Try Something New

This weekend saw some strange goings on in terms of my regular life that seems to be zipping by at an alarming rate. I broadened my horizons not once, but twice in doing new things I would otherwise never have done.

Late last week my cousin called to the house while I was out and left a message saying he wanted me to attend a play with him that coming Friday night. My initial query to the messenger was to confirm that he did say the word ‘play’. When it was confirmed that it was indeed a play he wanted me to go to my next thought was to ponder just how many people did he ask to go before he thought to ask me and how on earth were that many people otherwise engaged. The play was called Tom Crean and a quick glance through the small paragraph dedicated to it in The Irish Times’ ‘The Ticket’ supplement revealed this less-than-inspiring note:

Aidan Dooley’s one-man performance returns to tell the heroic tale of Crean, the only man to serve with Scott and Shackleton on three famous expeditions.

My first impression was this would be a weird, super-artsy take on one man’s struggle in the harshest environment on earth. Maybe he would try to portray the mental anguish such an expedition would no doubt conjure. Not wanting to disappoint my cousin and knowing I had just been delivered an excuse for a few pints in Dublin I agreed to go and promised to keep as open a mind as possible. Theatre is not something I would ever, and I mean ever, think of spending any time going to – probably to my detriment – so I wasn’t expecting much. At best I thought I’d learn something about an Irishman I ought to know more about given his place in history, at worst it would be 90 odd minutes of downtime in an otherwise enjoyable night out in Dublin.

Having thrown our pints into us we made our way to our seats near the back (and more importantly I thought at the time – near the toilets) and waited for the show to start. First a faint light from a lantern on an otherwise pitch-black stage appeared and made its way to the centre as a background of whistling antarctic winds made for the soundtrack. ‘Here we go’ I thought, ‘an artsy start’. The man on stage set the lantern down and stoked the imaginary fire in the centre of his camp. He then turned to the audience and began to speak in a traditional wesht Ireland accent introducing himself as Tom Crean, a boson in the Royal Navy. He then cracked a joke. Then another. Then another. Turns out this man wasn’t so much here to act as to tell a story, a story with a quintessential Irish take on the Royal Navy’s expeditions to the South Pole. Where he wasn’t being informative he was being funny and where he wasn’t be funny he was spilling out emotion about the losses and hardships ‘he’ had witnessed on the expeditions. I was enthralled. I had been completely sideswiped by my own brain’s ignorance to all things theatre. He wove out two stories, describing two of his expeditions with both witty and grisly detail, speaking about horrifying situations in a way only a dry-witted Irishman could. He gave everyone in the auditorium a charming history lesson they had never been happier to receive and as I walked out I made a point of stopping my cousin and thanking him profusely for asking me to come along and telling him that he should take pride in the fact that he changed a very stubborn mind.

A day or two later and I found myself doing something equally strange, at least by my standards. I went to a GAA football match. What’s the big deal? Well, I kind of don’t like gaelic football. In fact I’m often quite vocal against it for numerous reasons dominated by the reputation for GAA clubs banning their players from participating in other sports and for GAA fans’ propesity to slate soccer players as a means to elevate their own type to higher stature. Yes, that premier league player went down crying like a sack of potatoes, but then again he doesn’t spend his weekends stacking sacks of potatoes like your beloved GAA player does, does he? Soccer players are built for speed, agility and technique in the majority of cases. GAA players are built for strength, power and endurance. Different strokes, different folks – I never feel that threatened about being/liking a soccer player that I have to slate players of other sports and mean it. I’ve oftentimes tried winding GAA fans up with my claims that GAA players are just poor boxers who can run after 16 pints of Guinness on a Saturday night but I know that to be far from the truth. To be standing with a number of proper club GAA fans most of whom had at least long-time friends and at most immediate family playing in front of us was a change of scenery for me. For the next 70 odd minutes I found myself powerless to prevent my interest peaking in what played out before me. I am a sports-fan after all so I would naturally observe and interpret what the game offerred up, but it’s a rare occasion I’m watching with people who have a blood-connection with the team. The nervous twitches and the emotion with which every encouraging call or angry tirade towards the opposition (or referee) were somehow endearing to witness. The group I was with contained fans of both teams which meant inevitably half of the group was destined to be elated and the other half distraught. Both sides were calling the game as only they as fans could see it. Both took their turn in declaring the opposition to be the dirtier side and quietly made comments about opposition players to the point where anything a little more harshly stated could have resulted in me turning referee in the crowd. My attempts at light-hearted humour by playing the ignorant soccer fan (corner! hand-ball! etc.) got old quick with my small audience as the game approached the business end. As one team stretched out a lead the result became inevitable. One friend conceding it was a lost cause, the other too cautious to admit victory for fear of an epic collapse in the final few minutes. I could see the barely-contained delight at the final whistle on one side only to turn and see the utter abjection on my other side. One half of the group ran to go and join the celebrations pitch-side without even saying good-bye, the other half and myself made their way back to the car offering up the proud but painful admission that the best team had won and that their team only had themselves to blame (and they had in fairness).

While the rest of the world was busy coming up with ideas for something new and unusual to dress up as for the weekend that was in it I was learning I should branch out a little more into new and (to me) unusual things. I’m sure there are plenty that scoff at the idea that theatre and a GAA match are unusual, but in the context of my life it had been years since I had willingly done either despite having the chance to on plenty of occasions. I’m going to try my best to look out for similar opportunities in future and try to capture my thoughts the next time my brain tries to utter a no to a strange and unusual invite. I urge all others like me to do the same. To everyone else who tries new things on a regular basis I now hold a new-found admiration for you and your weekends, because I just had a fantastic one.

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