In the opening instalment of this sojourn down memory lane, no secret was made of the fact that my ‘relationship’ with Pairc Tailteann got off to the most disastrous start possible. Between ‘Gate gate’ in 1991, my own personal flag disaster of county final day of 1990 and my initial viewing of a Meath match thence (1992 Leinster SFC v. Laois). you would think things could scarcely get much worse.
Oh but they could. And did. I myself had wistfully hoped that Dunboyne’s IFC win on the old field could have marked the turning of a corner in the horror of a year that was 1992, But oh no, as if to put the tin hat on a dung cart fall of nightmares, when myself and da made the usual excursion to the homestead for the final NFL game of that calendar year, we arrived in good time, and got our usually desired parking spot. Which back then was in front of Navan O’Mahonys clubhouse.
Only to discover that we – or to be more pertinent I – forgot something fairly, eh, important. The bloody wheelchair! Allow me to explain. You see, back then, if motorised transport was required, standard operational procedure was for yours truly to be located in the front passenger seat of our Japanese import Toyota Corolla with a fold up manual wheelchair in the boot.
Needless to say one wasn’t flavour of the month with the bossman on the evening in question, but, the only saving grace was that the fare wasn’t much better than the entertainment value of a paint drying contest. Final score – Meath 1-04… Clare… 0-07. Tommy Dowd accounting for Meath’s entire tally.
But there were so many great days following heroes in green and gold. Many of whom have become treasured friends.
Yet, from all of the forests worth of paper which could be devoted to recalling Meath memories in the Pairc, there is only one place this section of our recollective journey could possibly commence.
The last Saturday in June 2002. Meath against Louth in a ‘Back Door’ game. Now, from a young age, it was bred into me to be wary of the crowd in red and white.
With good reason too. Without straying into the dark side of matters, yet, consider that exactly a week after Mick O’Brien’s Meath had stunned Dublin in the National League final of 1975, the same ensemble were dumped out of the Leinster SFC in Drogheda.
Mind you, it wasn’t the only time the Wee County were party poopers extraordinaire. 16 years after Meath’s mid May mishap, Micko Mania – which had engulfed Kildare and suffocated the rest of us since the great man had brought his unique brand of madness to the broad plains of The Curragh – was temporarily but abruptly busted when two late Stefan White goals left their summer as short as their grass.
Then, on this scorching summer Saturday night on Brews Hill, the Royal County, playing their first ever ‘Back Door’ match, were rocked to their core as Louth twice found a way past the great Cormac Sullivan. Through Mark Stanfield and Ollie McDonnell.
My late uncle Joe Geoghegan – a Meath fanatic even though born, reared and living in Leixlip, he was very proud of the fact his father and mother were natives of Dunshaughlin and Dunderry respectively, turned to me with about eight minutes to go and said “C’mon, we’re bunched here, we’ll get out early and beat the traffic”!
To say his proposal was rejected would be akin to musing you shouldn’t wear a Celtic jersey to Ibrox. Those lads didn’t know when they were beat. It is a quality you would hope Meath teams will eternally have.
Moreover, as is often the case in these situations, the tightest of corners required some unsung heroes to engineer extrication from same. And, maybe Cormac ‘Spud’ Murphy was the patented unsung hero from which all others were hewn. No Meath player had a more chastening afternoon in the horror show that was the 1995 Leinster Final and, as if that wasn’t bad enough, the St Pat’s clubman then incurred the dreaded ACL injury.
However, having overcome the dastardly knee injury, ‘Spud’ played his part in the All Ireland triumph of 1999, one of the great characters in Meath football was still at the coalface of this white hot battle. Yes, Richie Kealy had his finest evening ever in a Meath jersey, and Graham Geraghty, well, did Graham things, but, prior to any of that, it was a lung-busting charge up the field which led to either (a) one of Richie’s brace of goals or (b) Spud pointing himself which ignited the furnace which culminated in GG scoring the best goal the old ground ever saw.
It’s hard to know where to begin picking the bones out of that night of nights. The fact that it was the biggest crowd many people had ever seen in Pairc Tailteann – almost certainly more than was legal, the fact that Graham had left Best Man duties at a wedding in Wexford, courtesy of the Kepak helicopter, and almost immediately jumped back into the belly of the metal bird after sending the entire county a delirium that must have shook the nearby hospital to its very foundations.
Then there was the most unfortunate proclamation by Gerry Kelly of LMFM about it being “A great, historic night for Louth football, with 72 minutes and 43 seconds gone” (they hadn’t beaten us in the Championship since ’75 at that stage) along with the previously mentioned Stefan White on co-commentary before the Best Man proved just why he was and will always be exactly that.
There are two iconic photos from that night which will remain forever etched into Irish sporting folklore. One, obviously, that of himself whipping the jersey off and secondly, an absolutely crestfallen Paddy Carr slumped to his knees and being consoled by Sean at full time.
Now, because there always has to be one, the Louth whinge on that occasion was that Armagh official Brendan Gorman played over the announced allotted injury time – which he admittedly did – but would they not have been better off pondering how, and more pertinently, why Simon Gerrard didn’t put Ollie Murphy, ball and the whole lot out over the endline before Robin got the pigskin to Batman to complete the great escape Vol. 2002 for Meath.
Or indeed, rather than Joe Sheridan playing the whistle like every player is taught to from the time they are able to kick a ball, why didn’t they query what JP Rooney thought he was going to achieve by kicking the ball away after the award of the free which eventually led to Joe’s goal.
Anyway, enough about the noisy, nosey neighbours. Regrettably, though lately they’ve loaded us with plenty of heartache no matter where our paths gave crossed, it should in fairness be pointed out that there were of plenty other teams who got away with some reprehensible skulduggery against our lads on our own sod.
More than one lot thereof enabled by refereeing that was incompetent at best or downright biased at worst. One such occasion on which Michael Murphy (not our one), the biggest referee canvasser in the GAA, must have set some sort of record for playing in and refereeing the same game, as our lads were rode out of a Saturday night Qualifier classic by Murphy’s constant manipulation of the match officials.
In one way, though, I would actually doff my cap to the Donegal legend foe being ballsy and confident enough to work the system to his own advantage and that of his colleagues and the collective cause. Whilst at the same time bemoaning I despair that none of our lot have the nous and/or street credit to do likewise for us.
However, as bad as being rode out of that encounter by the law of Murphy was, the following year’s robbery by Tyrone was even worse. Because it was not only allowed by the match referee but enabled. Indeed, Paddy Neilan produced such a display of ineptitude and incompetence that night, how HE wasn’t disciplined or banned thereafter still baffles me to this day.
Let us not weep over the injustices however, rather, develop another layer of thick skin and stubborn obduracy from having rebounded from them to prosper. On days such as the one on which Fermanagh were overcome under Andy McEntee’s stewardship to seal a return to Div. 1 of the National League.
Or the day Offaly were eventually dealt with after a very slow start and and the match was halted by a thunder storm about five minutes before half time. Colm O’Rourke didn’t start that day, when he came on there was a glimpse of the old magic which hooked me and so many more likewise to the GAA addiction.
His long time sidekick Brian Stafford found he of the blue bandage with a peach of a pass and my hero who has become a treasured friend who did the needful and planted the ball past Ken Furlong just as he had done against his father Martin in the past.
Though if one wanted to, as only seems right, finish this part of the ode to our theatre of dreams on a positive, you need only maintain cognisance of how the air of positivity which enveloped the county during Robbie Brennan’s first season in charge had the old place rocking like it hadn’t in years.
Never more so than against Cork in our first game in the All Ireland Series, when the lads ensured that the era of the ‘old’ Pairc closed with a Championship performance worthy of the occasion.
Hopefully now, sooner rather than later, the blank canvas will be ready for a new chapter of history to begin.
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