One had prepared, Boris Johnson-style, two pieces for today, just in case. In the event of a loss it consisted of a succinct sentence, replete with appropriate 4-letter words.
Actually, Boris Johnson-Johnson style, for it is axiomatic that the flaxen-haired PM is prone to speak out of both sides of his opioid mouth. Both simultaneously and in the same Times.
Yes, one had planned on a possible loss. Despite Kerry’s chances being dismissed by chancers in certain quarters who might have been hanged if they didn’t but certainly not drawn. There was something decidedly odd about how the Kerry team was being undervalued. This was the same green and cold-eyed team which had shellacked Mayo in Killarney. All of six or so weeks ago !
It was just a matter of Dorian Dub turning up and being blown to victory by the ref.
Hindsight is 20/19 and one found oneself uncharacteristically gloomy in the run up. As a survivor of 75 when Dublin were bet out the gate by a fresh-faced Kerry team of singletons, disturbing memories of that sodden third Sunday of September came dripping slow during the week.
From the get-go that wet, wet day it just got wetter and worse. The unmerciful quality of the rain which fell on all from Heaven’s Reflex was felt by Dubs alone.
I’d a ticket for the (exposed) lower deck of the Cusack but when I arrived I found it to be already occupied. By a colleen from the Kingdom who had a ticket alright, possibly for the train.
-I’m a sister of John Egan, that’s who I am !
Budge, she would not. It took not one but two Maor Tráchta (people-trafficking?) to persuade her to relocate. After that, things deteriorated even further. The heavens opened, I got drenched but refused to budge (noblesse, more or less) even as the refugees from the rain, Rohingya-like, fled for the shelter of the cheap seats up at the back. And then, yes. John Egan scored a goal.
The Blue Panther, moved to midfield to stem the flood, was Homeric in defeat and fought to the no-quitter end.
The surnames of Spillane and Moran featured that grim day, as they were to do on Sunday. At least there was no Egan, thought there might well have been. John Ogie Egan, son of, from the Wild Atlantic Way, had already been picked on the panel to face Land-locked Switzerland in Lansdowne this Thursday. If not picked on the team, let’s hope at least he gets a ticket.
So, the Omens were, OMG, anything but good.
A draw was something I had not considered. Though I should have known better. Unlike Picasso, who could not draw (two eyes on the one side of the same nose) the GAA can draw. Both, however, knew and know how to make moolah from not drawing and drawing the crowds.
On Sunday, however, it was not the GAA which arranged the draw. Listen up, conspiracy theorists.
The Drive to Contrive is actually what the game should have been called. A Páidlocked plot hatched by an unlikely alliance of Jackeens and Yerras. (No names, no Jack drills). It arose out of the playful offer from the latter to the former of a jaunting car with a Dublin jarvey to pursue the D. for F.
This in turn led to a discussion, oops, a conversation re. the disposal of Dobbin’s droppings in the context of Climate Change. Which in turn led to the far more vital topic of Calendar Change. Specifically change to the Gregorian Calendar of the GAA.
-Prorogue mo Thoin !
Was the unanimous roar of opposition from both sides to the Nero-style fiddling around with the dates for the two All Irelands which in essence had reached Ground Zero.
Thus, was born the Bring Back September counter movement. The asinine decision to play Sam on the first Sunday of September, i.e. which has been Lá Liam since the day of the Dinosaurs was sacrilegious at the very least.
Fanciful?
Consider the following: where was hatched the idea for red-carding (a) a Hogan under the Hogan Stand and (b) a Cooper not answering to the name of Gooch immediately prior to half-time in both fiddled-with finals? No need to point out that Kilkenny was the common theme in both teams to suffer. Yes, tampering with the dates of finals (of both codes) does lead to tempers being frayed.
But, coincidence?
Stick to Dickens.
Lightning does not do striking twice in the same or even the Sam place. .
Mind you, here in Malta, famous for its Knights, last night there was the Step Father and Mother Superior of all Electrical Storms. As if one Perfect S. was not enough in one 24 hours. But not before at least one Dub had his constitutional Dive for Five.
Could this be a Blue Alert from the Met Office for Dublin to switch to an Electric Bus in their Drive for Five ?
A warning worth heeding, perhaps, otherwise we might well be on the verge of an epicdemic.