John Doyle (4) (1957–)

I always have great hopes and butterflies in my stomach when I find an Irish writer. Swayed by the $2 price tag (Borders going under sale) and the Malachy McCourt blurb on the cover I snapped it up. Malachy said he laughed "hysterically", and I thought that would cinch the deal for me - although it didn't make it sweet enough for me - barely raised a chuckle thoughout, but I did learn things - so it wasn't a complete loss.

John Doyle is a television critic born in Ireland though he emigrated to Canada after university (UCD), so I've never come across his work before & didn't know what to expect. He frames his life growing up in Ireland around the advent of television and how television changed Ireland and himself in the process. There's history as he learns it - the book starts off when his father brings home a television, and the tone of the narrative or voice is somewhere between a child and himself now looking back and the tone gets more diffuse as the years roll on. I tried to bond with it, but in the end I couldn't connect to the John Doyle of now. I pretty much lost who John Doyle became - I found more ties to the younger Doyle and to Ireland and to certain aspects of Irish Catholicism and conservatism that were embedded in Australia at that same time.

Be that as it may, he gives a fairly o.k. rendition of the way television changed Ireland's society and how it affected him, his family and friends. It's not a critical analysis but one that everyday people can understand. I think it's a stretch to say it was the main reason change happened in Ireland, the world was changing everywhere, they would have eventually heard about it even without television - eventually. But as in Australia, television was definitely a moving force for the people to "see" change in other countries and thus demand it in their own. Books banned in Ireland in the 50's & 60's were banned here too.

Some of the Irish history he talks about I particularly connected with, where he wondered while watching the Man from U.N.C.L.E what Irish rebels like Patrick Sarsfield, (from James II's time) would do in certain situations on the show. Although that may sound strange to some an uncle of mine born in Ireland would be constantly saying similar thoughts when we were all watching tv. The Irish past always seemed to be ever present. That kind of thought process rubbed off on me too.

I only recently discovered that two of my Irish ancestor aunts came to Australia originally from Cavan - which was one of the areas hardest hit by the 1840's famine, and my research was a bit stalled. Doyle and his family moved from Nenagh to Carrick-on-Shannon, near Cavan and the Leitrim hills. So hearing about Cavan was eye-opening to me. There as a young boy he hears about the wailing on the roads, and ghosts in the area. He writes an eerie and moving account of Carrick during the famine that really hit home to me one that no other account had done nor made me so profoundly sad. The population was around 66,000, including Cavan and the Leitrim hill country. They flooded into Carrick to the workhouse (poorhouse) for food and help. Carrick being a tiny village, the workhouse held but a few hundred, the rest were locked out having already been thrown off their land. For 3 years the streets, lanes and ditches around Carrick were filled with the dead and wandering dying and that the English refused to help. The countryside around is still apparently desolate and lonely & some still hear the wailing.

My research about my aunts (actually, great, great, great aunts), told me they were sent here for theft. (minor articles; a scarf, shoes, and fruit). They apparently were caught a couple of times before being transported. I discovered that it was mostly young people transported from Cavan at that time, and I suspect it was because they were young and strong enough to attempt to go looking for food or clothing to steal. AND they stole on purpose, to get arrested so that they would get sent to Australia, so that they could survive. They had heard there was food and warmth down here. Most other accounts tell of the Irish being afraid of being sent here, but when you actually look at the alternative - death from starvation in a Carrick ditch, you realise it was pretty much their last chance at life. You realise that in a lot of cases transportation down under wasn't the dreadful thing it's been made out to be.

Doyles' account mentions that many famine victims in Carrick were wearing rags - their clothes traded for food or fallen apart and of course, imagine being thrown out of your home in what you are wearing and living rough in the fields for 3 years. This kind of information just doesn't get taught at school in Australia, was never taught when I was at school and the years before when having a convict ancestor was shameful, certainly none of this was ever taught. Yet my uncle constantly referred to it with added expletives about the English, the past was ever present for him. Thankfully times have changed - or have they? The Irish and their descendants are all over the globe, having left for so many reasons...and so many of those that have left have written about Ireland. It seems maybe the past is still present.
Does it get embedded in the genes? I've never been there but I get angry about things that have happened there and wonder what if?

Perhaps Doyle is right about other things, that television had more of an effect that we think, but the Pope still bans contraceptives - they are however now available in Ireland, and Northern Ireland is still - well - Northern Ireland. Perhaps both Doyle and my uncle were right about the Leitrim Hills having a stash of guns buried there from the first Uprising - maybe we will find that out one day. I can't say that Doyle's book was that funny but others might find his thoughts on some of the 60's tv shows hilarious. While Doyle talked a lot about The Troubles as he experienced them and saw on television, I was slightly disappointed there was not more detail - although there are other books about with that information. In the early 70's my school & the Brigidine Nuns were heavily invested in helping Irish Catholic families from Northern Ireland find sponsors & billets in Australia. There were endless fetes and charity events to raise money for their trip here. Doyle doesn't mention anything about Catholics leaving Northern Ireland at all.But then maybe it was all a bit hush hush. I don't know.

I'm thankful I found out about Cavan and Carrick-on-Shannon and the wailing ghosts. His book goes some way to explain and enlighten me on my family and how I think and for that I am glad I read it.





**********************************************************************************************************-bought today $2 in the last Borders sale.… (plus d'informations)

John Doyle is an Irish-Born Canadian Television critic and, like all right-thinking people, is a soccer fanatic. The World is a Ball is the story of his experiences in the first decade of the 21st century covering three world cups, two European championships, and a gaggle of world cup qualifiers for the Globe and Mail (a Toronto paper) and the New York Times.

Doyle only describes the games in the most elliptical fashion, focusing mostly on the fans, the host cities, and the personalities of the different teams. He continually describes scenes before games of fancifully-costumed fans from different countries partying, laughing, and traveling together. But his descriptions of the teams and fans also show how soccer is the primary sporting outlet for nationalism. In Doyle's telling, fans and teams reflect (sometimes stretched) truths about their country's national character and zeitgeist (and usually positive truths - this is a very positive book except when talking about the English players, wives, and girlfriends).

The travel frustrations of the professional sportswriter also receive much attention (never stay in a Best Western in Berlin) and several cities get judged for their love of soccer and friendliness of their bars, police, and transportation.

But ultimately this book is a celebration of stories; especially the stories that happen on a soccer field when a magical narrative takes over and a nation's fans seem to will their team to victory.… (plus d'informations)

Culture Soup

I've always thought it would be fun to attend a world event like the Olympic Games or a World Cup. The idea of a myriad of cultures converging on one city fascinates me. The sheer numbers, though, terrify me. I’m not a huge fan of large crowds.

Perhaps, for me, the World Cup provides the most intriguing spectacle. With soccer – the sport adored by the majority of the world, the world championship matters.

In The World Is a Ball, John Doyle explores this worldwide phenomenon. With a decade of soccer coverage for North American publications, Doyle provides a first-hand account of these tournaments and the convergence of cultures.

Watching Those Watching the Game

Interestingly, while one would think that Doyle would focus predominately on the tactics and analysis of the players on the pitch, he seems more interested in the fans. As the world watches the game, Doyle watches the supporters.

For ages, the media focus on hooliganism. With fear dispensed in small to medium doses, many foreigners avoid soccer matches for panic of fan-to-fan violence. Yet Doyle perceives these sporting events as moments of celebration no matter the end result.

On the field, Brazil plays with flair and beauty; in the stands, Brazilian fans act the same. On the field, Italy plays a slow, methodical game; in the stands, the fans are lazy and confident. On this principle, Doyle expands,

“That’s part of the complicated meaning of the World Cup. There is an elaborate synergy between the traveling fans and their country’s team. A nation projects itself, all its hopes and dreams and tangled histories, onto the team. And the team somehow embodies all the complex characteristics of the nation” (18).

Global Soccer

Moreover, views of nationalistic hooliganism fail in the face of globalized soccer. Where nationalism in the past existed with players remaining inside its countries borders, the new strategy for most national teams is to seek players and coaches from all over the world. Doyle writes,

“At the end, just before the Estádio da Luz erupts in colorful, spectacular fireworks displays, the TV commentator reminds viewers that the Greek coach, Otto Rehhagel, is German and Portugal’s coach, Luiz Felipe Scolari, is Brazilian. The point is to tell us that, even at this intensely competitive, nationalistic level, soccer transcends borders and nationality” (132).

Field Notes

However, The World Is a Ball flows poorly. As the book details international soccer matches over the last decade, the stories become repetitive and resemble field notes for the stories Doyle obviously filed for his paid gig.

Additionally, Doyle romanticizes the notion of fan and team unity. While international matches of yesteryear exhibited teams with a national style and identity, modern soccer has found tactics to become increasingly crowd-sourced. Successful national teams blend the possession-style total football of the Netherlands with the defensive tenacity of Italy and the aggressive set play style of Germany. In other words, the way teams play soccer today is becoming tactically similar.

Finally, Doyle writes with basic assumptions about soccer. For those interested in becoming acquainted with the sport, Doyle’s writing will leave you dazed and confused. While no one suggests that a soccer writer must begin a book with a basic explanation of soccer, Doyle uses soccer-specific terms without defining them for a broader audience. Although I understood him, I don’t think his lexicon of terms allows inclusion of non-soccer fans.

A Tragic View of the Universe

Despite my reservations, Doyle contemplates some of the deeper meanings behind the joys of soccer. With low scoring games, spotty refereeing, and theatrical flopping, soccer is not an Americanized sport. Yet, these very issues point to core artistic values. Doyle pens,

“Soccer is a sport perfectly designed to reinforce a tragic view of the universe, because basically it is a long series of frustrations leading up to near certain heartbreak” (311).

This sentiments ring true with the observance of one game. A team can play the perfect game and lose. While a pitcher in baseball gains muscle memory with practice in order to throw the same pitch in the same location whenever he desires it, a soccer player relies on luck. The best for which he or she can hope is to create enough chances to get a positive result.

On the topic of poor refereeing – an experience that United States Men’s National Team fans know full-well with the disallowed goal on a phantom foul against Slovenia in the last World Cup – Doyle writes,

“Injustice happens, but time passes, the world turns just as the ball does during the game. The whole point of the game is that the ball turns, moves forward, much like we do” (315).

Although The World Is a Ball plods somewhat without much stylistic difference and mischaracterizes the connections between the styling of fans and national teams, I enjoyed the first-hand account of the World Cup. With a convergence of culture in one country, we see something bigger than a sporting event; we see a global culture. If you can get past the difficulties and understand the basic terms in soccer, The World Is a Ball is an entertaining read. Nevertheless, I suggest starting somewhere else in soccer literature.

Originally published at http://wherepenmeetspaper.blogspot.com… (plus d'informations)