This was the video I spent more time making than I did packing for Albufeira. And it still wasn't finished by the time I came home on Saturday.
The Time Is Now, and I’m not rested enough for it. The buses are leaving at half 8. I’m up at half 7 and barely even have time or energy to make a proper pre-All-Ireland fry-up. I still remember the lousy one I made three years previous for the replay. The egg didn't crack properly and the waffles were slightly gone off. Alarm bells were more than slightly going off in my head as I couldn’t find my long sleeve top to wear under my Galway jersey. I also couldn’t find one of my belts. Only the intervention of my father, (always an early riser and lifesaver) who unbuckles his belt and gives it to me. I glance at the phone and I'm running late, prompting some running down the road like a lunatic. A friend of mine drives by, he's also on his way to Dublin, and he rolls down to window to shout “You’re gonna be late lad”
I didn’t fly home yesterday morning to be fucking late for the bus!
And I wasn’t. I made the bus on time! Two 50 seater buses left from Tuam enroute to GAA HQ. Plenty of faces I knew, more I never seen before, all of us wearing Maroon in some shape or form. All desperate to see Galway win a hurling final. In the rush that morning I forgot my trusty wristband. I'm not generally superstitious but I'm overly sentimental. The wristband in question I got on my first visit to Croke Park in 2010, when we lost to Tipperary by a single point. Redemption was secured last month when we won by a point in THAT EPIC semi-final, crushing the memories of six years previous. As a result of this, I’m forced to buy one at AppleGreen Motorway service station. It’s a very nice one to be fair. Well crafted and Maroon weaving smoothly with the White. It was 2 euro well spent. It wasn't all bad. One person on the bus couldn’t hold the seal on his bladder and ended up soiling himself. Things could be worse I thought to myself. Then I remembered the large quantites of alcohol I drank in Albufeira! I was nervous enough about the final without worrying about my bladder.
Shivers still reach the back of my spine when I think back to the semi-final game. It wasn’t just because of what happened in injury time but for the 70 minutes that preceded it. It was the most complete game of hurling I had ever seen a team in Maroon & White deliver. Everyone remembers the 2012 Leinster hurling final and what happened in the first half. You’d forget that Galway took their foot off the pedal in the second and allowed Kilkenny to come back and score 2-07. Against Tipperary in 2015, the intensity never dropped, despite a heroic effort from Seamus Callanan to keep the Premier County in it. I thought each of the three goals Tipp scored were hammer blows but Galway responded every time. When the third goal went in, Galway reeled off 4 points without reply! That was the sort of defiance and commitment missing from from them in hurling for years. The talent was always there, but critics always argued that the backbone wasn’t.
The only negative aspect of my reminiscing was the notion that maybe Galway had peaked too early, like they did in 2012. Our semi-final victories were usually memorable affairs with the exception, especially the games against Kilkenny in 2001 and 2005. The performances in finals that followed were let downs that never reached our probably slightly ambitious expectations. After the first game of the 2015 Championship ended in a draw against Dublin, Galway had been high flying and free-scoring. Even in losing the provincial final against Kilkenny, they scored 2-15, and missed much more. It wasn’t being pessimistic to expect the best had already come. As for Kilkenny? Same old, same old. Shefflin was gone but Cody was still there. The undisputed greatest hurling manager of all-time kept it business as usual as they reached their 14th final in 17 years. They dispatched an up and coming Waterford with ease. In the Leinster final against Galway they put up an impressive 1-25, capitalising on Galways handling mistakes and failure to take their chances. They were efficient, they were ruthless. They were Kilkenny. And they would be prepared for Galway today.
Like a good Vodka and Red Bull, my nerves were mixed potently with naïve excitement and giddiness the closer we got to Dublin. The buzz was unreal. The tolls leaving Galway were full of fans heading to the game, beeping like crazy, flags flying on the cars. I sent a text to my sister in London, which read more like a mandate for Tribal Honour. I told her to deck herself in Galway colours and watch the game with pride in who she was and where she was from. It was that sort of day, because an All-Ireland final in either code is something truly special. Although from a town vested in football with my fondest experiences relating to 1998 and 2001, hurling has grown on me immensely. I attended my first ever All-Ireland final three years ago in 2012 in Hurling. It was a magical occasion. As the teams parade made its way past the Nally Stand, the sun burst out of the clouds and shone down on us, as if on cue. Flying several rows down the terraces when David Burke scored the 2nd goal and barely even being able to look as Joe Canning slot over an equaliser in injury time. It was a rollercoaster of emotions that continued in the replay. We started so well that day and in the 16th minute all hell broke loose on Hill 16 when Galway scored two goals in a minute. It went all downhill after that however. It has instilled a cautious optimism in me. I am allowing myself believe ever so slightly, but history is weighing heavy on my expectations.
We arrive in Dublin in good time. Young lads going to their first game don’t know how to get to Croke Park. The biggest game of the year and you have people going to their first game. It beggars belief, I walk on lively before I say something I regret. A fine crowd has congregated outside the stadium, outside Gills pub. I take a few pictures before making my way inside. I was eager to see the Minor final. And my seat, awkward to find, would provide what was a disappointing view. Only a glass door behind me separates the prawn sandwich brigade in Premium level from me. Corporate fuckers and posh bastards occupy its cushy confines. Jesus, I say to myself, and think they do even want the experience the occasion? Lousy seat and view aside, it wasn’t going to deter from what could be a magical day! I’ve purchased a programme as per family tradition (we have a collection of All-Ireland final programmes involving Galway down through the years) and settle down for the day ahead.
One by one, things were going good for us. The Minor final is a tight affair until the second half when the fledglings in Maroon pull away from Tipperary to lead handsomely. They showed a resilience of their own in winning their semi-final against Kilkenny, after a replay. Last minute drama was their style but they were ensuring no Galway hearts would be jeopardised ahead of the Big One. At half-time, there was a Freestyle hurling competition where three young participants showing off ridiculous ball and hurl control skills. The winner, naturally, was from Galway! Everyone of these victories and scores was greeted with a thunderous roar of approval from Galway fans. And what a roar it was. We had outnumbered Kilkenny & Tipp fans combined three to one. Hill 16 belonged to Galway as little pockets of Black & Amber were hard to find. The Minor game ends 4-16 to 1-13 in Galways favour. The final whistle is a monumental roar in the hope of things to come.
My father texts me his satisfaction with the result.
“One down and One To Go. Great Win”
The waiting was the hardest part. After scanning through the match programme twice, I made my way to Hogan Bar and considered buying a pint with my limited funds. The large queues would have deterred me even if I had a heftier wallet. I did converse with young & old Galway fans for a short while, sharing our best hopes and worst fears for the game ahead. I returned to my seat to scan the programme again. Slowly but surely the section was filling up as I kept an eye for Galway fans. The section began to fill up as I kept an eye out for Galway fans. Having no idea who would be sitting beside me I said my 754th prayer of the day in the wish that those yet to arrive would be wearing Maroon & White. This was because once the ball was thrown in, I was making no apologies for my fervent support and subsequent roars of encouragement. I do my best to keep things cool and appreciate a refs decision at the best of times but my emotions were all over the place. Fortunately, the majority of people around me were Galway fans, fair weather and devoted alike. I could roar to my heart’s content and not worry about repercussions or needless arguments. By this stage, the teams had eventually came out for their warm-up, and the Galway roar was picking up decibels. And when they lined up for the parade, it began a period of craning up in terms of noise, passion, excitement and anticipation that reverberated around Croker. It was rapturous but would it be prophetic?
For Canning, Tannian, Flynn, Mannion, Burke, Cunningham and co., the Time was Now!
The game started in frenetic fashion as Galway looked to impose their free-scoring style once more. They looked good, playing as a team and creating chances. Kilkenny were struggling. Even a 13th minute goal from TJ Reid did little but Kilkenny in control of the scoreboard for a short while. Our forwards were their industrious selves as they roamed around and switched position with precision. In the past, it was just Joe Canning who would swap position with someone on the half-forward line or further back to alter the game. Canning himself had started the game superbly with three early points. It was fascinating to watch them in motion when they attacked or even off the ball. Jason Flynn, Cathal Mannion and Conor Whelan were playing like consummate veterans, not toothless youngsters!
In defence, the relentless tracking and hassling of the Galway backs had irked the Cats. Despite the goal, Galway outscored them 5 points to two in the 10 minutes that followed it. We were however, lucky that Johnny Coen was not sent off for a high challenge. When it first happened, I was sure that he would be sent to the line and with him, all momentum and hope. He escaped with only a yellow, much to the dismay of the 10'000 or so Kilkenny fans in the ground. There was no rhythm to their attack and Galway pushed forward. Midway through the first half, an interesting decision comes from the sideline with the introduction of David Collins at the expense of captain Aidan Harte. Taking your captain off will always raise eyebrows but despite the change, Galway continued to perform. A few half chances for goals come to nothing but points continue to go over. The intensity from the semi-final is still there. It’s beautiful to watch, amazing to support!
The only negative aspect, aside from the concession of the goal was Galway’s shooting. They were still putting up a big number of wides, it was a poor return from their chance taking. However, that was the nature of the beast. This was the new Galway that had burst onto the scene in 2015. One such wide brought indignation from me and many more in the stands when it was ruled wide. Hawk-Eye wasn’t called for, despite Joe Canning’s protestations. I believe the players should have a say in the scoring systems usage, much like Tennis players in their respective sports. I firmly believe Canning scored a point with his effort. He did get the final point of the first half with a monstrous effort from distance. It brought a defiant deafening roar from the Galway faithful as the half-time whistle went.
“My voice is going…
My heart won’t take much more
Sweet Jaysus”
And I was beginning to believe. My words to those back home watching omitted my growing belief that this was going to be the day. We’ve produced another solid first half display, taken a swing in momentum against it and slammed it right back in our favour with committed passionate hurling. The work ethic on the field echoed in the voices and hearts of Galway people around the world. Even the greatest cynic could allow himself to be pleased with the performance. I know Kilkenny will respond. This is Kilkenny, under the tutelage of the greatest hurling mind in the game, maybe ever. I know it’s going to be tough. However, we responded in the first half. We responded to everything Tipperary threw back at us in the semi-final. Galway are 35 minutes away from an All-Ireland final that there could be nothing to stop the lads from taking destiny into the their own hands and striking it up on the scoreboard.
Nothing except themselves.
There would be a response from the Cats, I knew it. I never thought for one second Galway would have no response of their own to it.
It takes six minutes of 2nd half hurling for Kilkenny to level the game. And in that six minutes, Galway didn’t even have a shot on goal. It would be the 45th minute of the game, 10 into the 2nd half before Galway got their 15th point. It was captain David Collins who got it. Almost immediately Kilkenny go down the other end of the field and level things again. Momentum is firmly in their corner and Galway need to arrest the slide. For every step Galway have taken forward, Kilkenny take two more ahead of them. And before I know, we are hanging onto to stay in this game. I’m looking around the field looking for movement off the ball, support in the breakdown. Its not happening. Everytime we manage to turnover the ball, we are pucking it straight down the field into a Kilkenny player. Sat Nav’s are working in their favour and possession is being wasted.
The game is slipping away and there was nothing we could do about it. Be it the changes on the line, players switching position, or our defiant roars from the crowd, Kilkenny just kept on scoring points and we kept on missing chances. All supporters could was watch on helplessly. Some decided to leave, a massive thorn in my side when it comes to support. Although it looked unlikely, Galway had pulled out a draw from 10 points down against Kilkenny in the first round. However, that was never going to happen. We now needed a goal, and Kilkenny knew it. They wouldn't be conceding anything easily. Everything we tried was cut out. A one score game became a two score game and eventually a three score game with minutes left. The writing was on the wall in the last 10 minutes and it was painful to watch. Galway did get a goal late on, deep into injury time. By then however, it only cut the deficit to four points. It made the scoreline look respectable
Kilkenny 1-22 Galway 1-18.
The leaders, and heroes of 2015 had no answer to Kilkenny in the second half. The mesmerizing desire and passion evident only a mere 35 minutes ago was gone. They looked a pale shadow of that team. Seconds after the final whistle, it was a mass exodus of fans that prompted the most galling aspect of this defeat. It wasn’t the Maroon & White hordes filing out that hurt but the Kilkenny fans desperate to beat the traffic that cut deep. Some of the bastards didn’t even appreciate winning the fucking thing. The stadium was half empty within a minute. Once upon a time I will tell my children (if I’m ever fortunate to have any) that Croke Park would be subject to passionate unstoppable pitch invasions that crowned the glory of winning an All-Ireland. The Kilkenny team, worthy victors for their 2nd half performance alone, didn’t even get a victory parade worthy of their achievement. A county waiting 27 years for hurling glory struggles to understand such passive emotion to winning the big one. Even Kerry fans, for all the football titles they seem to win, cherish any All-Ireland Senior Football title they win.
I stroll despondently out of Croke Park. I meet a friend of mine along the way. It was like discussing a death of someone close. Neither of us had the words to express the devastation, and that sorry feeling of what’s new? It was a quiet bus waiting for us in the city. We all just wanted to go home, either to drown our sorrows or cry ourselves to sleep or both. I tried to get my head round it. What was even more confusing was that a decision to stop at the Service Station on the way home, greeted with much consternation from all of us. Some of us stretch the lads, anything to get our minds off the 7th final since our last victory in 1988.
We are treated to the sight of more young lads, off their head, jumping full speed into the bushes outside it. They were obviously taking defeat better than most of us. It turns out they hired a minibus themselves. I thought the bus driver, if he was armed, would consider shooting all of them dead and leaving them there, such was their hyper active loutish behaviour. In contrast, the morgue mobile I was on would do grand. How could anyone sing, smile, or laugh heartily after losing another All-Ireland final anyways? I ring my girlfriend on the way home. She sympathises with me like the loving person she is, knowing how devastated I am. She was amazing enough a month previously after the semi-final to greet me with a surprise, a flask of tea to calm me down! Tea would have been great on that bus back. My mother calls afterwards and suggests ordering a take away for me to have when I come home. She’s great like that, my mother. Then again, she has seen me despondent enough times in the last 20 years over sport to know how to deal with me! It sounds melodramatic to a degree, and I don’t care. I do shake it off eventually in my own style in saying things could be worse. They can be, I know all too well myself there are greater things in life and never dwell too much on disappointing days playing or supporting. Yet, if I was feeling like shite, god knows how the players feel, and god knows what they’ll do to go one step further next year…
I had completely forgotten until nodding off that night I was going to another game the following day. I soon woke up to another muscle spasm in my leg, this time the left one. I was a broken man, physically, emotionally, and almost surely financially.
Read the final Part of the series: https://shotsfromdistance.blogspot.ie/2016/09/5-days-in-september-part-5.html
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