Keith Duggan/Sideline Cut: This International Rules business is confounding. It has become the mutt that turned up at our door, refused to go away and gradually became the most popular member of the family.
On the face of it, everything about the Rules is absurd. This is a game that is unknown around the world. It is probably the most elite sport on the planet, way more niche market than, say, car-park fight clubs or free-diving in that it is practised by no more than 80 athletes a year.
It offers only two meaningful games each season - giving it something in common with the English Premiership. It has zero chance of catching on outside Australia and Ireland and demands such a high degree of interpretation from its players that it is impossible to imagine it being enjoyed by the lesser sportsman. I cannot envisage a game of Parish Rules played between two neighbouring GAA teams without at least three prolonged and bloody bouts of fisticuffs, two emergency calls made on behalf of collapsed "runners" and general resignations by the club treasurers over the cost of replacing shredded jerseys.
The Rules was not of woman born, it did not spring up naturally from the impoverished streets or evolve over time. Instead it was a brokered deal, sport's own version of Frankenstein, and in the early years it involved as many stitches and gashed limbs.
The experiment appeared to act as a leech, drawing out the darker forces of what, for the purposes of clarity became known as "both codes". It served as a reminder of the shackled history between the two countries, of transportation, of emigration, of distance. And in that way, it often seemed like a faction fight between the old country and the new. We were shocked at their naked aggression, they were disdainful of our whimpering. It was a cultural thing.
The Rules should not have worked. Sometimes, you are convinced it cannot. There are periods in the game when it just looks like Gaelic football, but with way funkier umpires.
The Rules is a game that brings together an island of vast and spare land and an island easily circumnavigated in one trip with no more than an old Capri, a bottle of water and a Yorkie bar for company. It brings together a place famed for its sun and golden beaches with a place famed for its mist and freezing beaches. It places on the same field athletes with accents that could frustrate even the keenest ear. It pits Australian brimstone and self-belief and macho posturing against the best of Celtic wit and sharp feet and old-fashioned cute hoorism.
It is beginning to look as if it just might be here to stay. This is the perfect time for the GAA and the AFL to set the future of the Rules in stone, with a contract for a further 10 years of engagement being drafted.
The Rules has threatened to flat-line on a couple of occasions since its revival. But overall it has been blessed with several superbly dramatic endings and the emergence of a slicker breed of Gaelic athlete, with ball players like Séamus Moynihan, Padhraic Joyce and Darren Fay leading a general ability to adapt and deal with the robust presence of the Australians.
Equally, Aussie players such as Nathan Brown have shown both a natural flair and a dedicated patience for learning to kick the round ball, an integral element of the Rules game that previous Aussie participants seemed to regard as a bit of a nuisance.
Also, the public enthusiasm has been remarkable. The crowds on both sides of the hemisphere have been astounding and it is time to strike while the iron is hot.
From that perspective, both associations need to polish the Rules up and present the new long-term series as something more clear and definitive.
For a start they could consider a sexier title. Compromise Rules was a dodgy opening gambit, effectively inviting the more red-blooded combatants to flake into each other at every given opportunity. But International Rules are conditions that George Bush flouts. It is not any name for a sport. Just call the thing the "Footie Challenge". Call it "Home and Away". Call it the "Autumn Test". Or "The Flying Footie Series". No matter how daft as long as it has a tag line to place it in the mind's eye.
Also, it is time to stop tinkering with the basic rules. If it is to be four periods of 15 minutes and three tests from now on, fine. But they need to stick to that. And maybe it is time to start thinking about the oval ball. Deep down, the Australians must regard any victory they achieve as beating the Irish at their own game. And take away minor concessions to Aussie Rules like the six steps and the mark and the tackle, they have a right to hold that opinion.
Previous ventures by Irish athletes into the oval ball game led to humiliating results and it would be impossible for the Irish to live with the Australians for a game or even a half using their ball. But perhaps over the next couple of years, they could play a couple of warm-up games using the oval ball for, say, the second quarter. If, over time, it was considered workable then maybe they could consider drafting that major concession to Australia into the series. Using two separate balls in one game would be unheard of but so what: the game is unheard of and the use of the oval ball would sell the game as more than just a jazzed-up version of Gaelic football for Australians.
If the associations can manage to hold the present momentum for the next decade, then the series will become a permanent sporting link between the countries and that developing tradition will distinguish the game.
In years ahead, it may be possible to organise a Masters series. Who wouldn't like to see the 1986 warriors meeting up again? All that venom and facial hair. Limbs would be slower and it might not be possible to get health insurance for the game, but hey.
That year, the series rode too close to the edge. The attrition was constant and violence always simmered just below the surface or else danced upon it. It presented in unjustifiable extremes the core appeal of the series: the speed, the bravery, the aggression and the potential if not the fact of the Irish melee or the Australian ruck. The game was like a wild horse noosed and the sports fans in both countries loved that.
In order to survive, the series had to move away from those wanton excesses. The danger is now that it might evolve into something too smooth and homogenised, with accurate kicking and adaptable athleticism causing the thrill and spill of the tackle to all but disappear. Part of the appeal of the series has been its sense of fun; it presented audiences with sights and feats that highlighted the best of both games but it also caught its players out from time to time. It has kept us guessing.
Yesterday in Melbourne showed that both countries are beginning to master the game, with fewer goals, cleverer passing and few of the personal confrontations that brought previous tests to life. That is a worry. The series cannot merely be a game because it will never be a sport, at least in the traditional realm.
At its best it is a joint celebration of two proud and terrific indigenous sports and because of that, the watching public will always regard the result as secondary to the excitement. Breathing life into an abandoned experiment that left a bad taste was no easy thing but the GAA and the AFL have done so with great elan. All eyes are now on the Autumn Challenge and the trick will be to keep it that way.
