One day what is probably a scary length of time ago, Noel Meade saddled four winners in what I think was Naas. The last of which was a horse called Parsons Pistol. Owned by Mullingar hotelier Bobby Bagnall, Pistol was a decent handicap chaser who bagged his fair share of dough but there’s no doubt the equine apple of Bobby’s eye – and those of his trainer and this punter – was Pandorama.
A huge, strapping, chestnut, Pandorama was every bit as good as contemporary crack staying chasers of the era. The only caveat with Panda was that, because he was such an artillery tank of a specimen, cut in the ground was essential to ensure his safe conveyance.
Now, Pistol wouldn’t have been in the same stratosphere in terms of ability but still it was he who came back to mind most recently when ingesting the latest load of dung stirring scour spewing from GPA mouthpiece-in-chief Tom Parsons. Somebody make sure he’s never left with a pistol – the only target he might hit is his own foot.
Look, I’m all for players being properly looked after, always have been. But, at inter county level, the only way to properly achieve that is professionalism. Not dictating the fixtures calendar, not being OK with managers being paid (and players not) and not coming across as militant and talking about preserving amateurism, player drain etc.
Yours truly has been banging the player drain drum for more than two decades now. Nothing will ever change my view that professionalism is the only satisfactory remedy to that though. After all, why do players shun GAA for the likes of AFL, AFLW, Rugby, Soccer and, Lord help us, American Football? The lure of the opportunity to operate in a professional sporting environment. Offer them the opportunity to do it at home and they won’t go anywhere. We’d all love that opportunity in our chosen fields, but fear of change and begrudgery often stifle it.
I will say this for Parsons’ latest pontifications, the seven month season is not the worst apple to ever fall from a tree. But it’s not something which would want to be dived into too quickly either. To me, January to July scheduling is just irrational. Firstly because, as one has been saying here ad nauseum, all the split season in its current odious form does is guarantee Michael O’Leary et al another scarcely required windfall.
Aside from that, here’s my other major bone of contention with the dastardly split season. For something we were sold a pup about under the guise of being to the betterment of the ‘ordinary’ club player, it absolutely isn’t. If it were, there is absolutely no way the playing of hurling championship finals at club level in October, November and possibly even December would be tolerated. That’s without even mentioning those who actually win county championships and then go on to represent the county at Provincial and possibly All Ireland level.
Hurling is undoubtedly the greatest sport in the world. But playing it in anything other than its optimum conditions – short grass, dry, fast ball and helmets glistening in the sun. Anything else is only doing the grand old game a disservice.
Having just said the above, mind you, I will always be of the view that, for all its infrastructural deficiencies in Pairc Tailteann it remains one of the premier playing surfaces in the country. However, even the guardians of the Pairc are only human.
Thus, even the reliable Royal County sod was visibly in need of a bit of TLC by the time the hurlers of Longwood, Killyon, Ratoath and Kiltale took to her on Sunday last for the SHC B and SHC finals respectively.
Now, I was unable to make it to the computer in time to see the B final – a 0-13 apiece draw between the first two teams mentioned above – while tired sod or not, holders Ratoath and galant Kiltale side produced one of the best displays of hurling the one seeing eye here has ever ingested within the confines of our own county.
Does age trump beauty? Well, what we can say is that hatchet-faced auld Trump espouses everything but beauty. Whilst conversely, Peter Durnin seems to proceed like fine wine, well matured beef or any other such analogy one cares to employ.
As if racking up 1-4 from play wasn’t staggering enough from the 38-year-old hurl maker who is in pursuance of an eighth Jubilee Cup souvenir also produced the nearest hurling will ever see to Diego Maradonna’s ‘Different Class’ goal against England. The great pity being that the maroon and white were unable to apply a commensurate finish to Los Pumas.
Indeed, almost immediately after Petie had filled the Ratoath onion bag, Andrew Darmody’s side broke upfield and the prolific Cian Rogers took a shot with which he will no doubt say he was going for goal with, but the reality is that it was probably an undercooked point effort which caught everybody – possibly even Rogers himself – on the hop and beat Shane McGann. No easy feat.
To be fair, John Donoghue’s Kiltale responded only as one would have expected them to, with a phalanx of points from Jacksie Regan, Durnin, Hugh O’Sullivan, James Kelly and the brilliant Jack Bannon. Before former (?) Meath footballers Ross Ryan and Bryan McMahon traded goals. All of which actually left the underdogs ahead by 2-12 to 2-10 at the alteration of ends.
That said, when the equally excellent Gavin McGowan bagged the first of his brace of ‘majors’ it gave the blue and gold a shot of momentum which appeared to have the sailing towards title retention as the magnificent duo of Daithi McGowan and Podge O’Hanrahan put over a plethora of points.
With Regan being unusally error prone with his dead ball striking, when Darragh Kelly drove forward and pointed twice in rapid succession, it appeared that, having been absent therefrom for 63 years, Jubilee had no intention of leaving Ratoath just yet.
It still mightn’t of course, but they need not make room in the trophy cabinet just yet. You don’t stay on the road – and productively so – for as long as Kiltale have been without having the personnel and nous to extricate themselves from many a bind.
On the first half of that, it meant wheeling out well travelled warriors such as Anthony Forde and Mark O’Sullivan and Philly Garvey to set about a salvation operation.
And indeed their input did have the desired effect. As, with Regan remedying the misfiring malfunction and the O’Sullivan brothers, Hugh and Mark, pointing, it appeared Jubilee’s visit to the environs of Fairyhouse was going to be a fleeting one. Especially when Feargal McCabe got on the end of a rapidly constructed move, slipped the ball past Colm O’Riordan and surely had Iarla Hughes practising his speech making at the other end of the field.
However, then the merits of not having the countdown timer and hooter in hurling came to Ratoath’s aid when, as the maroon and white were understandably elated at – as they saw it – leaving themselves within touching distance of victory, O’Riordan got his puc out away and it eventually found its way to Podge O’Hanrahan.
Whence, if there was ever a case of the right man in the right place at the right time this was it. Upon receipt of the missile, in a phase of play commensurate to that executed by Maurice Fitzgerald against the Dubs in Thurles a quarter century ago. The only difference being that Podge’s salvation shot came from open play out under the terrace.
So here, I’m just going to say it, the best game of hurling I have ever witnessed in Meath got the ending it deserved. It would have been a travesty had either side lost. It just seems such a great pity that their individual and collective brilliance had to wait until a tired sod at a sleepy time of year to get its showcase. Split season my ar*e.
Leave a Reply