“Well Horse, what’s the craic?”

Well Horse, what’s the craic?

‘Apocalypse Now’, Francis Ford Coppola’s Vietnam war epic, is a story revered both for the ingenuity of its plot and the behind-the-scenes manner of its primary antagonist. Hollywood lore suggests that two-time Academy Award Winner Marlon Brando accepted the role on the understanding that he would shed 30 pounds in return for the princely sum of $10m. Brando, in an almost admirable demonstration of deference to obesity, showed up to filming even heavier, proceeding to mock Coppola by arranging for an assortment of cheeseburgers to follow him around set, gorging on them between takes to such excesses that the director had to edit his scenes so that the actor appeared in almost total darkness. The resounding irony of the actor’s approach is that his performance is heralded as one of the greats, adding further nuance and complexity to a subject matter not renowned for its candour. It is sad that this perennial greatness is not universal; indeed, no such crisis of irony could contrive to elevate or even excuse the contest between Kerry and Derry in Croke Park yesterday afternoon.

I was excited walking into Croke Park after my home county’s brave and magnificent performance on Saturday. I met up with an old friend for the occasion, a Balinteer St John’s man who has been described by the great Michael Dara MacCauley as “the politest player he ever marked”. Within five minutes of throw in he was poisoning my ears with a profanity laced acid tongue. Even the purest of us have limits, every man has his breaking point.

Conor Glass, a player whose aerial prowess and all-round majesty have the capacity to draw “ooohs” and “aahhs” from tight lipped men who generally reserve sounds of such musicality for the heat of passion, set up shop in front of his own full back line and proceeded to move like he was wading through concrete. David Clifford looked disinterested, the hands on his hips accentuating his customarily heavy gait. This is the Mickey Harte effect.

I actually felt a bit sorry for the Derry manager, standing there on the sideline in tracksuits so tight they probably wouldn’t have raised eyebrows five kilometres further south in Marlay Park. Indeed, the quality of football he mandated was probably more offensive than any of the drunken indignities that took place at Longitude last weekend. My companion, between foul-mouthed tirades, compared him to Joe Biden, standing on the sideline inanimate and helpless, accompanied by his ever-loyal accomplice Gareth “Horse” Devlin. Yes, we also discussed the wrongs “Horse” must have perpetrated in a past life to be nicknamed “Horse”. The conversation also touched on John “Scan” Concannon, the Galway assistant coach. I don’t mind the moniker “Scan”, there’s a sentiment there, an affection. “Horse”? To what end? To what greater good? I digress.

Think of the viewer as Francis Ford Coppola, hoping for a spectacle, an occasion, something even mildly deserving of a fluctuating heart rate. Mickey was Marlon Brando, standing on the sideline, only taking is hands out of his pockets to gorge on cheeseburgers and maintain an indelible middle finger salute to the horrified onlookers.

The frustrating thing is that Mickey Harte has coached some of the most entertaining teams in the history of the game. The Tyrone team of the noughties thrived on intensity, oxygen and submitting opponents with pressure. His Derry team have the capacity to demonstrate these values. At times, Shane McGuigan motioned to loosen the shackles, dragging rudimentary full back Jason Foley out of the scrum, where he is comfortable; a man had rode up on horseback and handed a letter to the executioner – is it a reprieve, a stay of execution? No, Conor Glass has stuck his hand in the air and dictated that any semblance of sting be taken out of the attack. “Stop kicking the ball Shane”, Glass beseeches him, “Mickey and “Horse” might give out to us in the dressing room. I don’t want to be given out to by Horse”. “You’re dead right, my bad”, replies McGuigan. “Do you know why he’s called Horse?”, he adds.

Conservative tactics defy reason when they are not paired with bravery, aggression and intent. Too much of the contemporary discourse relates to management and players having a “duty of care” to the game. Nonsense. They have a duty of care to win. Mickey and Horse should know that yesterday’s performance is not conducive with success, it never will be. Why they still insist on employing these tactics is one mystery, the other mystery is what one has to do to be called “Horse”.