The throwing cat is out of the bag

KILLINAN END

So, the cat is out of the bag. Séamus Flanagan’s acknowledgement in a recent radio interview that he “nearly always threw the ball” when handpassing should be a landmark. Flanagan’s view undermines Dónal Óg Cusack’s assertion that the evidence of everybody's eyes was completely unreliable. Plebs simply didn't get this esoteric, deeply complex, highly skilled phenomenon. But it seems that Dónal Óg may have been talking through not just his hat, but perhaps even that giant sombrero that has been a standard feature of Cork’s support for decades.

For the record, the GAA’s official guide states, “the ball shall be released and struck with a definite striking action of a hand”. In addition: “The releasing of the ball is considered an integral part of the handpass.” Without the release, it is considered a thrown ball and a technical foul under Rule 4.2(b). The ‘definite striking action’ is the key sticking point.

The handpass has always had its place. Thoughts drift back to classic game-changing moments. Mackey McKenna to Tom Ryan for the crucial goal of the 1962 All-Ireland put Tipp a point up with ten minutes to go in a pulsating, claustrophobic finish; Donie Nealon’s boundless energy i lár na páirce saw Tipp home. Mick Crotty’s pass across the square for an Eddie Keher goal effectively decided the 1975 final just a few minutes after the interval. A Galway team already sucking for air was smothered by Black & Amber. Crotty’s one is notable for the dropped hurley, one of a dying breed. In the following few years this became a core debate. Dropping the hurley was a no-no. Séanie O’Leary’s hurley-less goal in the 1977 final against Wexford raised eyebrows. An early theme in the handpass debate – did dropping the stick make it too easy?

Modern teams relentlessly rehearse the skill and are very proficient. The question is – proficient at what exactly? No doubt they are expert at moving the ball on under pressure. But so is the Irish rugby team. Moving a ball efficiently is not, by itself, what makes hurling compelling. In hurling, the “definite striking action” stipulation suggests that most modern-day handpasses do not conform to what observers would assume the rule to mean. Even if microscopic slow-motion might reveal a striking action, it benefits the referee little. That’s what the “definite” bit in the rule is about. That’s the significant distinction.

Abusing the handpass is a criticism often levelled at Limerick. Standard flak to be endured by all champions. And yes, they are experts at moving the ball by whatever means, including the handpass. But let’s be honest: all counties are at this, including our own. Cork are perhaps the worst offenders with their modern DNA since the days of Dónal Ó Grady’s team of 2003/04. Séamus Flanagan did say that any player attempting a legitimate handpass is likely to be closed down. Presumably after a few of those the curly finger looms.

Nenagh Éire Óg’s motion to Congress on the handpass had a delicious simplicity – you could not throw the ball up and strike with the same hand. Try that without a demonstrable striking action. Rather than being revolutionary, it would simply have forced a system of handpassing which would be in line with the rules. Yes, it would force players to adapt but when Wexford started catching ball in the 1950s teams adapted. When the third-man tackle was outlawed teams adapted. Nenagh can take solace in history’s lesson that being right and winning a vote are not necessarily easy bedfellows.

But why do people object to the handpass? Relentless handpassing takes possession contests out of the game to a large degree. The ‘clash of the ash’ was never about little triangulated handpassing movements. Remember Kevin Hennessy’s goal against Tipp in Thurles in 1991? Or DJ Carey’s against Clare in 1999? Or Pat Fox’s against Galway in ’89? Ciarán Carey’s point against Clare in 1996? Yes, you will have occasional velvet moments like Noel McGrath’s pass to Lar Corbett for Tipp’s second goal in the 2010 All-Ireland Final. But that was Noel winning the ball and processing it under pressure. He wasn’t essentially handing the ball to an unmarked colleague two feet away.

Hurling people are hard-wired to admire great feats and duels in trying circumstances. Tussles like Pat Stakelum-Josie Hartnett, Tony Wall-Tom Cheasty, Diarmuid O’Sullivan-Joe Canning echo in memory. Not – albeit impressive – patterned movements going the length of the pitch with a ‘turnover’ being the pot of gold. In the old days a potential turnover came after every puck.

There is a memory of Matt Gallagher, Donegal’s full-back of 1992, being the subject of a pub question back in the late 1990s. It was said that he won an All-Ireland medal without kicking the ball once in the final. It must be doubtful he still stands alone atop that particular pedestal. As things stand, we must be close to a hurler joining that cohort. Conor O’Donovan is one person who had the moral and intellectual courage to call out the handpass and its impact on the game. You suspect that when all this is done the man will be vindicated on all counts.