Davy Fitzgerald: stepped down as Clare manager on Wednesday evening. Morgan Treacy / INPHO
Morgan Treacy / INPHO / INPHO
IRISH SPORT GOT a little duller this week.
Now, Davy Fitzgerald was a lot of things to a lot of people: passionate, proud, clever for some; divisive, narcissistic, a royal pain-in-the-ass for others.
But he was never dull. He is one of the few figures in Irish sport whose first name is introduction enough. You say Davy, and people know who you mean. There aren’t many of those. Roy. Rory. Paulie, maybe.
And they’re getting fewer. No sooner had people digested Davy’s departure than another one-name wonder popped up. Dalo might not even be in the running, might not even be interested, but you can’t blame people for wanting to swap one bundle of Banner charisma with another.
The first time I ever interviewed Davy was at the opening of a new stand at the RSC in Waterford in July 2008. He was one of a number of big name dignitaries attending, so I headed along with the purpose of chatting to Giovanni Trapattoni, Declan Kidney and Davy, in that order of importance. But while Trapattoni was indecipherable, and Kidney inscrutable, the experience of talking to Davy was unforgettable.
It wasn’t so much what he said – a month into his time as Waterford manager, he was preparing for a low-key All-Ireland qualifier against Antrim at the time – but how he said it. A Davy interview was more theatrical performance than soundbite. Think inter-county manager as played by Peter Lorre. It was all in the eyes: intense, emotional, slightly crazy. He would draw you in with conspiratorial winks and meaningful nods. He’d bite his lip and shake his head and hint at great forces moving against him. He was a total ham, but like all great actors, you couldn’t help but be drawn in.
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It easy to imagine how he could cajole a panel of young men to his cause, but equally possible to see how that highly-strung emotional plane might get wearing after a while. Unfairly or not, many blamed Davy’s persona for the various player departures, voluntary or otherwise, from the Clare panel over his time in charge. Others felt his single-minded vision for the team’s style of play stopped this talented group from building on the 2013 All-Ireland success.
And looking around the inter-county scene now you could argue that the days of manager as that type of emotional figurehead, or all-powerful Svengali might be over.
Morgan Treacy / INPHO
Morgan Treacy / INPHO / INPHO
Look at the combatants in the football final. Jim Gavin and Stephen Rochford are both clearly brilliant managers, but their media personas would leave you longing for Davy Fitz in full conspiracy theory flow. Gavin is a master of deliberate deflection. Interviewing him is an almost hypnotic experience. His talk of ‘esprit de corps’, how he is ‘merely a facilitator’ and, of course, the infamous ‘process’ lulls you into a stupor. Which is exactly what he wants. Rochford seems like a very nice man, with a decent sense of humour, but is unlikely to blast his way onto the front pages with an expletive-laden rant any time soon.
Michael Ryan, Micheal Donoghue, Derek McGrath, Rory Gallagher, Eamonn Fitzmaurice – Brian Cody aside, there’s a certain ‘type’ now. Top managers are calm, rational; masters of strategy and logistics, proficient with laptop and spreadsheet as much as whistle and training cone. Soon, a Harvard MBA will be as useful a qualification for county manager as an All-Ireland medal.
This may be because county panels are now ‘player-led’. You can lead the horses to water, but you can’t make them drink. Or at least not without a prior horse meeting where you get ‘buy-in’ from every horse to the water-drinking in question. Otherwise you can have a full on horse strike on your hands, or have half of them gallop off to America on you.
Davy’s demise was a case in point: once the mood had turned within the panel, it was time to go.
Ryan Byrne / INPHO
Ryan Byrne / INPHO / INPHO
Ryan Byrne / INPHO
Ryan Byrne / INPHO / INPHO
This is not to suggest that Davy was some kind of dinosaur. On the contrary, in his vast, multi-disciplinary backroom teams and fondness for innovative tactics – hurling’s dirtiest word – he was a very modern manager. But perhaps he will come to be regarded as the link between the old, smash-the-hurley-off-the-dressing-room-floor manager, and the new era of facilitators, to use Jim Gavin’s term. Being a charismatic quote machine is no longer so high on the required skillset.
And what of it, says you? Who cares about media whining that such-and-such a manager doesn’t give good post-match interview? Maybe we’re better focusing on systems and match-ups than personality clashes and slagging matches. But if, to use Paul Kimmage’s phrase, you’re more interested in the players than the play, you’ll mourn the departure – for the time being – of one of Irish sport’s most colourful characters.
I’m off to watch some Davy Fitz interviews on YouTube. Say what you like about him, he was never dull.
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Irish sport is a duller place without Davy Fitz
IRISH SPORT GOT a little duller this week.
Now, Davy Fitzgerald was a lot of things to a lot of people: passionate, proud, clever for some; divisive, narcissistic, a royal pain-in-the-ass for others.
But he was never dull. He is one of the few figures in Irish sport whose first name is introduction enough. You say Davy, and people know who you mean. There aren’t many of those. Roy. Rory. Paulie, maybe.
And they’re getting fewer. No sooner had people digested Davy’s departure than another one-name wonder popped up. Dalo might not even be in the running, might not even be interested, but you can’t blame people for wanting to swap one bundle of Banner charisma with another.
The first time I ever interviewed Davy was at the opening of a new stand at the RSC in Waterford in July 2008. He was one of a number of big name dignitaries attending, so I headed along with the purpose of chatting to Giovanni Trapattoni, Declan Kidney and Davy, in that order of importance. But while Trapattoni was indecipherable, and Kidney inscrutable, the experience of talking to Davy was unforgettable.
It wasn’t so much what he said – a month into his time as Waterford manager, he was preparing for a low-key All-Ireland qualifier against Antrim at the time – but how he said it. A Davy interview was more theatrical performance than soundbite. Think inter-county manager as played by Peter Lorre. It was all in the eyes: intense, emotional, slightly crazy. He would draw you in with conspiratorial winks and meaningful nods. He’d bite his lip and shake his head and hint at great forces moving against him. He was a total ham, but like all great actors, you couldn’t help but be drawn in.
It easy to imagine how he could cajole a panel of young men to his cause, but equally possible to see how that highly-strung emotional plane might get wearing after a while. Unfairly or not, many blamed Davy’s persona for the various player departures, voluntary or otherwise, from the Clare panel over his time in charge. Others felt his single-minded vision for the team’s style of play stopped this talented group from building on the 2013 All-Ireland success.
And looking around the inter-county scene now you could argue that the days of manager as that type of emotional figurehead, or all-powerful Svengali might be over.
Look at the combatants in the football final. Jim Gavin and Stephen Rochford are both clearly brilliant managers, but their media personas would leave you longing for Davy Fitz in full conspiracy theory flow. Gavin is a master of deliberate deflection. Interviewing him is an almost hypnotic experience. His talk of ‘esprit de corps’, how he is ‘merely a facilitator’ and, of course, the infamous ‘process’ lulls you into a stupor. Which is exactly what he wants. Rochford seems like a very nice man, with a decent sense of humour, but is unlikely to blast his way onto the front pages with an expletive-laden rant any time soon.
Michael Ryan, Micheal Donoghue, Derek McGrath, Rory Gallagher, Eamonn Fitzmaurice – Brian Cody aside, there’s a certain ‘type’ now. Top managers are calm, rational; masters of strategy and logistics, proficient with laptop and spreadsheet as much as whistle and training cone. Soon, a Harvard MBA will be as useful a qualification for county manager as an All-Ireland medal.
This may be because county panels are now ‘player-led’. You can lead the horses to water, but you can’t make them drink. Or at least not without a prior horse meeting where you get ‘buy-in’ from every horse to the water-drinking in question. Otherwise you can have a full on horse strike on your hands, or have half of them gallop off to America on you.
Davy’s demise was a case in point: once the mood had turned within the panel, it was time to go.
This is not to suggest that Davy was some kind of dinosaur. On the contrary, in his vast, multi-disciplinary backroom teams and fondness for innovative tactics – hurling’s dirtiest word – he was a very modern manager. But perhaps he will come to be regarded as the link between the old, smash-the-hurley-off-the-dressing-room-floor manager, and the new era of facilitators, to use Jim Gavin’s term. Being a charismatic quote machine is no longer so high on the required skillset.
And what of it, says you? Who cares about media whining that such-and-such a manager doesn’t give good post-match interview? Maybe we’re better focusing on systems and match-ups than personality clashes and slagging matches. But if, to use Paul Kimmage’s phrase, you’re more interested in the players than the play, you’ll mourn the departure – for the time being – of one of Irish sport’s most colourful characters.
I’m off to watch some Davy Fitz interviews on YouTube. Say what you like about him, he was never dull.
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The day the Dublin Ladies turned the screw
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Davy Fitzgerald Editor's picks Fitz of Passion GAA Hurling Clare