis and some change, they had traded an unpredictable star for absolute stability. People laughed, and they're still laughing. In Davis's first game he got hurt, which, given his injury profile was no surprise. Two weeks later, Irving, playing every minute he physically could, broke down with a torn ACL.
The extra role players they picked up are not standing around like pigeons on a wire. Meanwhile, in LA, Luka Dončić and LeBron James are setting the league alight and about to mount a hitherto unthinkable run for all the marbles.
The day the Dončić trade broke a month ago, there was immediate talk of it being the dumbest in basketball history. Everything that's happened since has proved it so.
Sometimes, choice is a bad thing. Especially for over-thinkers who think they're smarter than the house. How much fun would it be if the Football Rules Committee introduced a trade and transfer market for one season, just to let some egos run wild, and some Luka-level madness ensue.
David Clifford to Mayo, anyone?
I took little joy in watching France hammer Ireland on Saturday, but I did take some. No schadenfreude here, either. To my ignorant eye, the rugby France play is unlike anything we ever try to muster. Yes, they are prone to errors and the odd faux pas (you're welcome), but within their pursuit of artistic excellence is a beautiful imperfection one can only admire.
Who cares now that they lost to England? When the two best teams of the tournament clashed in the Aviva, they were emphatically superior, and with that superiority was an intent to “joue, joue!” at every opportunity.
What other international team would exit cross kicking backwards close to their own try-line? Who else could afford to lose Antoine Dupont - perhaps the greatest rugby player of all time - and so seamlessly continue to enthral and excite?
This is not personal to Ireland, but there is a joy in France's play that is absent in ours. While we pride ourselves on precision, they seek chaos and exploit it, and in doing so make rugby a much funner game to watch.
The 21-year-old Louis Bielle-Biarrey was a tonic for cynical souls on Saturday. At one stage Damian Penaud was so out of gas he looked like a lad on a stag chasing after a golf cart, minutes later he was shredding the Irish defences taking risks we'd never dare.
If Ireland are going to be different, perhaps it's time they added a little French philosophy to their famous Monday meetings. Maybe it's time to realise it's ok to lose, once you are playing the right way. You might look stupid the odd time, but if the intent is pure, growth will follow.
Of course we will beat Italy next weekend. France could even lose to Scotland and Ireland could win the championship. C'est la guerre. I know which team I'd rather watch.
Whenever I get a little anxious about Evan Ferguson's annus horribilis in front of goal, I check myself and remember he is only 20 years of age. It entirely possible Ferguson will reach the end of this season not having scored a goal for West Ham, in a team that isn't exactly free-scoring to begin with.
Hopefully whatever panic we might sometimes feel is absent in the Meath man, and he views his top-flight career as a marathon, not a sprint. A tap-in tonight against Newcastle would be nice all the same.
Perhaps no good will come from it, but this Tuesday more than 100 witnesses, including members of Diego Maradona’s family and medical carers who tended to him over the last decade of his life, will take the stand over the course of the four-month trial in Buenos Aires.
Seven healthcare professionals will go on trial accused of negligence during his final days. Amongst the accused are a neurosurgeon, a psychiatrist, a psychologist as well as doctors and nurses, each one part of an inner circle members of Maradona's family claim conspired to ignore requests to intervene in his final days, despite their pleas to do so.
Like El Diego's life, the trial looks set to be a messy affair, proving that even in death he is the most talked-about man in Argentina.
