5 Days In September - Part 2

Read Part 1 here: http://shotsfromdistance.blogspot.ie/2016/03/5-days-in-september-part-1.html

DAY 2 – Friday
I’ve awoken at 12pm alone with a hangover. It’s too warm to be hungover indoors.


I make myself look respectable and see if there’s anyone else lounging around. A few lads are awake and relaxing. I order my traditional away match morning drink of a cold can of Coca-Cola and joined the lads for discussion. None of us had much idea when we’d be heading to Erin’s Isle (for the pre-match meet up) and few of us had the energy to discuss it. A range of other topics were discussed. The match, the night before, the karaoke bar, that awful man demanding more Irish pride abroad,  supporter clubs & YBIG and the match-day ahead. Our prospects weren’t great. We were hoping for a positive result in the early game between Georgia and Scotland to give us hope. The occasion in Faro needed it.


What I needed was take in more sun and more importantly get a proper feed in so I went for a short walk down the strip. I didn’t indulge in any local cuisine when opting for a Pizza from a nearby restaurant. It was grand! This was preceded by a short search for a present for my girlfriend. Never had I been compelled to buy something for someone back home before but such was the effect this woman has on me, coupled with the teasing demands for me to get her something, I was obliged to deliver. It is a new tradition I’ll have to incorporate for future away games. 

While I relaxed and took things easy, my mind was in fierce debate. Quick to eliminate any remnants of the hangover, it was debating the merits of staying in Faro after the game. With a 6:45am flight back the following morning, it became apparent to me that travelling back to Albufeira after the match was hardly worth my time. Or money, as it would require forking out big money for a Taxi at an ungodly hour that would only set me back. I didn’t have money to burn, I barely had money to spend. I came to the conclusion that I would have leave my apartment when I was leaving for the game, bag and all. What stadium security would think of it remained to be seen. 


It was around 4pm when I made my way to Erins Isle. Much like the Strip, it had the appearance of a typical tacky Irish bar that was trying too hard to be authentic. It was an open air venue and held a good crowd of Irish fans waiting for buses to the game. It was also serving three bottles of lager for a tenner so I couldn’t complain. A large crowd from YBIG.ie had converged here. Faces I knew and others I met for the first time. There was a laid back atmosphere as seats were at a premium and bottles, full & empty, commandeered the tables. We also had the added novelty of watching the first half of the Georgia-Scotland encounter. Although we would likely miss the second half, we sat back and looked on with great interest in the hope Georgia could do us a favour. The game was on in Tbilisi, a venue where it took a moment of sheer brilliance from Aiden McGeady to give us three points on that occasion. Other teams had struggled there too, so we were hopeful of a draw to give us a small chance of getting back in contention. The other added bonus was that the sound system gave way to commentary from the game. This put an end to the terrible music playlist that was threatening Ireland's Call on its list. That would have received a very strong negative reaction from the people in the venue.


I didn’t take much interest in the game as I couldn’t find a decent spot to watch it. I spent my time chatting with old acquaintances and getting some much needed refreshments. When you have large crowds, you have large queues for the bathroom. With the buses not expected to stop enroute to Faro, it was imperative I timed my trip to the bathroom as late as possible. Unfortunately, I got timing wrong. No, it’s not what you are thinking. The bathrooms were located downstairs in the pub and down a longish enough corridor. As I made my way to the bathroom to join such a queue, I heard a roar. Not just any roar. It was a roar born from an unexpected moment of happiness laced with utter disbelief. And an extremely strong undercurrent of renewed hope. Not wanting to get ahead of myself and believe what such a roar could mean, I rushed back upstairs to see what the commotion was about.

Georgia had scored. Suddenly this game, this campaign, this entire trip had a shot of adrenaline and flowed with new meaning.


The mood had been upgraded from jovial to jubilant. There was a long long long way to go before we could even think about qualifying but many of us had been despondent ever since the home game against Scotland in June previous. On that day, in perfect summer conditions, we had transpired to turn the occasion into a steaming pile of shit that the large contingent of Scottish fans in the Aviva only threw back in our faces with their celebrations. All of a sudden, hope was rekindled, our dreams became dreams once more. And a glorious new song I heard the previous day, could now be echoed throughout all of Albufeira with true meaning.

So Fuck Off Tartan Army,
Ireland’s having a Party!
We’re Gonna Qualify!
We’re Gonna Qualify!


We stood on tables and sung to our hearts content. Now it felt like a true away trip and everyone was in full voice. As we filtered out of the pub to our assigned buses, you might have guessed Georiga had just beaten Scotland as opposed to going into half-tie a goal up. We didn’t care however, we were happy. We were also quite confused given the sheer number of buses and people to get on them. This led to a friend of mine, who organised three buses himself, not even getting a seat on one of them. He was forced to hail a Taxi to the game and insisted upon the bar paying for the fee. There was no such hassle for me. I met a couple I know from Galway, one of whom was a big hurling fan devastated he wouldn’t be making the Hurling final on Sunday. I expressed my condolences and teasingly berated his wife alongside him that she should have never have booked the weekend away as well!


The bus journey to the ground was good craic. I made for the back of the bus and met another lad from the forum and had a great chat with him enroute. My friend from Galway is a native from Scotland originally. As she made her way down the aisle with her camera, her accent was the source of great amusement and jokes from the Irish fans.

“You’re supposed to,
You’re supposed to,
You’re supposed to be in Georgia!!
You’re supposed to be in Georgia!!”

She took it in good spirits, especially seeing as her adopted country were suddenly back in with a shout. Another person at the back of the bus had mobile data that could access updates from Tbilisi. I proceeded to roar down the bus how it was going. The score remained the same, as the minutes ticked on. Moments where the connection was lost was followed by nail biting that wouldn’t take place that evening against Gibraltar. Only when we touched down outside the stadium in Faro was it confirmed that Georgia had beaten Scotland 1-0.

The. Dream. Was. Back. On.

And the nightmare of waiting 20 minutes in a queue for a piss was just about to begin!


A good crowd of Irish fans had scattered outside the stadium and I found another large crew from Galway I knew from travelling to home games. A grand total of SIXTEEN of them had rented a Villa outside Albufeira for the week and were in fine spirits for the game. We all made our way into the ground and unsurprisingly, myself and my packed bag was stopped for inspection. One item in particular was isolated, my gift wrapped present for my girlfriend. The security guard was obliged to open it and even doing so, he apologised. Once discovering its contents, he calmly ushered me into the ground. I had nothing to worry about other than re-wrapping my present.


Ireland themselves had nothing to worry about, on paper at least. The reverse fixture had ended 7-0 in our favour. The goodwill factor generated by Scotland’s mishap led us to believe we’d see a glorious goal-fest that would announce our re-entry in the qualification battle. What the 4’000 or so in the stadium were treated to was a woeful first half were the only moment of note was Cyrus Christie's quick one-two that allowed direct the ball across the keeper and into the side netting for his first International goal. It was a strike that awoke most of us from a stupor. I had never felt a 45 minutes drag on as much before. Maybe the long day was catching up on me, hauling my bag around had worn me out but it was such a dire half of football I sat back slumped on my chair. Only a renewed sense of hunger got me up and in search of food. My reward was an overpriced bag of crisps.


The second half began much better as two quick goals for Captain Fantastic had put a more acceptable look on the score-line. Robbie Keane’s importance to the Irish team should never be underestimated even if his pace and influence up top is waning. We will never see his like again in an Irish shirt and I shudder to think of the day when he does retire. For now, I took great joy with his two goal salvo, the second of which was a penalty.




The game reverted back to its first half excitement levels before Shane Long added a 4^th late on with a well taken header. 4-0 was the way it ended and three points in the Algarve were ours. More importantly, events in Tiblisi had given our qualification hopes a real shot in the arm! The conclusion of the game meant bidding farewell to the Galway crew and left me on my own and in search of transportation to the City of Faro. I slowly walked out of the stadium and tried to find a taxi or a bus. My efforts seemed to be in vain as one by one buses left the ground and Taxis were secured by larger groups. I stood waiting on the side of the road before joining a group of people beside a bus stop. Thankfully a bus did show up and for four euro I was heading into the City of Faro. Upon arrival I treated myself to some Chicken McNuggets at a nearby McDonalds. It’s coming close to midnight and I have seven hours to kill before my flight home.


Part 3:
https://shotsfromdistance.blogspot.ie/2016/03/5-days-in-september-part-3.html

5 Days in September - Part 1

Read the Prelude to this Series here: http://shotsfromdistance.blogspot.ie/2015/09/5-days-in-september-part-i.html



DAY 1: Thursday
Four hours later I was awake, still more focused on finishing the video than packing. Eventually both were finished just before 6am; the video finally saved into a WMV file which I loaded onto my memory stick after which I set about packing my bag. With half an hour to spare, I strolled through the darkness of Tuam with the glowing orange street lights for company. “Go” by The Chemical Brothers was playing, and I was bouncing my way to bus stop. A monumental five days was ahead of me.


I had a 10am flight to Faro. Upon arrival at Knock Airport, I had a lonely wait for about an hour or so in the airport before more Irish fans started to turn up. My consolation was paying nearly €10 for a very limited Irish breakfast. In a weekend where every saving counted, this was the first of many blows. As I finished my breakfast, 3 lads I knew had arrived and naturally we started on the pints. They, too, would be the first of many. News was coming from those already over in Albufeira of the heavy handed approach the local police were taking at night. They were charging and attacking Irish fans for no apparent reason. This is something I never witnessed or indeed heard of an away trip given our great reputation as football fans. The four of us joked that we were the reinforcements on our way to back the lads up.


A three hour flight flew by thanks to some much needed sleep. We arrived in Faro at around 1pm. After sharing a Taxi with two of the lads to their accommodation, I got another to mine and checked in. Upon arrival in my accommodation, the pleasant Solar De Joao complex, I opened my bag to find no extra pairs of socks. The first setback of my trip had been confirmed. I was to survive forty-eight hours in the heat of Algarve with one fucking pair of socks. I wouldn’t mind but I had laid out spare pairs when packing my bag that morning! I already needed to change my top given the heat, what would I be like with socks!


A number of lads from the YBIG.ie forum I knew of were also staying in the same spot. Most of them were heading along to a 5 a side competition arranged by others from the forum. I decided long ago, when it was first mooted, that I wouldn’t be taking part but was happy to go along and watch. And despite my predicament of a single pair of socks and the immense heat on show that day, it wasn’t long before I wanted to take part. Chalk that down to the competitive nature within me. I eventually did get to take part to relieve one lad who was close to suffering from heat stroke from all the running. My fresh nature immediately prompted alarm from an opponent “would you stop running around”. Even a 5 minute half left me sweating buckets and needing refreshment and another change of clothes back at the apartment.


A few hours chilling was necessary before heading out to take in the nightlife in the area. I had an ingenious, if slightly disturbing, method of handling my sock problem by leaving them cooling in a fridge I wasn’t going to use in my studio apartment. (Bear Grylls has nothing on me!). With my socks and body refreshed, it was time to take in the nightlife. Naturally things were hectic, given the time of year! The strip was located just down the road from our accommodation however, it came across to me as unbelievably tacky. I wasn't going to be spending much time here I thought. Thankfully another group shared the same sentiment and we made our way to the Old Town.


This was a much more respectable area and we made a night of it. There was a good karaoke set-up in the first spot we went to and one of the lads gave a fine rendition of “We Can Boogie”, the new adopted anthem of Irish fans abroad! This was followed by a strange man from the North of Ireland lecturing us on how proud we should be representing Ireland on the continent. He followed this up by butchering a rebel classic. It was a cue to leave and find a new spot. We were spoilt for choice in the town centre moved around to a couple of bars in the area. I later broke away from the main group later on to find a friend of mine who had my ticket for the Georgia game on Monday. It was impossible to make conversation as the music was blaring. 48 hours wasn't enough time to take in all of what Albufeira offered, I had to take in what I could.


The pints were flowing and Mondays game was a long way from my mind at that time. It was around 3am the alcohol began to take a seedy side effect and I knew it was time to head home. I somehow stumbled my way to the Taxi rank and handed the driver a business card from my accommodation. After a bit of hassle with the door of my apartment I fell on the bed. I had survived the first day.


Only four more of these to go.


Part 2:
https://shotsfromdistance.blogspot.ie/2016/03/5-days-in-september-part-2.html

Player of The Year! ...Who Decided That?

“Colin? Come over here!”


I didn’t need to hear the conversation to know what it was about. The management had called over one of the lads, with a view to starting him at right half forward. I’m a corner-back, a few weeks back from injury and this decision to play a relative newcomer to the game, who only joined the panel that summer, has really irked me. To the extent I didn’t really care about the game itself. It was the first round of Championship, straight knock-out. The ball hadn’t even been thrown in and I had given up.


Strange the hold that Junior ‘B’ can have on a player. It is a level of Gaelic football that receives as much derision for its standard as it does praise for the characters it provides. I have flirted with Junior ‘A’ football on occasion but the modern game demands for high level club football, at least in Galway, have grown. Teams with serious ambitions are putting in more effort than they would have in years gone past. It is well documented the sacrifices Senior Inter County players make and I admire them for it. The demands are relentless and it’s becoming more prevalent in club level. There are Junior teams in Ireland putting in as much effort into their training than their Senior counterparts in search of success. And at what cost?


Not financially so to speak, but emotionally. I know personally those demands would sap the enjoyment of the game from me and I’d rather not play. It’s not that I’m not ambitious. I want to win silverware, medals, the whole shebang that’s on offer to me. However, I want to play Gaelic Football because I enjoy it. The whole grind of spending hours in a gym, training multiple nights a week I could do. I’m sure of it. Yet I wouldn’t enjoy it. And I’d gain little reward in playing time I imagine. And that’s before I even consider the impact on the rest of my life! My GAA club career is destined to be played at Junior level. I don’t mind that. Whether that’s A or B really depends on my circumstances and my enjoyment. If I’m not enjoying my football, I’m not going to play it anymore.


That day in 2014 in particular I wanted to play, and I thought I’d play. Yes there was two solid corner backs ahead of me in the pecking order. And my fitness wasn’t the best. However, the gap in the forward line allowed me to think there’d be a reshuffle of sorts and I’d slot into the full back-line and start. Instead, they decided to play someone in the biggest game of the year who didn’t know really what to do. He’s a nice lad but he never should have been playing that day, let alone starting! This was evidenced not only by his early second half substitution (having already being booked) but the team captains outburst at half-time demanding him to be taken off. Anyways, I wasn’t the one who replaced him. I played the grand total of 45 seconds at the very end as we chased a goal to tie the game.  


We lost by three points. I lost a brand new pair of gloves bought just that day, JUST for that game. I later did the MND Ice Bucket Challenge and left myself with a slight headache and shivers for a couple of hours. It was a symbolic way to spend that evening. That was the legacy of 2014 Season at Junior B.


12 months later, we have won our first round tie against Ballinasloe in defiant circumstances. A three point win with a thread bare squad had nullified all memory of the previous year. “It’s great to win” one of the management simply put it. And it fucking was, even more so cause I had played a key part in victory. I had played well. I embraced everyone on our team with pride and fist pumped to the souls in the stand that had watched us. A three point win in the first round of the 2015 Junior B County Championship never would have factored in my perspective top 5 sporting moments if asked at the beginning of the year. However, amongst good company, it was up there. It was THAT good.

 

Lads can often fuck off from a team because they are not playing. This was a decision my eight year old self made with his soccer club, because he wasn’t selected for an end of year tournament. My 24 year old self curses that decision regularly when he miss-controls a pass or panics in possession. Such a naive attitude continued in my underage days in GAA. After U-10, I would skip playing every second year with the older group because I’d never get a chance in my own mind. Maybe I wouldn’t have (we had a good team then) but it stunted my development. Youngsters need to be playing at that age to improve. A win at all costs attitude stifles everyone’s progress in favour of results. If your ideology is ‘win now’ then that’s fine. However, young lads have an entire lifetime of playing football ahead of them. I’m making it a point when I speak to underage teams in the aftermath of a defeat they experience that the future will sow better days for them. The experience will count in the long run. I remember more defeats in last 3 years than I ever do from underage. And I have a photographic memory!


I don’t know what’s different with Gaelic Football. Maybe I know I am better at it than Soccer and therefore deserve a better crack at it. I never think I deserve a starting place regardless. Yet I am the soul, who rarely misses a training session, never refuses an extra sprint, never questions a managers decision out loud or vent my frustration to the detriment of the team. Not even that day in 2014, when I sat disconsolate in the stand and later, on the side-line. I feel even 10 minutes at least every game, is merited. In 2015, I got more than 10 minutes here and there. Not since 2007 when I was part of a team that won a county title had I started more games. In that year, every game I started we never lost. It wasn’t quite the same in 2015.


Sure, I was playing well, but as a team we always struggled to build on a positive first half and fade away in the 2^nd. It would be the middle of the summer before we got our first win, a game forfeited in advance that was played as a challenge. There was no major developments from the previous season. There was a turnover of players, old players, new coming in, including a new presence on the management team. And Colin was no longer there! The biggest issue was that I had developed a hamstring issue that I wouldn’t be able to solve the cause of until I took off my protective knee brace. By and large however, things were normal. Except, I was playing. I was playing ok too.


There’s nothing worse than having played shite and walking off either being subbed or at the end of the humbling defeat. Twice it has happened to me in Junior B, the first instance of which probably set me back big time. The opening Championship game of that 2012 season pitted us against a very strong Ballinasloe team. The author, having only returned to play football that year and having made a remarkable recovery returning from Euro 2012 that summer. Fifteen minutes into the game however, I was off. The opposing forward, a good 5 stone stronger than me had brushed me aside for a goal and a point. The switch was made, we retrieved a draw and won the replay. I made no further contribution.  For the rest of the drawn game, I was despondent in the face of a potential defeat and that I was the reason why. I’d have never have forgiven myself had we lost it and probably would have set myself back years confidence wise.


The same thoughts crossed my mind in 2015 against the same opposition. Confidence is a strange thing with me. I can joke, laugh and converse to no end at training and even in a game. When the stakes are raised however, I feel it get to me. Having previously played in goal as a youngster, the pressure of not making a single mistake consumed my entire game. Now, in goal, mistakes are magnified to an unfair extent. I never saw it like that back then and always needed to make that first catch, save or kick-out go right to calm myself. And even then, I was always one slip away from doubt. The same feeling has carried over to my corner back duties. Every passage of play must go off without a hitch.


That day against Ballinasloe, even when I did make a mistake, I remained composed. Seven times the ball came between the forward & myself in that first half. Six times I won out. There was a funny moment during half-time when the manager turned the focus of his team-talk to Monday. The last challenge was the one I lost out in and it was ffresh in the memory of my manager. He urged me to do better, but in the same sentence, noted that I had won all but one of the breaks between us. Even then, I remained composed. Even when our forwards shots were dropping into the opposing goalkeeper’s hands and not over the bar, my team-mates & I remained composed. No one within the club gave us a chance except the fifteen lads who went out there. The first game of the championship was our first competitive victory all year. And we soon found ourselves rolling with momentum.


Our next game was a shoot-out against a Glennamaddy side who had their own threadbare squad. We made it hard on ourselves by conceding two soft goals in the first half but we pulled away in the second half to win out by nine points. Not content by having three different forwards to mark over the course of the game, I broke out of defence twice with possession looking to move forward. My philosophy is to stop the corner forward and offload it either to a team-mate or to safety. My confidence was as such I felt brave enough to take on players and support the attack. There’s an additional reason I haven’t scored in a competitive or friendly match since 2001 aside from being in goal or the backs!

(My scoring drought continues by the way. I was overlooked in a 3 v 1 in our favour late on but we scored a clinching goal all the same.)


In those first two games, I held any forward I marked scoreless. That’s always a sign of a good game whatever else happens. Good performances were backed by a season of consistency, in training, in matches. This good form wasn’t going unnoticed beyond starting every game as the management and team-mates complimented me on my performances. I could afford to feel good about my football. Many lads on the team attributed my good form to my girlfriend and her presence at games. I am very fond of herself and her support is a major plus. (in case she is reading this). She even made one of the team photos watching in the stand. I was delayed coming out of the dressing room and didn’t even make it!


There was no fairytale ending however, and no perfect season for me. The quarter-final stage was where we bowed out. And that’s one defeat fresh in my mind for the margin of defeat (a solitary point) and the lad I was marking. He scored 1-01 early-on but I managed to hold him to that for the rest of the game and play better. Aside from that, however, he was a right mouthy little fucker. And wanted nothing more than to start a fight with me. I much prefer to play the ball and not the man, cause I’ve never had the physique to mix it up physically. I did try to mix it up at times but it’s simply not my game. For a while I was thrown off. It wasn’t decisive in the outcome but I was disappointed all the same. Instead of looking back in anger, I’m looking ahead.


Because if we play that same team again next year then that lad is going to have a very very unpleasant day personally and physically. That’s my motivation alongside winning a county title. A few others share the latter ambition.


A few weeks ago I received a phone call from my manager. Word was getting round that there was serious interest in numbers for the new season. I expected the call to be about the new season. Instead, I was informed I was named Player of The Year in Junior B and would receive the award at the Club social.


“Jaysus!" I said, "...who made that decision?”


What a difference a year can make.