Dublin University Cricket Club (DUCC) is 175 years old; thankfully the University was founded in Dublin and not in Ferns. I've had a peripheral relationship with Trinity over the years. I turned down a chance to go there (I don't know what I was thinking either) in favour of the College of Marketing and Design (recruitment slogan - "Go mad in COMAD"). To show how long ago that was, the college was still in a dilapidated building on Parnell Square and the Union of Students in Ireland were a bolshy, militant lot who would strike at the drop of a hat or even for the drop of a hat. I soon discovered the pool table in the student's union and Conway's pub (now sadly gone but at that time it was one of the great Dublin pubs) and that signalled an end to my academic progress.
But at least COMAD introduced me to the delights of Trinity. Apart from the fact that degrees* from the college were accredited by Trinity, we gatecrashed The Buttery on the odd Friday night to abuse the subsidised pints and shout class-war slogans at the upper classes, or vice-versa. The main event of the year was the Trinity Ball. Growing up in Dublin I had never given much thought to the Ball and certainly had no desire to wear a formal suit in order to get into a party. In those days my clothes of choice tended to be cowboy boots, faded denim and grandfather shirts (what do you mean nothings changed?). Most of these items were acquired in the Dandelion Market, the meeting scene of choice for disaffected Dublin youth. Here you could get all you needed to satisfy your teenage angst - records (33, 45 and 78rpm), second-hand clothes, books, badges and, erm, Jamaican woodbines. And you could look longingly and wistfully at girls - this was the late 70s, it was another two decades before teenage boys were able to chat up girls. And don't believe anyone that says they were at the first ever U2 gig because the precariously perched venue held about 20 people, including the band. Besides, in those days they were crap - give me DC Nien or Berlin any day.
But what about the Trinity Ball, I hear you cry (or I would if it wasn't for the noise from those bloody vuvuzelas)? It was 1980 (I think!), we were young, broke and very left wing so when we heard The Clash were playing we immediately went into ideological mode. How can they justify playing for the elite? What about the poor? Where's my can of Harp (sadly there was no cheap Bavarian back then)? After all of five minutes of the usual Collectivism versus Anarcho-Syndicalism "debate" the only question to be answered was, how do we bunk in?
Once we had fuelling up in Mulligans we scaled the Trinity walls in a way Chris Bonnington would have been ashamed proud of and after comparing cuts and bruises we made our way to the music tent. 30 years drinking distance makes the exact memories unclear but it seemed as if most of inner-city Dublin had managed to overthrow the shackles of the bourgeoisie, at least for one night. The sound of weak-chinned, Hooray Henrys blubbering about the oiks only added to the musical power of "Guns of Brixton", "Police and Thieves" and "London Calling". So, my first visit to the turf of DUCC (sorry, like a cheap pencil it takes me a while to get to the point) was to pass blissfully out - ears ringing, head throbbing and stomach heaving.
Since then I've played many times in Trinity (mainly without the stomach heaving) but I still approach games there as a way of waging class warfare against an underserving elite. And each - admittedly rare - victory is another proud step towards the triumph of the coming Workers Republic. Of course, every victory is also followed by the odd G&T in the Pav before heading back to my three bedroom, semi-detached in the leafy Dublin suburbs.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AVYMppMiSmc
*A degree in Marketing is akin to proficiency in snake oil selling, charlatanism and reflexology.
By Sean Smith
