The Waiting Game by Aidan Scahill

All the years watching on the Saturday night
 While over in Montrose they’d pass round the mic
 The accents from Kerry, the confident tone
 No sign of a Dub saying Sam’s coming home
 The years in the doldrums, down in the dumps
 The Gooch and O’Sé’s all coming up trumps
 Drowning our sorrows and dishing out blame
 Unable to watch a replay of the game
 The ’91 saga, the hurt and the pain
 Of such a good team falling short once again
 Watching the trophy go up the N1
 Or over to Galway or south with the sun
 Brolly ran riot, picking pockets galore
 Maurice Fitz with a sideline that God wouldn’t score
 I was just gone sixteen when we won ‘95
 Charlie saw red but the Hill was alive
 I remember then thinking there’d be titles aplenty
 But not a single one came til I was 12 after 20,
 I’d see Canavan, Cavanagh, McGuigan and co.
 All lifting the cup and bringing it home
 I’d see Donnellan and Bergin both hugging Joyce
 And Joe Kernan crying with barely a voice
 I’d be sat watching Cork briefly stop their in-fighting
 Beating Down by a point just to keep it exciting
 I’ve seen all you can think of in Mayo’s implosions
 But I’ve yet to find pity among my emotions
 I’ve seen players retire without a medal to show
 Now we stand on the cusp of a five in a row
 It’s hard to believe the success of this crop
 The hunger, desire, the belief never stop
 But we waited forever now four come along
 And hope that there’s five and we’ll put it in song
 From Cluxton to Mannion, to Fenton and Small
 They number so many I can’t mention them all
 The tension is building and the mouth’s getting dry
 So I’ll head off and hope for the year's bluest sky
 And I hope against Kerry we’ll put on a show
 And we’ll beat the old enemy for five in a row.