DUBLIN’S SUPER 8’s SUPER GOAL



Dublin’s Super 8’s super goal was the fifth and final one in the 'Goal Rush' towards the end of the game against Cork. That was the crucial Klondike endgame when the Dubs finally got on their bike. His shot was like a bullet which rose direct and true to the roof of the Canal End Goal, just like the shot which ended the life of Dangerous Dan McGrew.

A shot which The Blue Panther would have run the rule over, and nodded his full approval.


Brian Fenton (for it is he!) would not thank you for mentioning his super goal, for he is one of those detached chaps who seems to glide effortlessly through games as if his mind is preoccupied with his plans for the following Tuesday.


That’s his night for playing in the Raheny Chess Club.


On Saturday he was probably pondering whether he should at last model his board game on that of Capablanca. That legendary Cuban chess master was, of course, renowned for his lethal endgame.


In truth, while indeed it was a super fifth and final goal, there was an equally super goal by Niall Scully, a club mate of the late great Anton. Ironically, while the Dublin’s Super 8’s goal was more reminiscent of a Blue Panther pile driver, the subtlety of the Scully goal had all the intricate feint and dummy of a classic Capablanca move.


Ciarán Kilkenny’s middle goal of the final three was duly dispatched with all the feline lack of fuss one expects from a player of such a surname. And though not so spectacular, a routine goal still counts the same when it later comes to points difference.


Back in the first half, Jack ‘Rabbit’ McCaffrey, indulged in his disconcerting habit of haring up the wing, toe to hand, with only one thing in mind: and it’s not the Hippocratic Oath. It’s as if he has no patience, preferring to eschew the fisted pass, especially the backward one. His mission is to search and destroy, his method, An Modh Díreach. So, disconcerting for the non-Dub.


A dribble can be a thing of beauty, such as when a football was at the necromantic feet of a George. Best. Jack Mac’s goal on Saturday will not be a joy forever, for it was indubitably not a thing of beauty. It dribbled over the Cork line. Call it the run for one. Call Dublin’s Super 8’s goal, the drive for whatchmacallit.


The second goal at Hill Sixteen was a slam-dunk (a daaarling phase and the only one in town) from Michael Darragh Macauley. While some might object to this imported term from basketball it’s part of a growing trend: in hurling they now have ‘rucks’. (Bring back the Schemozzle !). What next? MDMA, aka, The Man called Horse, after scoring his slam-dunk, galloping over to the corner flag and morphing into that rock-a-bye-baby routine as he cradles his arms? Thus, becoming the Centaur of Attention. Doubt it somehow, Sam. Cleaning out the Augean stables would be clearly preferable.


Controversially, Sir M. Dorroch, Ambassador for Perpetual Motionia, was recalled by a former Number 10, towards the end of one of the few nail-biting demolition jobs one is ever liable to see.


Cork’s solitary goal, a superbly dispatched penalty, was scored ironically by the one and only Connolly on the field: the one known as Cool Foot Luke.


Which neatly allows one to segue into the Monday Morning Quarterjack quote of the week. Delivered with all the razamatazz so typical of that maestro of the overstatement, Wing Commander J. Gavin*:


-yadda yadda, yadda, Diarmuid Connolly is back in training with the Dubs, yadda, yadda, yadda..


It would not surprise one to discover that the Wing Commander’s party piece is:

-Excuse me, I think I’ve got a heartache.


A catchy country song, composed and recorded by Buck Owens. No, not Buck Jones, who was once Lord of Clonliffe House in the 18th century and who lent his name to Jones’ Road. (Probably on a long term basis, and on less than generous terms).


So, who at last cracked The Enigma Code?


Some suggest The Donald: after all, it takes a Trump Card to recognise another.


While others point in the opposite direction to the UK rather than the US, where it was announced by the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street that the next head to appear on the 50 pound note would be Alan Turing, late of Bletchely Park, Buckinghamshire.


Simultaneously with the announcement by The Youngish Man of Buckingham Street while showboating on Skyblue TV.


-yadda yadda, yadda, Diarmuid Connolly is back in training with the Dubs, yadda, yadda, yadda


For what it’s worth, one’s opinion would be to look to the US, home of Uncle Sam.

For the swamp-draining headline of September 1:

-D.C. v D.C.

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