An Irishman's Diary

IF THE Aviva jobs disaster has a silver lining, it’s that maybe now we can go back to referring to a certain stadium on the banks of the Dodder as “Lansdowne Road”.

Which, in fact, is what I intended to continue calling it when the new incarnation opened last year. Like many people then, I pledged myself to disdain the new bought-and-paid-for corporate identity. But like many people, I weakened. Part of the problem was that the new, curvy, glass-and-polycarbonate structure was quite impossible to associate with its ramshackle predecessor, whose charms grew as memories of it faded. The other problem was a reluctant acceptance of the financial logic involved. Aviva had made an enormous investment in the new stadium, after all. And it’s a well-known Irish truism that if you pay the piper, he’s expected to rename the tune in your honour.

I now realise, however, that this attitude was part of Ireland’s “culture of entitlement”, as identified by Aviva’s CEO, the ironically named (for a man who’s cutting away the company’s unwanted growths, I mean), Andrew Moss. So, inspired by his example, I have carried out a detailed analysis of media coverage and post-match pub conversations from the past year. Following which, I estimate that the “Aviva Stadium” name is being paid at least 20 per cent more respect here than it would have been in the UK or elsewhere.

A particularly egregious example of the undue deference is that, for the second year running, Leinster rugby is promoting a forthcoming match against Munster with the supposedly-rhyming slogan “Fever in the Aviva”. Yet as every Irish person – North and South, Protestant and Catholic, farmer and cowboy, etc – knows, those two words do not rhyme (except internally). And the reason they don’t rhyme is that, in this country, unlike most of the country where Aviva’s headquarters are located, we pronounce the letter R.

Indeed, if there is one principle on which all the people of this island can unite, it’s that we roll our Rs, aggressively. And it’s not for me to say why most English people don’t roll them. I’m sure they have very good reasons for their apparently perverse habit of suppressing the letter in words where it does occur (eg “Eyaland”) and pronouncing it where it doesn’t (eg “lawre-and-order”). But that’s their culture. And we shouldn’t be expected to import it, no matter how much they paid for the stadium rights. Leinster rugby, please note.

Anyway, following my review, I have now embarked on a major restructuring of day-to-day stadium naming operations, aimed at achieving a 50 per cent reduction in the number of times I call it “the Aviva”. In the meantime, “Lansdowne Road” will be reintroduced on a phased basis, with the more cost-efficient “Lansdowne” also used where the occasion demands. The possibility of exporting the entire “Aviva Stadium” name back to England may be considered if trading conditions deteriorate further.

I note the company’s intention to retain “customer-facing roles” in Ireland, although what that means, exactly, is not clear. The phrase sounds vaguely reassuring, if only because it suggests the possibility of “customer-defacing roles”, which would be worse. My guess is that it’s a reference to cosmetic surgery and the insurance of same. But if so, I suggest that “face-customising roles” would be a better way to put it. In any case, pending the company’s future moves, the naming situation will be kept under review.

I WAS INTRIGUED by that story on the bottom of Page 6 yesterday – the one headlined “Galvin and RTÉ mimic ‘had words’.” Which at first sight seemed like the opposite of news, in that the two main protagonists, Paul Galvin and Oliver Callan, were a football-playing schoolteacher and comedian, respectively, and words are the least you’d expect them to have. Whereas, say, “Marcel Marceau and Trappist monk ‘had words’,” might be more of a scoop.

But such is the power of this euphemism that when we hear of two Irish people having words, especially in a pub – as was the case here – we know (or assume) that they were close to having deeds too. So it was in this incident, although the report noted a range of opinion among Garda sources and witnesses, some of whom dismissed the confrontation as “handbags stuff” while others said the exchanges had been “very heated”.

In passing, I think it should be recorded that the widespread male contempt for handbags as a weapon is unjustified: well-filled, and with outward-facing leather hems, some of those bigger bags could kill. And as for heated exchanges, you can take it from a man who once worked in the Department of Social Welfare, in a section dealing with all the country’s employment offices, that unheated exchanges are not very nice either.

But those are both academic points here. The report notes that the incident culminated in “physical contact” between the parties, “at which point gardaí were called”. We’re not told what they were called, probably for legal reasons. Nor are we told what the gardaí did when they arrived at the pub. But if I had to guess the nature of their roles then, to coin a phrase, I’d say they were customer-facing.