Joe Brolly tells a story about the late former Derry manager Eamonn Coleman pulling a newspaper cutting out of his back pocket minutes before the team were due to take the field for a crunch Ulster SFC encounter. The cutting was an ‘article’ in which a player – possibly Tony Scullion but I can’t swear to it – was seemingly lacerated by the ‘journalist’ in question. Coleman’s methodology was simple – get Scullion’s dander up in order to get the best out of ч. Duly achieved. The brilliant corner back being one of the major lynchpins of the Oak Leaf County’s historic All Ireland SFC win.
Different manager. Differenнt dressing room. Same scenario. More subtly done. “Galway are a ‘nice’ team/Fancy Dans can’t do the simple things well”. John O’Mahony’s response: “Now, I’m not a Galway man, but I have a fierce loyalty to this group. Lads, there’s only one fu**ing answer for that!”!
For me, that was the seminal moment in Pat Comer’s brilliant, now poignant biopic of the Galway senior football team of 1998, A Year ‘Til Sunday. Coming as it did at the team meeting between the drawn and replayed Connacht Finals.
At half time in said replay, after O’Mahony’s men had a bit of a lead, but should have been further in front, which their manager reminded them “We played them off the field early on, and we can do it again, and again, and again, but we’ve got to have the fu**ing guts”!
Those two examples were John O’Mahony at his most animated. Normally, the humble Messiah’s greatness lay in his quiet approach. The man just emitted an aura which made it very easy to understand how players would buy into what he was selling.
Members of the great Kerry team of the eight All Ireland wins have been known to attest that one of Mick O’Dwyer’s many great strengths as a manager was his ability to convince his players they were the best in the country in their position, bar none.
It’s not difficult to imagine O’Mahony having a similar effect in Leitrim. After all, with the greatest of respect to the county with which I will forever have a poignant love affair, they weren’t exactly pulling up trees before the Kilmovee man’s odyssey began with them in 1992. Though in fairness to all concerned, there had been discernible hints of relative progress under the well travelled, highly respected PJ Carroll before the former Mayo boss took the reins.
That said, for Leitrim to win one championship game at the time would’ve been considered achievement enough in itself, but for them to go on and take out the perceived big three in the west – Roscommon, Galway (in Tuam) and Mayo – in the Connacht Final – would’ve been nothing short of seismic. Delivering the Nestor Cup to the banks of the Shannon for the first time since 1927. Fittingly with the captain from way back then, Tom Gannon, on hand to help Declan Darcy lift Nestor back into green and gold ribbons.
Leitrim – M. McHugh; F. Reynolds, S. Quinn, J. Honeyman; N. Moran, D. Darcy, G. Flanagan; P. Kieran, P. Donoghue; M. Quinn, G. Dugdale, P. Kenny; A. Rooney, C. McGlynn, L. Conlon. Subs – B. Breen for Dugdale, J. Ward for Conlon.
Yes, they did lose to Dublin in the All Ireland semi final, but their very being there was the sporting story of that season and one which resonated for years thereafter. Indeed, maybe it still does. From blessedly getting to know countless people from the lovely county over the years, a recurring common denominator in relation to ’94 is a profound sense of regret that they didn’t kick on and beat Galway in Pairc Sean Mac Diarmada, their own field, the following year. For it was well within their grasp. Until what became an iconic point by Sean Og De Paor left them with shattered dreams rather than the pleasant ones Larry Cunningham sang so eloquently about. As a dear departed Longford friend of mine used to quip, “It took one of our lads to sing it properly”!
The Galway defeat signalled the sort of natural end of John O’Mahony’s time in that role, but it was his next managerial appointment, ironically to the Tribesmen, which really cemented his place in the pantheon of greatness among GAA managers. In some ways, what he achieved where the fields lie low was, obviously, you might say, even more remarkable than leading Leitrim from their sporting slumber to their promised land of a provincial title.
Right, so guiding a team to a lifting of Sam Maguire (or Liam Mac Carthy) is rightly regarded as the pinnacle of sports management achievement in this country, but in O’Mahony’s case with Galway, certainly in terms of their 1998 success, it deserves even higher commendation than usual as he managed to awaken the prototype sleeping giants of the game from what was, in fairness, for a county with their talent and tradition, a scandalous slumber of 32 years.
Apart from the supreme motivational powers already referenced in this piece, the other factor which glared through Comer’s consummate collation like a tractor beacon was his attention to detail. Whether that was in his collection and use of data from training sessions or his almost forensic, player-by-player analysis of forthcoming opponents. Their mannerisms, what scenarios you must avoid leaving them open to and, conversely, what moves to make to take them out of their comfort zones.
Example, during the team meeting the night before his charges took on Kildare in the Sam Maguire showdown, the final debrief – “Kevin (Walsh) and Sean (O’Domhnaill), their two – Niall Buckley and Willie McCreery – will pull completely to the wings on our kickouts and then come charging in from both wings to try and disrupt ye boys. At no stage do we want a scenario where both of them are jumping and we’re standing looking at each other”. ‘Inches’, before Al Paccino ever made the term famous.
Among the voluminous tributes which poured in following John’s untimely passing last weekend, the point was made by somebody that he seemed to have ‘spies’ everywhere. In other words, not only was he meticulous in the preparation of his own charges, he was fully aware of what forthcoming opponents had up their sleeves as well.
Unfortunately, for reasons which greatly sadden me. No secret has ever of the privilege that’s felt from being able to get to know and befriend those who were once heroes watched from afar.
In 2001, between the ‘older’ lads and those who came in from the Leinster U-21 FC winning side of that year, I was in the humbling position of being able to number practically the entire panel as personal friends. After all, the U-21s that year – captained by David Gallagher – were my own age group.
Anyway, at some point during the summer, when it became obvious we were going to go fairly deep into the championship, one of the players, who for now shall remain nameless, said to Brian O’Rourke, formerly of Dunshaughlin and Blanchardstown Renault, to bring me down to one of the training sessions.
Now, I’d been into training a few times over the years, but this invite was especially cherished given the personal connections. As it happened, chances to take up the invite came only days before the lads were due to take on Galway in the All Ireland Final.
Eight days to be exact. Which meant that it happened to be the session in which the last training match before the season climax against the maroon and white. Whether Brian or the invitee knew this at the time I don’t know.
What was abundantly clear, though, was that Sean (Boylan) was seriously p****d off that we had got in. However, what left me desperately upset was the fact I became aware that Sean had given a particular player an awful bollicking for ‘inviting’ me to what was a Behind Closed Doors internal match.
But here’s the thing, the player singled out by the boss had absolutely NOTHING to do with the whole thing. It was actually the team captain who extended the invite. There’d be no bollicking dispensed in that direction though.
However, here’s what really cut me up about the whole mess. Remember what was said about John O’Mahony having spies everywhere? Well, while we were making our way in at the back of the stand, what did we encounter?
FOUR people bedecked in GALWAY JERSEYS already in there. Who ‘invited’ them? Because it sure as hell wasn’t us!
Whether or not the rival camp ever gleaned anything from the unlikely excursion there’s no way of ever knowing. What can be said, however, is that, wherever O’Mahony got the notion, on match day, he came up with one positional switch – so simple it was almost not obvious – yet for some reason which I have been able to figure out, it completely flummoxed the Meath think tank to the point that at no stage did they try to deal with it.
The masterstroke? Having Tommy Joyce sacrifice his own game, literally hugging whatever sideline Mark O’Reilly happened to be domiciled near, thus leaving a virtual acre of ground for the Galway forward’s brother Padraic to run into and dispense to Darren Fay the one and only roasting the Trim colossus ever endured during his glory-laden career in green and gold.
How or why Meath never did anything to even try and remedy something that was as obvious as a bull in a China Shop I have never been able to figure out.
On the other hand, O’Mahony copped something that could garner his side the the necessary extra inches. Class. A great man taken who had so much more to give. May he rest in peace.
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