A shot to the stones

As the last glimpses of sunlight disappeared on Saturday the 28^{th of} September 2013, Shane O’Donnell edged through a suffocating mass of media and made his way back onto a barely floodlit Croke Park surface. Gone were the jubilant Banner supporters who had long since fled Hill 16 and filed into different pubs around Drumcondra, eager to celebrate their county’s fourth All Ireland success. All that was left was the bunting, the odd steward, and the nineteen-year-old who had just scored a hat-trick in his first All-Ireland final.

At this point, one would be forgiven for thinking O’Donnell’s career might have unfolded somewhat differently. Before yesterday, a solitary National League title in the decade that followed might have been perceived to be a poor return for a player who had shown such promise. Fickle sporting critics tend to look past the intangibles however: the loss after a replay to Galway in 2018, the year’s absence with concussion complications in 2022, the not too menial achievement of a Fullbright scholarship to Harvard. Perhaps it was these obstacles that gave O’Donnell and Clare an edge all season, a sense that they weren’t to be denied again. The game was 17 minutes old when he seized his first possession and let the country know that a seven-point lead was to be the extent of Cork’s eminence. Nobody could have predicted what the next 73 minutes would bring.

The contest was almost pugilistic in its intensity, edging back and forth until the outrageous demonstrations of touch and tease became scarcely comprehensible. For Cork, Seamus Harnedy and Robert Downey were immense, acting as a lynchpin in a centre channel that struggled for much of the contest. For Clare, Tony Kelly finally had his “come to Jesus” moment, knocking over scores that Joe Himself would be proud of. In the end, Clare’s victory was deserved. Universal adulation will be little consolation for Cork, who will feel that this was an opportunity to not only avenge their loss in 2013 but to give Patrick Horgan a fitting send off. If anyone deserves an All-Ireland, it’s him, not that that’s a metric that exists in the world. Having given his county so much, he will likely retire unfulfilled and unvindicated, haunted by his three final losses. But sport is cruel, and it must nevertheless be acknowledged that there are moments and matches that elevate sporting events to a higher plane. That’s how it was in Croke Park yesterday and that won’t be forgotten. How could it be?

It led me to reflect on my first experience of hurling: Galway v Tipperary in the 2009 All Ireland Quarter final. Damien Hayes era hurling. Damien was a great hurler. He now runs the car dealership in Portumna where I bought my first motor. I have a different car now, from a different dealer. Damien was a great hurler. As Galway football wandered in the late 2000s, my fascination with hurling grew. I remember going to the Ploughing Championships with my younger brother David, the pair of us getting signed ‘Canning’ hurls to puck around with. One afternoon, I opened the front door to join him for this purpose, only for a missile of a sliotar to be catapulted into my phallic region. David never played competitive hurling, our club being a Gaelic football stronghold. All things considered; it was likely a fortuitous shot. Had there been any malicious intent, the unnurtured nature of his accuracy might have merited comparisons with Cu Chulainn. It occurs to me that this analogy likens the more private aspects of my anatomy to the Irish wolfhound. I’m ok with that.

I digress. David is in Australia now and when the Artane Band sounds us towards throw-in at the football centrepiece next Sunday, he’ll be somewhere in the Northern territory. There’s a fitting poignancy to that. I spent a year in Australia in 2022. I watched that final between Galway and Kerry in Airlie Beach, a rural town in North Queensland known both for its beautiful scenery and its inhabitants’ lack of political correctness. There was a loneliness to the experience, a regret that couldn’t be assuaged by wearing maroon colours and rewatching clips from “A Year ‘til Sunday”. There was even, dare I say it, an underlying concern that I would miss out on a great celebration were Galway to win. But I needn’t have worried. I’m back now and I’ve derived plenty of enjoyment from this current All Ireland run. I’ve found myself dropping subtle but persistent reminders of our eminence to colleagues and friends: “Imagine if we had Europe’s fastest flowing river and Sam Maguire”. There truly are no bounds to my wit.

As an All-Ireland winner myself (Intervarsity Division ‘?’ with Blackhall), I feel somewhat well positioned to analyse this weekend’s game. In Armagh’s Quarter final against Monaghan last year, a supporter behind me uttered that “God Himself” would not approve of Armagh’s low block defensive tactics. Yes, “God Himself”. Somewhere in between building the sky and commanding Abraham to kill Isaac, God found the time to proscribe Armagh’s conservatism. Satire aside, I do feel that this reluctance to unleash will be Armagh’s undoing. Galway have shown themselves to be a potent footballing unit, capable of frustrating different styles while demonstrating ruthless marksmanship up front. That said, Armagh won’t fear Galway and the siege mentality that served them so well in the early 2000s may prove to be a fitting foil. Only time will tell.

Both teams should be conscious that the final whistle on Sunday will not necessarily herald brighter prospects for the immediate future. An All-Ireland final without either Kerry or Dublin can’t be described as a “soft” All Ireland, but it is an opportunity that is unlikely to present itself again soon. After yesterday’s loss, Donal Og Cusack said that Cork couldn’t have any regrets about the manner of their defeat. “You can only have regret if you give up or you don’t perform, and that wasn’t how it was today”. McGeeney and Joyce will give little credence to such sentiment. They will come to Dublin this weekend in anticipation of victory rather than in defiance of defeat. They know the stakes: win and you take everything, lose and it’s another year ‘til Sunday.