An Irishman's Diary

I SEE that, according to most reports, that incident in Omagh on Sunday between Kerry’s Paul Galvin and Tyrone’s Ryan McMenamin centred on the former’s “groin area”.

This is fair enough as a general description of the location, and it might even have been legally advisable if the event had taken place in conditions of poor visibility. It happened in clear daylight, however. And having seen the pictures, I think the crime scene could be identified rather more precisely than it has been.

According to my dictionary, the groin is a “fold or depression marking the juncture of the lower abdomen and the inner part of the thigh”. Even if that had been the target of the Tyrone player’s grasping hand, it would have been difficult for him to achieve any kind of purchase there. But I think we all know that wasn’t what he was aiming for and it certainly wasn’t what he got. You don’t need to look up its co-ordinates on Google Earth to know that the incident did not occur in a depression of any kind; quite the opposite.

Although it was hardly McMenamin’s primary intention, the incident raises important issues about men’s health – and specifically the male reluctance to talk about it.

The Irish Newswent further than other national dailies by describing the affected part of Galvin's body as his "unmentionables". Which sums the problem up neatly. If we can't bring ourselves to name these body parts on the pages of newspapers most aimed at male readers, what chance is there of doctors persuading men to carry out the recommended regular manual inspections that – however crudely – McMenamin was demonstrating? Somewhat pathetically, a recent promotional campaign urging greater male health awareness had to resort to motoring metaphors to make the point.

It invited men to have a personal “MOT” and find out what was happening under the “bonnet”. In which vein, I hope Paul Galvin does not have an unexplained rattle anywhere after Sunday’s game. If he does, I’d say it could be gearbox trouble.

WITH impeccable timing, a new dictionary of English-Irish slang has just landed on my desk. Compiled by a man called Garry Bannister, it looked at first like a useful addition to the growing reference library I need to help my children with their primary school Irish. Leafing though it, however, I realised that on nearly every page there was at least one word or phrase that I sincerely hoped the children were not familiar with yet.

Now filed away on my top shelf, it is nevertheless a very entertaining and educational book, and even its front cover makes an interesting point. The main title — Kiss My. . . — is in English, complete with ellipsis, whereas the subtitle – Póg mo Thóin – is presented in full.

The implication here is that English speakers are more easily offended than Irish ones; or that the English language does not accommodate vulgarity as well as Irish does. This may well be true. I remember that when Páidi Ó Sé got into trouble a few years ago for saying Kerry football supporters were “the roughest type of f***ing animals you could ever deal with”, somebody explained in his defence that he had been thinking in Irish, while speaking in English, and that the difficulties arose only in translation.

Against which it must be noted that, this being an English-Irish dictionary, all the terms translated were already deemed to exist in the second national language. These include “son of a bitch”, “twat”, and “scum-bucket”, to mention three of the more polite entries. But I like the fact that, as in other languages, any coarseness is blamed on foreigners. Thus “Maith dom na mionnaí móra” , which is Bannister’s translation of “Excuse my French”. Incidentally, the book also has a phrase that – nearly enough – covers Sunday’s incident in Omagh. Explaining why Galvin was writhing in pain, Gaeltacht members of the Kerry team might have said: “Tugadh fabhtóg íseal dó”. For the benefit of sensitive English-only readers, I was going to translate this using asterisks, viz: “He got hit in the g**lies”. But I decided against this when it dawned on me that people might think the reference was to “goalies’; which in the context of a football match would only confuse matters.

ON THE subject (raised last Saturday) of possible Aviva-style sponsorship deals under which Irish towns or counties could sell their naming rights, several readers have offered suggestions.

I agree with Martin McGovern that swimwear manufacturer Speedo would be a perfect fit for the north Dublin village of Rush; that Comber in Co Down is made for Peter Mark; and that both Hospital in Co Limerick and Nenagh in Tipperary would attract a wide range of medical sponsors. You could easily imagine a sign saying: “Welcome to Hospital: Presented in association with VHI”. Gabriel Cooney is equally right about Mayo, which by teaming up with a well-known maker of culinary dressings could also avoid a name change. “Hellman’s Mayo” has a ring to it, already.

And to finish this column where we started – or in that general area – I’d like to thank several readers who have suggested a name-rights deal between any maker of uncomfortably tight men’s underwear and a village in north Louth. We won’t mention brand-names here. But the village is Hackballscross.