To win just once: John Kelly on the All-Ireland and Mayo’s magical performance
I was feeling a bit tender on Sunday morning after an enjoyable evening at the Forest Fest in Emo, Co Laois, the previous night, but I summoned enough energy to nip into town to get the ingredients for the classic Croke Park picnic. With the ham sandwiches, Tayto and chocolate prepared to perfection, I made the trip up the M9 to attend the All-Ireland football final. Parking was helpfully provided by an old college pal living on Botanic Avenue nearby, but plans to meet friends in Kennedys pub were scuppered. The place was already packed to the rafters by 12.30pm and a 30-metre queue for entry had formed along Drumcondra Road. Next door, Fagan’s had already spewed a thirsty throng on to the footpaths, so we made a hasty retreat to the Millmount House, which back in my college days was the Prison Officer’s Club.Having taken on some liquid refreshments, I left in good time to make the short walk to Croke Park. Drumcondra was by now a sea of red-and-green-clad humanity.Our Lady’s Park could barely contain the invasion – and gardaí on duty struggled to contain the good-natured supporters as they began the last part of their pilgrimage to Jones Road. As I turned on to Clonliffe Road the pungent odour of sulphur dioxide filled the air as flares turned the sky red and green. READ MOREYou Langer: Colette Sheridan on a wonderful new book of Cork’s slang wordsPaddy Englishman: Frank McNally on a ‘multimillionaire playboy’ namesake with Monaghan rootsFrank McNally: Dublin is dirtier than ever and badly needs a downpourMayo’s Boheh Stone is a national monument, but a new step threatens its 6,000-year-old carvingsThere was a whiff of cordite in the air, too, as throw-in time approached. Mayo hopes and expectations were growing despite them being the rock on which generations of supporters’ dreams of glory had perished. I took my seat as the Galway jubilee team was being introduced to the crowd and it was then that the first wave of emotion flooded the great stadium. When Finn Clancy, the son of the recently deceased Paul, was called forward to represent his father, those present rose to their feet to acknowledge his family and the sustained applause reverberated around the pitch where Clancy had helped Galway to claim the Sam Maguire Cup twice.As the teams went about their warm-ups, I made short work of the ham sandwiches and prepared to settle in for the expected Kerry stroll to their 40th All-Ireland title. After 15 minutes it looked like that was the inevitable outcome and all around me Mayo heads were in their hands as another final appeared to be slipping away. I still had my weekend wristband pass for Forest Fest on and I briefly considered slipping away myself. But then the magic began and as Mayo closed to within a point at half-time, the dreaded but irrepressible Mayo optimism slowly returned. As the hope and noise levels grew in the second half, so did my feeling of impending doom. By now I was on conversational terms with the Mayo folk to my left and right. The last 20 minutes seemed to take an eternity, but what’s an eternity compared to a mere 75 years? With eight minutes to go, the Mayo man beside me exclaimed he felt they were going to hold out. I barely restrained myself from shouting at him not to jinx it. But hold out they did and when Seanie O’Shea’s last shot at a two-point equaliser fell short and Mayo came away with the ball, their long-suffering supporters realised their time had come. The crowd around me stood, not knowing whether to look at the pitch or the clock as the seconds ticked down to redemption. And just like that it was over. Seventy-five years of football heartache was cured with 70 minutes of scintillating play. It was my 55th time at an All-Ireland final, but I had never witnessed anything like the outpouring of raw emotion as I did at the final hooter. At the first strains of the Saw Doctors’ The Green and Red of Mayo, the crowd burst into song. The beautiful lyrics were sung with a fervour and an emotional release that only those who had endured 11 final defeats could muster. In 1995, Match of the Day pundit Alan Hansen dismissively declared that “you can’t win anything with kids”. Alex Ferguson and Manchester United proved him wrong then. Andy Moran and Mayo proved him wrong again on Sunday. The Mayo youngsters played without fear and, seemingly, without the burden of history that had weighed so heavily on previous Mayo teams. Kerry to their eternal credit carried themselves with the poise and dignity of champions, patiently enduring the celebrations and speeches in stark contrast to what unfolded at the end of the Fifa World Cup final between Spain and Argentina a week earlier. I’m not from Mayo and have little connection with the county, but I floated out of Croke Park on Sunday evening feeling better for what I had just witnessed. No more heartache. No more curses. Mayo for Sam.
