What a day. What was supposed to be a ten minute eye screening morphed into a four and a half hour A & E pitstop. Now read on…
That, in turn, meant playing catch up on the day’s sport. To a certain extent, that goal was achieved. In that one made it back to HQ in time for the last race in Galway.
But that only tells a fraction of the chaos of the day. Whatever might have been salvaged from the day, the fact was that what should have been the highlight of the day’s tasks – Dunboyne’s Meath SFC opener against Skryne – had to be scrubbed from the agenda.
That said, not being there didn’t make listening to or dealing with yet another disastrous implosion down the home straight of a match the eventual losers should have had well wrapped up long before Andrew Canavan slid the ball into Jamie Dillon’s net.
Our own profligacy frustratingly entwined with an inefficiency in what one might call housekeeping allowed Mick O’Dowd’s team chalk up a victory that may have been seen as unlikely but was wholly deserved.
I don’t even want to contemplate the catastrophic effect the Thursday night trauma could have on the remainder of our season – not for a day or two anyway. At least partially due to the pile of other dung which was flung in this direction. From the most unexpected of sources.
Let’s start with the eye exam. Which never actually happened, because, despite several phone calls seeking clarity as to the wheelchair accessibility of the venue for the appointment, lo and behold, the wheelchair wouldn’t get within an ass’s roar of being able to get near the required piece of machinery.
Mind you, as if that wasn’t frustrating enough, whoever designed the building deserves a kick in the arse because how they expected somebody in a wheelchair to fit between a row of bolted seats and a concrete pillar takes some deciphering.
Anyway, the result of my attempts to do resulted in a disagreement between my shin – already rolling wounded after the latest bout of Cellulitus – and the metal frame of the chairs. Cue a blood spurt to rival anything the Trevi Fountain can do with water.
Now, at this point, it must be put on record that the severely stretched staff in Connolly Hospital couldn’t have been more helpful, accommodating or understanding. By the standards of the Irish health service, a four and a half hour round trip from arriving at the hospital to pulling back in the yard at home counts as a result. Simply because the scenes within resembled those in a sales ring at a cattle mart – patrons in, a few spins around the ring and out again.
Again, the point will be made that four and a half hours represents a pretty decent turnaround at the venue in question. However, personal angst felt in this seat was all about timing. Allow me to explain. As soon as we pulled out of the yard at home to head to what was originally an eye appointment which should have taken about 20 minutes tops, the farming neighbours were pulling into my oldest and most beloved viewing spot to tackle the spring barley. And, having already missed the cutting, baling and bale removal of the winter oats – owing to, yes, another f****ng medical appointment – you can imagine the kick in the cobblers it was to see that – as in fairness would have been expected to be the case – the shiny metal was well gone out of eyeshot when the return journey was undertaken.
Not even the Dinner Box from Supermac’s could soften the blow because, if you’ve been any length of time frequenting this webspace you’ll know that harvest spotting opportunities are now few and far between and only likely to become ever more so. That said, though it might seem scarcely possible, things were about to get even worse. That’s without even mentioning the football result referred to above.
You see, the only modicum of solace which was being attained from the pox of a day was what sounded like a thrilling victory for Noel Meade’s Helvic Dream in the Guinness Galway Hurdle. But of course, as we know all too well close to home, those whom the Gods wish to destroy, they first make mad.
Didn’t the Stewards in Ballybrit only go and reverse the result – demoting Helvic Dream and suspending the ‘winning’ rider Donagh Meyler for two days – awarding it instead to the Gordon Elliott-trained Ndaawi, with Jack Kennedy up. Before anybody jumps to the obvious, no, I am not talking through my pocket, I had both horses backed, so was in the pink either way. It just seems a lousy way to decide anything, let alone a race of such magnitude. What’s more, if the boot was on the other foot, one is not sure a commensurate reaction would have been in the offing.
Whatever about the football side of things – where we could be reasonably assumed to be up a certain creek and sans paddle, with sport in general and, hopefully, farming, it’s a long road that has no turn. I can but hope something will shortly come alone to fill the painful gaps. Sure isn’t it All Ireland Final weekend for us in these parts again. Who knows what adventures await.
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