Ooh ah... Ireland’s World Cup party seems well and truly pooped

Should Kieran Cuddihy ever find himself at a Wolfe Tones concert, it’s probably a fair bet that he won’t be hollering for requests. At the very least, the amiably opinionated presenter makes it clear he’s not a fan of the none-more-green ballad group’s song Celtic Symphony, whose chorus of “Ooh ah, up the ’Ra” was raucously rendered by the Republic of Ireland women’s team during dressingroom celebrations. “It was a stupid song to sing,” Cuddihy repeatedly states on The Hard Shoulder (Newstalk, weekdays), displaying a neat line in understatement.

The presenter sounds more deflated than outraged as he speaks, as though he’d rather be discussing Ireland’s historic World Cup qualification instead of their ill-judged performance of the republican anthem. Several times, he tentatively hopes that the furore won’t diminish the team’s victory, though the amount of airtime devoted to the issue across his and other Newstalk shows may dent his confidence.

[ Up the ’Ra: The chant that does not seem to go away ]

The host doesn’t downplay the matter, as his choice of guests emphasises: he speaks to Colin Parry, whose son Tim was killed by an IRA bomb in Warrington in 1993. Parry’s attitude is one of disappointment, dubbing the Irish team’s postmatch behaviour “irresponsible, foolish and infantile”, particularly as role models for “young and impressionable” fans. It’s a measured reaction, but Parry’s presence underlines Cuddihy’s point that while the footballers probably weren’t thinking of IRA atrocities when they belted out their provocative chant — as the host notes, many people consider such songs “innocent fun” — bereaved families will be offended.

‘I don’t think the Up the ’Ra episode tarnishes the players’ reputation,’ Kieran Cuddihy says, ‘but I think it ruins their celebrations’

Cuddihy sticks to the topic, with the sports journalist Kieran Cunningham suggesting that the loose renditions of such inflammatory material reflect a generational shift. “I think younger people don’t realise the reality of it,” he says while also noting that rebel songs were a staple of the Irish men’s team during Jack Charlton’s tenure. Either way, the World Cup party seems well and truly pooped by the episode, as the host tacitly acknowledges. “I don’t think it tarnishes their reputation,” Cuddihy says, “but I think it ruins their celebrations.”

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Or does it? Over on Lunchtime Live (Newstalk, weekdays), Andrea Gilligan hears from people who would strongly disagree with Cuddihy’s take on the incident, and indeed his distaste for the song at the centre of controversy. “I’m very proud of them,” the Wolfe Tones singer Brian Warfield says about the Irish team. “I’m also very proud of the fact that they chose to celebrate with a good song.” Given he’s the composer of Celtic Symphony, Warfield’s view isn’t surprising. Likewise, much of the subsequent conversation is almost parodically predictable, but it is somewhat startling nonetheless.

If Brian Warfield veers close to rebel-singer caricature, his candid defence of his song Celtic Symphony undeniably makes for bracing listening

Warfield stresses his song was written to celebrate Glasgow Celtic’s centenary, with the offending lines lifted from his experiences in the city: “The song took its twist by me walking through Glasgow and looking at the graffiti on the walls.” But while recounting the injustices suffered by northern Catholics before the Troubles, he insists he has no problem with the sentiments of the chant. “I’m not ashamed of the IRA,” he says firmly.

Not usually given to arguing with her guests, Gilligan pushes back. “For many others, that’s not their feeling,” she says, noting that the FAI and several players have apologised. “They were forced into it,” replies her guest, blaming it on “cranks who complain about everything Irish”. Growing more exasperated, Warfield asks: “How come it’s so honoured to kill for England and it’s frowned upon to kill anybody for Ireland?” The host is audibly flabbergasted but admirably manages to muster a wry response. “I don’t know if this is the twist that people thought the conversation might take today.”

[ Irish team being ‘persecuted and bullied’ for singing ‘ooh ah up the ’Ra’, songwriter says ]

If Warfield veers close to rebel-singer caricature, his candid defence of his song undeniably makes for bracing listening. (One certainly can’t imagine any Sinn Féin representative expressing such unvarnished opinions on the airwaves without being reprimanded by the party.) The singer’s intervention hardly defuses the situation, but it certainly enlivens proceedings.

Judging by the calls and texts Gilligan receives, others share her guest’s annoyance at the outcry, albeit in less robust fashion. Listeners appear evenly split between those feeling let down by the team and those who think the whole affair has been blown out of proportion: the term “snowflake” is inevitably deployed. But everyone expresses widespread goodwill towards the team, suggesting their sporting achievements will be remembered long after their singing slip-up has been forgotten, or forgiven anyway.

Far from being a lapse, Andrea Gilligan’s loss for words about the catastrophic events in Creeslough seems utterly appropriate in the face of such devastating loss

Still, Gilligan seems disheartened that she can’t fully rejoice in the Irish victory. As a Donegal woman, she’s understandably looking for a good-news story following the catastrophic events in Creeslough. The host sounds apologetic when she raises the Irish team’s antics with her fellow Donegal native Shaun Paul Barrett, whose daughter Amber Barrett paid heartfelt tribute to the victims of the explosion after scoring the Republic’s winning goal against Scotland. Gilligan’s guest calls the incident regrettable, but the matter distracts from a conversation that otherwise moves between pride and poignancy.

[ Creeslough seeks the words to make sense of an unfathomable tragedy ]

The impact of the Creeslough tragedy on Gilligan has been obvious since Monday’s show, when she admits that she’s trying to absorb events. “The enormity is only beginning to hit home,” she says, struggling to articulate her feelings: “It’s the randomness, the innocence of people in their local shop going about their daily business.” Her guests sound equally dazed, their grief mixed with disbelief. “It’s very hard to verbalise it, because it’s so physical, the pain,” says Fr Paddy Dunne, a neighbouring parish priest, while a local GAA official, Liam, talks about the “surreal” experience of visiting the Creeslough service station an hour before it was destroyed. Far from being a lapse, Gilligan’s loss for words seems utterly appropriate in the face of such devastating loss. After that, you’ll take any win you can.