A day of contrasting emotions
“To say that hurling is a religion in these parts is no exaggeration. They live and breathe the game around here. Football might as well be a million miles away” People and Places
Michael Commins IN the land where hurling is king, I tasted the last of the summer wine. In the rich rolling lands of the south east, life echoes to a different beat. This is clash of the ash country where some of the great Irish rivers roll through the gentle and fertile lands. The Barrow, the Nore and the Suir, with the Blackwater to the west and the Slaney to the east. Majestic lands that would find a sure home in the ‘Big Country’.
Along with over 82,000 others, I had attended the All-Ireland Finals in Croke Park on the first Sunday in September. And I had a song in my heart for this Waterford team in recent years, hoping that one day the Déise would sip from the cup that had passed them by since 1959. A proud tribe who love their hurling with such passion and far too long for them to be away from the top table.
And when the Waterford fans rose to their feet to welcome their team out on Croke Park for their first All Ireland appearance since 1963 (the day that a young and brilliant Eddie Keher denied them their third title), I found myself carried along on a tide of emotion. Neutrality went out the window. On this day, my heart was with the men in blue and white.
For the past seven years or so, I had taken a shine to this Waterford side. Like the Offaly team of former times, you couldn’t help but warm to the marquee names that won their way into hearts of the nation. Like the Eagles country band, they ‘took us to the limits’, only to fall short on those special days. Without doubt, they were at the heart and soul of some of the epic hurling games of the decade.
Perhaps they were unfortunate to come against one of the greatest hurling teams in the history of the game. The ‘stripey men’ in the black and amber of Kilkenny took the game to new highs with one of the most powerful displays ever witnessed at Croke Park. There comes a time in a game when you put allegiances aside and just sit back and marvel at the quality and craftsmanship of the other team. Such was the case in Croke Park as this gifted Kilkenny side ripped the Waterford dream asunder. Your heart went out to John Mullane and Waterford but your mind had to acknowledge the majestic nature of this awesome Kilkenny side.
The game was over as a contest at the interval. Yet, one of the most moving moments of the day came during the second half when Brian Cody introduced James McGarry as a substitute. Almost to a person, the Kilkenny and Waterford folk got to their feet and applauded him onto the field. His wife died in a car accident last year and here was a moment that touched the hearts of all.
On Sunday evening, I journeyed down through Wicklow and the lovely county of Wexford. A county whose name stirs the soul when it comes to Irish history. Boolavogue and the Boys of Wexford, forever linked with Killala and Mayo in 1798. Like in that rousing song of ‘78, Kelly the Boy from Killane, I sensed that bond with history as I crossed the Barrow at Ross (New Ross) and into Kilkenny.
The road towards Waterford skirts Glenmore, home of the Heffernans and many of the great names of Kilkelly hurling over the years. Glenmore, the big Glen, powerful farming country where the game of hurling is part of life itself.
The Rhu Glenn is a homely abode, less than three miles from Waterford and close by Slieverue in South Kilkenny. I had no sooner pulled in when a text arrived from faraway Mayo and from my auld buddy, Willie McHugh from near Shrule. It read: “That was the best TEAM display I ever saw in any sport. Brazil in soccer, All Blacks in rugby, no other super-power would never click like that. They (Kilkenny) were like robots.”
In the company of the finest hurling gaels you could meet, I watched the Sunday Game close to where the two counties meet. And I got a whole new appreciation for Kilkenny hurling and what it means to them. To say that hurling is a religion in these parts is no exaggeration. They live and breathe the game around here. Football might as well be a million miles away.
Passion is everything and the afterglow of the three in a row radiates from the Kilkenny faces. They never get tired of winning. There is sympathy for their neighbours in Waterford. If the Déise had been playing any other team, the ‘Cats’ would have been supporting them on the big day. But the tribal pride of the black and amber is ferocious and when the cats’ claws are out, beware!
Monday dawns over the southlands and the boys are back in the county. There’s an all day session in full swing in the Rhu Glenn. The black and amber is everywhere and the drink is flowing freely. Some of the scenes would not be out of place in Killinascully. But, what the heck! These boys know how to celebrate! Within a few minutes, they have me roped in, as confirmed a “cat” as themselves. I bring in the red and green flag from the car … they promise to support Mayo in the minor final. The banter is brilliant and the Rose of Mooncoin never looked better in all her life! After a few hours, you could say we were all “nicely”!
Local man Eddie Haberlin has done up an auld car in the black and amber colours. It is painted with slogans and the centre of attention. All day long, fans stop to admire it. “Larry, any chance of a one euro loan and don’t be so mean!” is among the lines written across it.
From the stereo, the voice of John Kavanagh from just down the road in Slieverue is on a repeater singing ‘You’ll Never Get The Better of the Stripey Men’.. as the lads join in and raise the roof with the cheers. Out the road is a big sign … ‘What have Waterford and Martin Luther King in common? They both had a dream 45 years ago’. This is the land of the banter and the fun …and even the Waterford folk had no choice put to join them on this historic day.
Thirty miles up the road in Kilkenny, thousands turned out for the victorious homecoming. But I opted to go three miles in the road to join the defeated Waterford team. After all, it was 45 years since they last reached a final … Kilkenny are there most years.
I walked across the bridge alongside the Waterford bus as the rain tumbled down. Down along the quays as the blue and white was raised once more. You could sense the devastation of the lads, the poignancy of the occasion, the heartbreak of Mullane and Browne and McGrath and Kelly and all the others who adorned the Déise jersey with such honour and pride over the last few years. Around 10,000 braved the elements to lend their support, a lovely gesture in the wake of the Croke Park nightmare.
‘Don’t Stop Believing’ urged some of the banners as the song came across the PA on a rain-drenched evening in Waterford. Thousands of miles away in Las Vegas, Brendan Bowyer would have been proud to know that he was not forgotten in his hometown as his rendition of The Hucklebuck was included in the ‘welcome home’ ceremonies.
For a few magical weeks before the showdown in Croke Park, the people of Waterford were swept along on a wave of euphoria, a feeling which touched something deep in their psyche, an old call that reunited them with their roots once more. And while they were unable to match the glorious display of the famous Cats, no team or county deserved their day on the big stage of All-Ireland Hurling Day than Waterford. And when some day it comes their turn to sup from the cup of glory, as no doubt it will, few will begrudge them that day in the sun.
Nothing lasts forever and a day will come when Kilkenny will play second fiddle again. But for now, they are the rulers of the hurling kingdom. And hurling folk everywhere will salute one of the greatest teams of them all. No matter how often success comes their way, the Cats still love their cream!
