About two hours prior to commencement of production of this piece, I came across a breaking news piece by my colleague Fergal Lynch. One photo and about 10 lines, but, possibly the most significant couple of paragraphs the Sports Editor has keyboarded in his near 30 years with the Meath Chronicle.
So momentous was it, in fact, that, had Gerry Shannahan not been on hand to snap photographic evidence of same, one would have had a hard time believing it to be true.
So many times we’ve had the big build up, only for the soul destroying let down. More false dawns than for a long suffering Mayo fan in an All Ireland Final.
But there it was. Gerry’s lens capturing the exciting reality. The machines have moved it. The wrecking ball (sic) has begun its chime to herald the passage of time. Turning a page on history. A blank canvas being prepared for new chapters.
The dugouts already gone. The open concrete seating to one side of the stand now a pile of rubble. Through a longer lens, the fabulous snapper captures the aforementioned old structure being euthanised, one wooden bench seat at a time.
It’s Pairc Tailteann, Jim, but not as we know it. Hopefully by the time it’s completed, it will be a piece of modern engineering that Captain James T. Kirk would indeed want Scottie to beam him up to.
So now that the old field has fallen silent, the din of heroics and heartache, joy and despair, effort and reward quelled to only the rubble through which it reverberated in its full form.
Thus, what better time would there be to explore another facet of the Pairc Tailteann story vis a vis yours truly via the avenue which, to be honest, has been most anticipated, since the idea of this reflective ramble first manifested.
From the seat, and viewpoint of the wheelchair. Well, me in it, you know what I mean. From the fertiliser bag flag, to my various viewing spots in PT over the years, to some of the best action seen from a neutral perspective in our HQ. In order words, matches not involving Dunboyne or Meath teams.
Now, in previous chapters of this creation, mention was made of the two incarnations of the disabled viewing facilities to the left of the stand.
Even before either of them, though, wheels ferrying yours truly about had two docking stations. On fertiliser flag day, the boss took me out of the manual wheelchair and I was actually seated on one of the concrete benches which went to their eternal reward today. In between himself and the late Sean Hobbs Snr, whose sons David and Damien were corner back and corner forward respectively on that day we came up short against Dunderry.
More often than not, though, I had what at that stage was the best seat in the house – inches from the sideline, in front of the stand beside the green bench from whence Co Board officers and the wonderful Pairc Tailteann tea ladies – Liz and Mary Allen and the late Mary Gartland – tended to take in the action.
Look, I know compensation culture and people trying to get a handy buck is not only rife but a pain in the arse for the vast majority of decent people. But I do understand why the Co Board had to pull the pin on letting wheelchair users and their helpers that close to the action.
However, I will be forever grateful to have accumulated some of my most treasured Pairc Tailteann memories from along the sideline. The Colm O’Rourke goal against Offaly referred to in a previous chapter, seeing Dunboyne winning the Meath SFC for the first time in 1998 and, a cherished if slightly oddball memory.
Back in the good old days when there were a few rounds of the National Leagues played before Christmas. When, for as long as Kepak were sponsoring the men of the Royal County, the yellow tracksuit tops and green bottoms would be wheeled out for whomever were the subs on the day.
Obviously, there would be an extra bit of kick to that if there were a few of our own lads or friends from other clubs in getting their audition. Naturally, after ’98 Sean had quite a few our crew in. David Gallagher, Ger McGovern, Tony Byrne, Ken Gannon and Leo Reilly. Enda McManus and Nigel Crawford would have been considered established by then.
Anyway, as was alluded to in an earlier part of the overall piece, it was sometime in the aftermath of the ’99 All Ireland win that Fintan – whose career was ironically in insurance before he devoted himself full time to the Meath Co Board – got cold feet about letting wheelchairs in on the sideline.
So, banished to the hill on the left hand side of the now former stand we were. That said, to give credit where it’s due, the theory behind the job was infrastructurally sound as the concrete ramp up to the plinth was the best such structure one has come across anywhere.
The problem, unfortunately, as was referred earlier, being that the plinth was a grand viewing spot on the day of a small crowd or if patrons in situ could be depended upon to behave themselves. In other words, not stand up out of or – worse still – on top of the concrete seats.
Thereby leaving those of us in the wheelchairs with a better hope of seeing white blackbirds than getting a fair view of the action. Though I’m almost sure I saw a pig flying over Brews Hill one day! Seriously though, the other major drawback to our original home on the hill was that it was as open as Grafton Street on a Christmas Eve. In other words, you were at the complete mercy of the climatic conditions on a given day.
Indeed, as my late father often remarked, we lost enough umbrellas up on that hill to keep a fair few bookies advertised at the front of the stand in Fairyhouse under cover. Not cheap, tacky ones either. Decent golf and/or bookmaker creations.
There was one other occasion which cannot be let go without a mention in a piece such as this relating to the first incarnation of wheelchair hill. On a day which ironically was a bloody heatwave. Yet the problem was an old chestnut, dry roasted on the day that was in it. Pun entirely intended.
That being the futile exercise of trying to get a view of the pitch through crowds that were about ten deep, and even when we were granted a pass for one day only down at side line level. But, such were the crowds of even disabled spectators, that the powers-that-be had no option but to let ‘wheelchair parking’ – in terms of how disabled patrons were actually going to be able to see the bloody match – into a free for all. Just plant yourself wherever you can fit. I can only imagine Fintan Ginnitty hopping mad in the rooms under the stand.
The upshot of the whole chaotic occasion being that da ended up lodging me in among the photographers – John Quirke, Billy Strickland, Seamus Farrelly and the late Joe Fanning – along the end line at the hospital end of Pairc Tailteann.
So now, I suppose it’s about time the reason for the hysteria in the county town that summer Sunday was revealed. Because, lads and lassies, that was the day in which what can only be described as Jayo Mania was born. That being the national and maybe international fascination and/or obsession with Jason Sherlock.
The Na Fianna and later St Oliver Plunketts/Eoghan Ruadh clubman having burst onto the scene with a decent Dublin Minor team in ’94, was to Gaelic football then what David Clifford is today.
Well, he was after that day in Pairc Tailteann. Being honest, I can’t remember a thing about the match, aside from the moment which iconised Jason Sherlock for life. Where he beat Laois full back Martin Dempsey out to the ball, rounding him and letting fly towards Fergal Byron in the Laois goal. But, not only did the ball hit the midlanders’ net, Sherlock’s boot ended up nestled beside it.
And so that, combined with the Outhere Brothers’ hit single Boom, Boom, Boom gave rise to the almost inevitable chants of Boom, Boom, Boom let me hear ya say Jayo.
Unfortunately for him, and Dublin as a consequence, suspicion is that Jayo believed his own hype. I know for a fact he was cock-of-walk and spewing all sorts of dung to a certain member of the Meath camp trying to get the person in question into a whole pot of soup.
Funnily enough, though, the same fella was quiet enough in the couple of years after, when faced with Darren Fay and Colm Coyle respectively.
Outside of Jayo day, the other occasion of an occurrence observed from an outside perspective in the Royal field which will resonate with the occupant of this seat forever more.
Dunshaughlin’s first annexation of the Keegan Cup in 2000.
Niall Kelly and I had just become properly acquainted – and from there other treasured friendships blossomed – but besides that, the football produced by Eamonn Barry’s side that day against Kilmainhamwood was and remains the finest display of football the one seeing eye here has ever witnessed in a county final.
And yes, I include my own club’s three victories in that. However, there is one Dunshaughlin-related recollection which must get an airing before moving on from this part of the roll down memory lane.
The conclusion of our neighbouring black and ambers’ trilogy of county titles at the beginning of this century. Specifically the last 90 seconds thereof.
As firstly Sweets (Kelly) deployed a trademark exocet missile from a line ball about 47m out to give the defending champions the lead for the first time in the game.
Then, before opponents Trim knew what had hit them, Ray Maloney took a piledriver for a goal only to see his effort crash off the crossbar before team mate David Crimmins was on hand to clip over the rebound as the insurance score.
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