The young fellows of today – and the young women, as well – have no idea what it was like living in Ireland before sex was invented, writes An Fear Rua …

The deceased Fine Gael TD for Laois-Offaly, Oliver J Flanagan – as cranky and Right wing a man as they come – once proclaimed that “There was no sex in Ireland before ‘The Late Late Show’” That comment would carbon date the arrival of sex here at around 1962, the year Gay Byrne first took to the airwaves with an experimental TV chat show that ‘was only to run for six weeks.' In Britain, the date is less exact. The poet Philip Larkin wrote that, for him, 'Sexual intercourse began / In nineteen sixty-three / (Which was rather late for me)- / Between the end of the Chatterley ban / And the Beatles' first LP.' He took to it enthusiastically. After he died, and enormous stash of hard core porn was discovered in the attic of his unpretentious suburban home.

But even after it arrived, courtesy of Radio Telefís Éireann, sex was still an exceedingly surreptitious matter. In the clerically operated schools, young people were still taught to avoid ‘occasions of sin’ because their bodies were ‘temples of the Holy Ghost’. ‘Company keeping’ between young men and women was widely frowned upon and where it took place at all, was rigorously policed by the forces of Church and State. ‘Playboy’ magazine was banned, as were the works of writers like Kiely, Behan, McGahern and the two O’Briens. For clarification on any matters sexual, people had recourse to the pious weekly columns of Angela McNamara in the now defunct ‘Sunday Press’ newspaper.

Until 1973 – when the Supreme Court ruled otherwise – contraception was illegal. Granted, there were loopholes. In some towns, a Protestant pharmacist usually managed to get supplies of condoms for ‘his community.’ Some of the clever dicks – if you’ll excuse the expression – among the Catholics discovered that if you replied to the Marie Stopes Clinic advertisements in a few of the Left-wing British magazines you could get supplies of condoms posted under plain brown wrapper. Unless, of course, the Irish Customs and Excise Service tumbled to the ruse and confiscated the items while in transit. The first alleviation in this regime came when Charles J Haughey, as Minister for Health, allowed doctors to prescribe condoms to married couples ‘for medical reasons’. Later on, a Labour Health Minister, Barry Desmond, removed the restrictions fully.

Now, you can’t walk into pharmacy, club or pub the length and breadth of the country without seeing condoms on sale to all comers. Ireland has become a bacchanal of bare flesh, hipsters, builders’ cleavage and belly buttons. Some years ago, a Parish Priest in one of the Leinster counties ruefully told a congregation at Sunday Mass that the only time many of the young girls of the county knelt down was to perform blowjobs in nightclubs. Apparently, the only real decision these young ladies had to make was whether to spit or swallow.

By contrast, in the Sixties and Seventies girls wore blouses, sensible sweaters, skirts and knee length boots. Seduction had to be approached with all the finesse of a Para stealthily trying to capture Port Stanley in the darkness of a Falklands Islands night.

First, an oh-so-casual hand draped across the shoulder. Followed by a squeeze or two and a kiss. More pecks and kisses and then, a tongue lightly slipped into the mouth. More squeezes, hugs and kisses. Then, the other hand, tentatively placed on a breast, outside the sweater. No resistance? Proceed to next objective. The hand placed under the blouse and sweater. Everything in order? Single-handedly, unhook bra and proceed to next objective. Then the next big step. The hand on the knee. If resisted, retreat and concentrate efforts on mouth and upper body. Proceed further, if no resistance met. Then, a deep breath, and place hand on thigh. Legs may snap shut quickly. But, if no resistance, ‘You’re in!’.

The aftermath of the Rule 42 decision strikes An Fear Rua as being a bit like the Irish seduction technique of the Sixties and Seventies. The Congress delegates were hardly out of their beds on Sunday morning when the Oirish edition of the ‘Sunday Times’ was commenting: ‘The GAA should now resolve to put this whole affair behind it and move calmly towards the next logical step. It must, in time, remove Rule 42 and make its facilities across the island available to local communities, no matter what shape of ball they kick. Ireland, north and south, is bereft of decent sporting facilities. Sensible cooperation between clubs and sporting bodies could, with intelligent planning, deliver a small quantity of high quality stadiums that could be shared by all sports.’

So, there you have it. The real agenda unfolds. The media have smelt GAA blood this weekend and it won’t be long before they start baying for more. An association that marches - or should we say, dances - to the media’s tune will soon find them a very fickle and capricious audience. These are the same media who are so out of touch with how the GAA operates that they misread the holding of a secret ballot as a device to allow so-called hardliners depart from their democratic mandate. Well, they got their answer on that one.

And what of Our Illustrious Leader, De Man Dey Calls Ahern? Surely no man has singlehandedly - or even cackhandedly - done more to prevent the rational development of international sports stadia in Ireland? Three years ago, he threw €60 million of taxpayers' money at the GAA to prevent Croke Park opening, to keep his Abbotstown chimera on the go. Now, immediately after the GAA has voted to open Croke Park while Lansdowne is being developed, the same man says it might be better if Lansdowne was never developed!

The soccer and rugby lads are like the young fellas back in the Sixties and Seventies. They now have their hand on the GAA’s knee. The bra is unclasped. For the GAA, the only remaining question is... will we spit or swallow?