They revealed the new Ireland rugby jersey this week. Out is the man-bra scaffolding of the previous iteration; in is a little bitty collar. It was hard to see these design changes at first, because the whole thing was dominated by what seemed to be an image of a deflating bouncy castle. On second viewing it turned out to be the Three logo.
Every now and again a logo elbows its way into public view and squats there whether we like it or not. The previous jersey sponsor, O2, was arguably the last tenant of our eyeballs. Its branding of the old Point Depot, alongside its sports sponsorship here and in Britain, meant its simple but invasive branding rolled into view with the subtlety of a Ferris wheel running loose from its moorings.
On the Ireland rugby jersey the logo stretched from nipple to belly. And given that a lot of rugby fans have a lot of belly, it would be distorted until it was less corporate logo and more Munch's Scream.
O2 was bought by Three, meaning that a crane pulled up at the O2 Arena, yanked the giant logo away and replaced it with 3Arena as if it were merely a sequel. Likewise, the logo was lifted on to the rugby jersey, which now shares a sponsor with the Republic of Ireland soccer team.
It all makes the Three logo inescapable for the next while, which wouldn’t be so bad if it fit into the small category of corporate-design classics on jerseys. But it doesn’t.
The Three logo has the look of a child’s doodle. It’s the fat number every kid draws when they get bored of conventional numeracy. And then, because they still have a few minutes to kill until the end of class, they squiggle in a few flames.
On the plus side, the Three logo allows itself to be filled in with whatever colour of crayon happens to be available. It means that, for instance, the Waterford hurlers’ Three- sponsored jersey matched blues to far less egregious effect than the white-on-green of the Ireland jerseys.
It proves that even the most riotous of logos can be calmed down, although GAA teams provide many examples of just how the most venerated of jerseys can rise or fall on the aggression of a logo.
Next season the Tyrone jersey will be free of the Hunky Dorys logo, which, although it blends in with the riot of a crisp packet, in isolation looks like words on a splatter of bird poo. Or, at best, the first attempt at a pancake you end up chucking in the bin. In reality, the Hunky Dorys logo is supposed to be a buffalo. Or a chicken. Or a squished crisp. Whatever it is, Tyrone’s white jersey really amplified the noise of it.
Meath have crisps on their chests, too, with Mr Tayto popping up at their cleavage. Managing to fit five clashing colours into a single logo, it's without doubt the least pleasing logo on an Irish sports jersey today.
And yet it's Mr Tayto. It's a brand so wedded with Irish identity that half the country bought his "autobiography". In obvious match-ups, only a TK Red Lemonade sponsorship could rival it. It's such a bulletproof brand that they could send the Meath footballers out in Mr Tayto costumes and it would be seen as adding to the romance of the GAA.
Some branding manages to become so attached to jerseys that it becomes integral. Kerry Group on the Kerry jerseys is an obvious one. And, in rugby, ubiquity does not have to mean stomping all over the jersey.
The Leinster rugby jersey has drifted towards the territory of university scarf, with horrid stripes of blue and yellow that should come with the sort of warning normally reserved for flash photography. But the branding itself isn’t so bad.
As with Munster, the sponsor is Bank of Ireland, with simple wording and the three wavy lines that appear to be three flying birds. (AIB also has a bird on its logo, a dove of peace standing on an ark – presumably to represent the way the bank managed to stay afloat while everyone around it drowned.)
But when Irish rugby and soccer fans head to the shop for that replica jersey this season they’ll have no choice but to sport that huge number on the front, no matter what number they choose for the back. They’ll be advertising a mobile-phone giant, and it will be giant on their torsos. They’ll try it on for size, stand in front of the mirror and ask, “Honey, does my logo look big in this?”
shegarty@irishtimes.com @shanehegarty