No hype please, we’re from Mayo

Anne-Marie Flynn

IN the 1920s, Russian physiologist Ivan Pavlov noticed something curious in his lab. Each time his assistant entered the room, his dog started to salivate. Why? Well, it turned out that Pavlov’s assistant, as well as helping him become one of the most famous names in psychology, was also responsible for feeding the dog. So every time Pavlov’s dog saw the assistant, he assumed he was about to be fed. Inspired, Pavlov conducted some experiments to see whether the sight or sound of an object could evoke a certain response purely by association – a phenomenon known as ‘classical conditioning’ - including pairing the dog’s food delivery with noises such as bells. They worked, but poor Pavlov’s dog must have been a confused, dribbling wreck by the end of it all.
Similarly, through experimentation, Pavlov identified ‘fear conditioning’ – where the sight or sound of a particular object or sound could elicit fear because of its previous association with something unpleasant. The assumption being that if you had any sense, because you associated that stimulus with feeling fear, you would avoid it like the plague.

Local relevance
I often think of Pavlov when it gets to August and Mayo are going well. I’m sure he’d be bewildered by the green and red hordes converging on Croke Park, as optimistic as ever, after all the pain experienced there down the years. The thought of Mayo in a big, winner-takes-all game, contrary to the laws of psychological science, does not seem to elicit any negative reactions or avoidance. On the contrary - we just can’t get enough.
The resilience of Mayo fans never ceases to amaze me. In 2013, the losing of an All-Ireland I was certain we’d win almost consigned me to the bed for a week. I don’t think I felt happy again until 2014. Last year in Limerick nearly broke us all. Yet two weekends ago, many of us floated out of Croke Park dreaming of September days and Sam Maguire. All around the county, excitement is building again. The flags are re-appearing; the roadside signs are back, the car flags are fluttering. The hype machine is revving back into action.
The more reticent urge caution: “Keep a lid on the hysteria”, you’ll hear. “No painting sheep”. “Mayo people get far too carried away,” they say. “It gets us nowhere. We’re damaging our own chances by succumbing to this hype. Just play it cool.”
Oblivious to such warnings, the ‘Mayo for Sam’ trend has swept the globe. Celebrities everywhere have been ambushed and unwittingly indoctrinated into the Mayo faith by enthusiastic sign-bearing fans. The slogan is becoming ubiquitous at major sporting events, including the World Darts Championship and the Tour de France, accompanied by a bunch of grinning jersey-clad chancers, delighted to be spreading the gospel.
For some, however the ‘Mayo for Sam’ ritual is nothing but an embarrassment, setting us up for ridicule by other counties when (when!) once again we don’t win. Truly, we don’t know how to keep calm about the tantalising prospect of that long-awaited victory. But do we really want to?

Dreaming the dream
I know I don’t. For me, what makes being a GAA fan so special is the anticipation, the excitement, the solidarity and the downright daftness that comes with the run-up to a big game. Pre-match talk spilling onto the streets, flags appearing everywhere from houses to hilltops. Otherwise sensible people, almost childlike, losing the run of themselves. If you can’t enjoy throwing caution to the wind and revelling in the hope, expectation and dreams of winning - just what is the point?
‘Mayo for Sam’ is less now about winning, and more about our county’s collective belief, endurance and insatiable appetite for devilment. And something that, contrary to what Pavlov might have suggested, proves that no matter how many times our hearts have been broken and our hopes have been hammered, that we will dust ourselves off and return in our droves to see our team give it another go.
So bring on the hype. For two more weeks, we’ll dream.  And after that, who knows? Maybe it’s time to lock up those sheep…