MAYO…1-20
KERRY…1-17
Miley Fahey, Martin O’Grady, John O’Mahony, Charles J. Haughey, Monsignor Horan, wherever ye are up there, I hope ye pulled an all nighter the last two. If there really is such a thing as the afterlife, I hope ye are basking in joy, relief or whatever the hell other sort of elation is going in the land of eternal happiness.
To the Mayo people still very much in the life of yours truly, Bernie Courtney, Bernie Moran, Faheys, Lavins, Conways, Kilcullens, Thompsons, Twitter (X) followers, Willie Lyons, Moyles families (plural), Paddy Maloney, McHales, O’Briens and Lord knows whomever else from the land of green and red I’ve met along the way – do not pinch yourselves. Do not adjust your TV sets. This is not a drill.
As the late, great Micheal O’Muircheartaigh pondered prior to the very last kickout of the Meath-Dublin saga of 1991 – “Is what we have just seen real? It is real” No doubt those words uttered by the great man from Dun Sion are being whispered in stunned disbelief throughout Mayo and wherever green and red blood flows since circa 5pm on Sunday evening.
From Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney, to President Joe Biden, Noel Gallagher to Kevin Kilbane and Troy Parrott – nobody, truly nobody, with any semblance of Irishness or Mayoness in them is in any doubt as to the significance of what transpired on a few acres of a field in the middle of an often sorrow inducing concrete jungle.
With the country having been in drought for the majority of the past month, there were enough tears shed in and around Croke Park, throughout the county of Mayo, the country and the globe to overflow the Liffey. By Mayo folk, Kerry folk and those of us with no connection to either county.
Simply overcome by the emotion of history unfolding as we watched. But this was more. More than the winning of a competition. More than the lifting of a trophy. This was the liberation of a people. The burial of nearly a century of ghosts. The unchaining of generations from hurt and heartache and hopelessness.
Let nobody ever doubt again, there’s always hope. Always. And, as John Maughan – a man who took more than his fair load of heartache and derision over the years for the common cause – put it, wasn’t it written in the stars that extrication from the doldrums, when it did arrive, would do so in a manner most unexpected.
But then, should the last adjective have applied? For all they’ve been through, all they’ve been mocked, insulted, all the ‘What Ifs’, Mayo teams, managers, officers, supporters, have kept on keeping on. Picking themselves up off the canvas. Going again. Steadfast in the belief that one day the glass ceiling would succumb to the wrecking ball.
At last it has. For John Maughan, Brian McDonnell, Jack O’Shea, Pat Holmes, Peter Forde, Martin Carney, James Horan, Stephen Rochford, Mickey Moran, John Morrison, John O’Mahony, Kevin McStay and every single other being who gave everything of themselves to try and scale the mountain top.
Not to mention the players, great players, who gave significant fractions of their lives chasing the Holy Grail but never snagged it. TJ Kilgallon, Dermot Flanagan, Noel Durkan, Liam Mac Hale, Willie Joe (No second name required), ‘Larry’ Finnerty, Kevin O’Neill, James Nallen, James Horan, the Mortimer brothers, Lee Keegan, Colm Boyle, Donie Vaughan, Alan Dillon TD, Jason Doherty, Keith Higgins and Ciaran McDonald, each and every one of you owns a bit of the historic victory.
As do hundreds, maybe thousands more, whose names I do not. So too the people of Leitrim, who gave both John O’Mahony and Andy Moran their grounding in management at various stages surrounding their contributions to Irish sport’s latest story for the ages. A word too for the folk in the Banner County of Clare, where John Maughan cut his managerial teeth by producing nothing short of a sporting miracle in 1992 as Seamus Clancy, Colm Clancy, Noel Roche, Francis McInerney, Gerry Killeen et al stunned Kerry to win the Munster SFC.
There may not have been a cow milked in Clare for a week back then, but, methinks there may not be a piece of McHale farm machinery made for at least a month!
Now, it almost seems unjust to single people out given the gargantuan development in Irish sporting history Mayo’s victory is. Though gut feeling is I will not be alone in pinpointing the addition of Daragh Beirne and Kobe McDonald as the missing pieces which finally afforded the champions of 1936, 1950 and 1951 the extra inches required to add 2026 to the above shortlist.
Indeed, this writer may be going against the grain a bit here, but, I would venture the former’s addition has been even more significant to Andy Moran engineering the most unlikely of triumphs than that of the latter.
Not only due to the prominent role the flame haired flyer played in their semi final victory over Louth, but even more so as it was he more than anyone else to calm the panic attack which surely manifested when what was probably the nightmare start for those who came out of the west.
That is to say, Kerry racing into a lead of 1-05 to 0-01 before 15 minutes had elapsed. David Clifford scoring a goal only he could.
In the immediate aftermath of which, in every corner in Mayo and many across the nation and the globe where Mgr Horan’s flock assembled, there had to be a collective gasp of ‘Oh no, not again’.
Conversely, mind you, there was an almost detectable OH NO from the Mayo players, as in, there was no way they were going to let the same old thing happen again.
And, spearheaded by the magnificent Jack Carney, Ryan O’Donoghue and Beirne, they ensured it didn’t. The first pair landing monstrous two pointers (Carney’s being Mayo’s first score on eight minutes) with the third member of the tri-axle attack proving deadly accurate with his trusty left peg as he and his colleagues effected a manic high press that would leave Jurgen Klopp jealous.
Sometimes, though, it’s the smallest of signs. Little things that happen, or don’t, which hint that it may be your day. Exhibit A in that category – a stumbling Sam Callanan somehow sustaining sufficient balance to persuade a ball over the bar which got Moran’s men back to parity on the run in to half time.
Even though Joe O’Connor clipped Kerry back in front as the hooter blared, one thing you could be assured of was that any team Andy Moran had anything to do with would not have the word ‘panic’ in their lexicon. A point endorsed when the brilliant Beirne flashed over an equaliser within seconds of outstanding match referee – it’s not very often you see those words consecutively – Martin McNally getting affairs underway again.
Then however, the 19-year-old did the most important thing any Mayo footballer has since Sean Flanagan last lifted Sam Maguire on the county’s behalf three quarters of a century ago. That being his caressing of the ball (just about) past Jason Foley on the Kerry line.
That said, in many ways, the youngster’s cheeky finish wasn’t the story of that phase of play. That simply had to be Belmullet’s O’Donoghue crafting a hybrid of Diego Maradonna’s ‘Different Class’ moment against England and Owen ‘Mugsy’ leaving half of Dublin on their arses before blowing the net out of it.
Following that, for a county that has produced a multiplicity of sporting stars across numerous codes, David McBrien rose and produced a tap down as good as any Caelan Dorris ever manufactured in a lineout which allowed teenage kicks do the rest.
Mind you, I would venture that of even greater importance than anything up to that point was that the white knights managed to maintain their concentration and composure after the old ground was hit by its first tremor. Not only that but – without wanting to be too drastic about it – standing on the opponent’s throat when they were in the ascendancy.
Which manifested as majestic long range scores from Carney, O’Donoghue and McDonald from a dead ball to leave the most gallant of warriors a half dozen up with the clock on their side. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? Of course not, it was Mayo we were talking about.
Thus, almost on cue, the brothers Clifford began to rain long range missiles over Jack Livingstone’s crossbar and, almost eerily aptly, the ghosts of the old bacon factory in Castlebar could be heard greasing up the slicer. Indeed, you sensed they had given the throttle a few tugs when Jordan Flynn – with a goal or point seemingly begging to be executed – came away with nothing.
But this day was different. As Kerry went in search of salvation of their own behinds, Mayo’s untainted breed, Livingstone, McBrien, Enda Hession and Kobe, pulled down a grenade but – rather than disarming it – they pulled the pin and got it to the man Miley Fahey forever called Tommie Goal (Conroy), who could, and on a different day might have, lived up to his billing, but instead, crossed the final T and dotted the final I to close the book on the greatest story that Irish sport has ever seen.
Amidst apocalyptic scenes, the likes of which have surely never been seen before, one couldn’t but think of Ger Canning’s words at the same juncture of the 1992 incarnation. “Is this to be it for Donegal? It would be a victory that will give heart to an awful lot of teams around the country”.
This was it for Mighty Mayo. And it should indeed be a signpost for many other teams. None more so than Meath. Who were, let’s face it, two atrocious refereeing decisions away from ending Mayo’s summer on June 20th. Against that, though, Andy Moran and his fellow mentors have patented the template by which others can do exactly the same.
***
From an alternative angle however, even as a neutral, it would be ventured that a small quantity of the ocular fluid excreted in the moments after the liberation may have been out of a realisation that he who beyond question excavated the extra few inches required to get them over the line might never appear in green and red again, having been attracted to the bottom end of the world.
Now, I’m not going to be a hypocrite here. If I wasn’t depending on a set of wheels to navigate my way through life, given how family circumstances currently sit, I would probably be farming in either upstate New York or the corn belt of Ohio. Hence I do not in the slightest begrudge the likes of Kobe or Eamonn Armstrong or the Wall sisters or anybody else for that matter.
Greatest upset felt in this seat stems from (a) that there is either an inability or unwillingness to properly remunerate players so as to dissuade them from heading to the rear end of the planet and (b) the losses they will be to club and county and the chances of success that will disappear with them.
For now though, there are a group of footballers west of the Shannon who, if they were never again to lace up a pair of boots, will equally never have to put their hands in their pockets again. I don’t know if (m)any of the Mayo entourage would ever have heard of the legendary American colleges basketball coach, the late Jimmy Valvano, but, they are the living epitome of his mantra – “Don’t give up, don’t ever give up”.
Mayo’s history makers are:
J. Livingstone; J. Coyne (Capt), D. McHugh, E. McGreal; S. Callanan (0-1), D. McBrien (0-1), E. Hession; B. Tuohy, J. Carney (0-4, 2x2PT); D. O’Connor, P. Towey, J. Flynn (0-1); D. Beirne (1-3), R. O’Donoghue (0-5, 2x2PT), K. McDonald (0-3, 1×45).
T. Conroy (0-2) for Towey, M. Ruane for Tuohy, R. Brickenden for McGreal, P. Durcan for Hession.
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