As a long-suffering National League soccer fan I have often felt an affinity with first World War trenchcombatants. Like them, I am familiar with the spirit-sapping debilitations of ankle-deep muck and the perils of surmounting gravel sandbanks. The difference of course is that I choose to spend my Sunday afternoons thus: shivering and snotnosed beneath heaps of raingear, my emotions see-sawing between boredom and fleeting bursts of excitement. Oddly though, I never - ever - become hungry at a soccer match. There is a good reason for this.
Let's cut to the chase; outdoor event catering in Ireland is - literally - a stomach-churning business, attending exclusively to the requirements of the gastronomic boor who will happily devour whatever slop is to hand, provided it's vaguely warm and grease-coated. Sports cuisine can be summed up with a single word - yuck. If you don't enjoy burgers comprised mainly of gristle and sawdust, or three-for-a-pound Mars bars, you're going to have problems.
"Nonsense!" cry those of you who attended Ireland's recent Six Nations defeat at the hands of Wales at Lansdowne Road. "The menu was expansive, the staff charming, the fare, though perfunctory, perfectly delightful!" Well, that's the rub, isn't it? Our great sporting institutions don't hesitate to pull out all stops when a major event - be it rugby international, World Cup qualifier or All Ireland final - looms. It wouldn't do to have the politicians, hacks and - most importantly - your own administrative hierarchy choking down semi-thawed chips.
Certainly, the facilities on view at Lansdowne last month were impressive; clean, well organised and queue-free. Even the beer-tent Guinness was adequate. But away from the limelight it's a much different story; a throwback to an era when eating out meant a visit to McDonalds and ethnic cuisine was shorthand for lasagne and chips.
Contrast the rancid state of sport catering here with that offered cross-channel. The comparison is, admittedly, a mite unfair. You wouldn't expect Cork City to keep it together against Arsenal. Even so, the gulf between match-ground fare in Ireland and Britain has widened to Red Sea proportions.
For starters, most Premiership and Nationwide League stadiums boast licensed bars. Not so with National League grounds, unless you count a smattering of quaint clubhouses more suitable for parish fundraisers or bridge evenings than post-game entertainment. One club even opened a bar without checking that the beer taps were connected. They weren't. When several hundred freezing punters streamed in at half-time demanding lager, a near riot ensued. We would have torn the place down, only there wasn't much there to begin with. In addition, English stadiums provide hot meals - pies, fish and chips, etc. Plain stodge to be sure, but a significant step up from the squidgy chocolate and crisps with which Irish fans must make do.
Shockingly, standards are arguably even lower at GAA matches. Sure, the new Croker's an absolute gobsmacker, a monolith to rival the Nou Camps and Rose Bowls of this world and, for those fortunate enough to secure a corporate sponsored seat, the pre-match spread is lavish. It is but a single venue, however, and the GAA is a national organisation.
Take Semple Stadium, Thurles, arguably hurling's spiritual home, and, capacity-wise, the association's second largest ground. Catering facilities are practically non-existent - limited to fast food vendors and ice cream lorries. That the sorry trail of chip vans which lines the route to the stadium on big match days should be hailed a vital constituent of Thurles's "unique" atmosphere merely underlines the low regard in which supporters are held. Ditto other major grounds at Cork, Killarney and Portlaoise. Not that the punters exhibit any great demand for quality nosh - most of us are happy to surge in, ruddy-faced, from local hostelries five minutes before the national anthem. And the GAA might point to its amateur status to argue that there would be little sense in installing expensive snack bars when venues lie idle for most of the year.
A shift of attitude on the part of sports associations is unlikely while fans continue to accept sub-standard fare. So long as we're satisfied with flat cola and ghastly hot dogs, they'll keep on turning a blind eye. In the case of National League soccer the aversion to change may even be grounded in a perverse self-preservatory instinct. I recall a game at Cobh Ramblers' St Coleman's Park, where a hefty percentage of the (admittedly puny) attendance toddled off to the clubhouse bar at half time to catch the start of a Celtic-Rangers clash and chose not to return.
But one club at least has looked to the example set cross-channel. "We've made a very conscious effort to improve food and drink facilities for fans over the last number of years because we knew that what was there beforehand wasn't really acceptable," says St Patrick's Athletic operations manager, Michael Glynn.
The Inchicore team's innovations may not sound earthshattering: a franchise deal with Herta hotdogs and a coffee tie-up with Nescafe. But, for regular match-goers, the improvement is vast.
"The fans have voted with their pockets. We have five coffee-sellers roving the ground at every game," says Glynn. "They wouldn't be there if they weren't wanted. Our supporters are paying customers and they have a right to decent facilities - and that includes food and drink."
