A collection of interesting articles by lesser known journalists on GAA matters

Started by rrhf, August 11, 2012, 01:37:06 PM

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rrhf

I noticed this on another thread by this guy,  I hadnt see any of his stuff before, is there any other lesser known journalists that could be archived here. 

Mc Guinness takes the Guinness out of Donegal footballers. 
By Enda Kilkenny

Top footballers possibly, top drinkers definitely, that could have been the lazy description of any North west of Ireland team over the past 15 years.  But it consistently was applied to Donegal.  When an outstanding Cork team walked through them 3 seasons ago in Croke Park, the heavy defeat was attributed to the "party on, happy go lucky" attitude supposedly entrenched in the Donegal psychie.  People didnt question where Cork were going,(and they were heading for an All Ireland final) they questioned where Donegal had been.... at the weekend. The west of Ireland counties have always had the outsiders suspecting their party ethos.  If you start up in the North West, there was always a wild  party on leaked video from Derry before the big games.  Roscommon too notoriously were as wild as hares and not bad at Pool either, but we seemed to be credited with all the best party stories, perhaps unkindly so. 

Jimmy Mc Guinness by name by nature was the eternal student, a damn fine footballer, a Sigerson managers dream and a deep thinker on GAA.  Whilst the parties were ongoing Jimmy enjoyed his lot, but was prepared to think deeper into the ills of the Donegal game.  He needed to make some changes to the way we think about football in Donegal and the way outsiders think about football in Donegal.  He needed a master tactic, something which would shake the game to its very core in Donegal.

He banned the Guinness! 6 30AM training comes early on a weekday and you  cant have been home after 1 30 the night before to entertain the thought of it.  Take the supping out of Donegal and you see their other great strength... their football.
That ability of Donegal to focus on just one of their talents has brought the team on in leaps and bounds.  People laud the tactics, the defense and the work rate,and whilst these factors have their place, the inside story is that there will not be a drop of porter taken in the hills until its the 10 pinter Sam Maguire filled to the brim with it.  Now that'll be a party to be at!

rrhf

#1
Not a bad article,this boy could learn how to use commas and paragraphs though...
By Bobsie O' Clerigh
Theres little getting away from the abject disappointment felt around the county this week after Seamus Darby pushed his way into and our beloved green and gold out of the history books .  It has been tough in the Kingdom, we have been going through the normal and natural processes associated with a result like this; the tears, skelping and most importantly the working out of who is blame?   I dont think Ill go to watch Offaly again, I feel they defiled football in a way not seen since the Down team of the 1960s.  It frightens me to think of the messages we are prepared  to send out to our children who tune in to watch and listen to a great game and yet see football being defeated by thuggery and general incorrectness.  If football continues down this road then what does the future hold for Gaelic Football? I fear greatly that in the next 3  - 4 years, say by the time the Olympics come about in Los Angeles, we will be more interested in athletics.   So what could be done? My proposal "eagle-vision" would be an extra linesman sitting on the front row of  upper row of the Cusack stand just say behind the "Smoke Gallaghers" sign.  If the referee points to him on a contentious matter, he would respond by having a red flag to disallow the score.  This man can only disallow scores and not award them of course. "Eagle-vision"  will give realtime birdseye support to our officials so a result like last Sundays can never be repeated.  But how likely are we to invest in this technology in the forseeable future, things happen so slowly in the GAA there'll probably be Ulster teams winning all Irelands before this happens.  Until then we are just leaving it to chance that a push in the back wont be a prerequisite to winning Sam Maguire again in the future. 
Finally In terms of promoting the game I was asked to send my best wishes to a young cub I met on a visit to Tyrone recently.  So young Peter congratulations on winning your Feis medal for Poetry  and sure theres no harm in keeping up the football  - some day you might even win an Ulster championship with Tyrone. 

ONeill

"Now, Patsie."

By Blackguard

There are stories and then there are stories. We've all heard about Jessie Owens and his defiance in the face of extreme provocation, albeit subtly applied by the Kaiser. Many a bar room has hushed to Mass-like silence as the local Seanchai embellished Delaney's athletic achievements or Michael Collins' mastery of evasion from his nemesis, the British. There there are stories that'll never be told outside the parish. Stories so interwoven in the fabric that it belongs to them, is a part of them and will remain there.

In 1945, Patsie Mangan returned to Ulster with the ravages of war permanently visible on his honest shoulders. Forced to earn shillings to feed his burgeoning family (he had 7 sons and 6 daughters before he left, a round 14 when he returned) he went against the grain and put in a hard shift at the tail end of the second round of that destructive European rivalry. During the dying skirmishes, he was caught in no man's land when a Russian shell landed feet from his backtracking and tired limbs. Lucky for him, his life was spared unlike his fellow Ulster traveller. The downside to his continued existence was the complete loss of sight in both eyes.

Honourably discharged, he made the torturous journey back to mid-Ulster to break the mixed news. Patsie was home for good with shillings in his pocket, enough to see them through the next couple of years, but he'd never see no.14. Nor again would he set eyes on the others and his patient wife, Bernie. Days passed and having finally muted the stigma of his war efforts for the local 'enemy' he immersed himself in the local GAA club once again. Before his sight was destroyed by Russian artillery, he was a giant on the field at his club. A towering full back, the sight of his trademark manoeuvre puffed the local community full of pride as Patsie emerging from a mass of bodies to leather the ball upfield with a defiant roar. All that was in the past and Mangan embraced it by helping out at the club.

That was until the club were one player short for an important Junior game which would seal the fate for the year. Win, and they'd get playing Intermediate for the first time in their history. Lose and all was lost again, as it had been for 44 years previously. The officials made it clear that the game would be forfeited if the numbers didn't tally. It had to be done. Patsie, 100% blind, was asked to fill out the team sheet requirements. Initially they played him as a corner forward, hoping he could simply stand well out of the way. And so it transpired. But the soldier in Patsie couldn't be quoshed. Minutes into the second half, he slowly made his way downfield as the ball played around him. No one cared as the scores were nip and tuck throughout. The battle raged on.

Patsie finally stalled when he reached his customary full back line. He turned and faced play. An awkwardness fell upon his fellow defenders and they debated quietly who would approach him and move him out of the way. One man didn't. The one man who knew Mangan to a tee. The goalkeeper had faced the back of Patsie since they played ball for the youngsters in Feis games. He knew every flinch Mangan would make and what it meant. He knew what to do that day. A ball was hit in high and hard from the middle of the field as the opposition cruelly attempted to increase the confusion. From the depths of an uneasy silence, the keeper bellowed "Now, Patsie". The rest betters any tale of titanic feats from Delaney or Collins. Patsie leapt into the air above all men, caught it, and shoed the ball upfield with customary roar. For the last 10 minutes, they say Patsie claimed 14 high balls from 14 "Now, Patsie" bellows from the keeper.

His club won the game and never returned to Junior until the year after Patsie died tragically crossing a road outside his home. That's a story.
I wanna have my kicks before the whole shithouse goes up in flames.

stew

Quote from: ONeill on August 11, 2012, 03:24:43 PM
"Now, Patsie."

By Blackguard

There are stories and then there are stories. We've all heard about Jessie Owens and his defiance in the face of extreme provocation, albeit subtly applied by the Kaiser. Many a bar room has hushed to Mass-like silence as the local Seanchai embellished Delaney's athletic achievements or Michael Collins' mastery of evasion from his nemesis, the British. There there are stories that'll never be told outside the parish. Stories so interwoven in the fabric that it belongs to them, is a part of them and will remain there.

In 1945, Patsie Mangan returned to Ulster with the ravages of war permanently visible on his honest shoulders. Forced to earn shillings to feed his burgeoning family (he had 7 sons and 6 daughters before he left, a round 14 when he returned) he went against the grain and put in a hard shift at the tail end of the second round of that destructive European rivalry. During the dying skirmishes, he was caught in no man's land when a Russian shell landed feet from his backtracking and tired limbs. Lucky for him, his life was spared unlike his fellow Ulster traveller. The downside to his continued existence was the complete loss of sight in both eyes.

Honourably discharged, he made the torturous journey back to mid-Ulster to break the mixed news. Patsie was home for good with shillings in his pocket, enough to see them through the next couple of years, but he'd never see no.14. Nor again would he set eyes on the others and his patient wife, Bernie. Days passed and having finally muted the stigma of his war efforts for the local 'enemy' he immersed himself in the local GAA club once again. Before his sight was destroyed by Russian artillery, he was a giant on the field at his club. A towering full back, the sight of his trademark manoeuvre puffed the local community full of pride as Patsie emerging from a mass of bodies to leather the ball upfield with a defiant roar. All that was in the past and Mangan embraced it by helping out at the club.

That was until the club were one player short for an important Junior game which would seal the fate for the year. Win, and they'd get playing Intermediate for the first time in their history. Lose and all was lost again, as it had been for 44 years previously. The officials made it clear that the game would be forfeited if the numbers didn't tally. It had to be done. Patsie, 100% blind, was asked to fill out the team sheet requirements. Initially they played him as a corner forward, hoping he could simply stand well out of the way. And so it transpired. But the soldier in Patsie couldn't be quoshed. Minutes into the second half, he slowly made his way downfield as the ball played around him. No one cared as the scores were nip and tuck throughout. The battle raged on.

Patsie finally stalled when he reached his customary full back line. He turned and faced play. An awkwardness fell upon his fellow defenders and they debated quietly who would approach him and move him out of the way. One man didn't. The one man who knew Mangan to a tee. The goalkeeper had faced the back of Patsie since they played ball for the youngsters in Feis games. He knew every flinch Mangan would make and what it meant. He knew what to do that day. A ball was hit in high and hard from the middle of the field as the opposition cruelly attempted to increase the confusion. From the depths of an uneasy silence, the keeper bellowed "Now, Patsie". The rest betters any tale of titanic feats from Delaney or Collins. Patsie leapt into the air above all men, caught it, and shoed the ball upfield with customary roar. For the last 10 minutes, they say Patsie claimed 14 high balls from 14 "Now, Patsie" bellows from the keeper.

His club won the game and never returned to Junior until the year after Patsie died tragically crossing a road outside his home. That's a story.

Feck.
Armagh, the one true love of a mans life.

winghalfun

Quote"Now, Patsie."

By Blackguard

There are stories and then there are stories. We've all heard about Jessie Owens and his defiance in the face of extreme provocation, albeit subtly applied by the Kaiser. Many a bar room has hushed to Mass-like silence as the local Seanchai embellished Delaney's athletic achievements or Michael Collins' mastery of evasion from his nemesis, the British. There there are stories that'll never be told outside the parish. Stories so interwoven in the fabric that it belongs to them, is a part of them and will remain there.

In 1945, Patsie Mangan returned to Ulster with the ravages of war permanently visible on his honest shoulders. Forced to earn shillings to feed his burgeoning family (he had 7 sons and 6 daughters before he left, a round 14 when he returned) he went against the grain and put in a hard shift at the tail end of the second round of that destructive European rivalry. During the dying skirmishes, he was caught in no man's land when a Russian shell landed feet from his backtracking and tired limbs. Lucky for him, his life was spared unlike his fellow Ulster traveller. The downside to his continued existence was the complete loss of sight in both eyes.

Honourably discharged, he made the torturous journey back to mid-Ulster to break the mixed news. Patsie was home for good with shillings in his pocket, enough to see them through the next couple of years, but he'd never see no.14. Nor again would he set eyes on the others and his patient wife, Bernie. Days passed and having finally muted the stigma of his war efforts for the local 'enemy' he immersed himself in the local GAA club once again. Before his sight was destroyed by Russian artillery, he was a giant on the field at his club. A towering full back, the sight of his trademark manoeuvre puffed the local community full of pride as Patsie emerging from a mass of bodies to leather the ball upfield with a defiant roar. All that was in the past and Mangan embraced it by helping out at the club.

That was until the club were one player short for an important Junior game which would seal the fate for the year. Win, and they'd get playing Intermediate for the first time in their history. Lose and all was lost again, as it had been for 44 years previously. The officials made it clear that the game would be forfeited if the numbers didn't tally. It had to be done. Patsie, 100% blind, was asked to fill out the team sheet requirements. Initially they played him as a corner forward, hoping he could simply stand well out of the way. And so it transpired. But the soldier in Patsie couldn't be quoshed. Minutes into the second half, he slowly made his way downfield as the ball played around him. No one cared as the scores were nip and tuck throughout. The battle raged on.

Patsie finally stalled when he reached his customary full back line. He turned and faced play. An awkwardness fell upon his fellow defenders and they debated quietly who would approach him and move him out of the way. One man didn't. The one man who knew Mangan to a tee. The goalkeeper had faced the back of Patsie since they played ball for the youngsters in Feis games. He knew every flinch Mangan would make and what it meant. He knew what to do that day. A ball was hit in high and hard from the middle of the field as the opposition cruelly attempted to increase the confusion. From the depths of an uneasy silence, the keeper bellowed "Now, Patsie". The rest betters any tale of titanic feats from Delaney or Collins. Patsie leapt into the air above all men, caught it, and shoed the ball upfield with customary roar. For the last 10 minutes, they say Patsie claimed 14 high balls from 14 "Now, Patsie" bellows from the keeper.

His club won the game and never returned to Junior until the year after Patsie died tragically crossing a road outside his home. That's a story.

Sounds like a Flann O'Brien novel.

drici

From the Derry thread.


Quote from: theticklemister on August 13, 2012, 11:32:11 AM

A fans' view of the Championship weekend:

What a weekend to come, championship football from Thursday night to a Sunday night, ranging from Intermediate to Senior and with no work to come for the foreseeable future as I'm hitting back to student life; football was all that was on the cards this week.

The first thing to do was grab the County Post (5er for the advertising lads) and get the correct times, venues and games as the CCCCCCC had been messing about with everything; at least I can trust O'Kane and Doherty at the paper.

The first Senior game of 'Feile Football' took place in Magherafelt between Ballinderry and Greenlough however I did not envy the long drive to watch a culling session, no matter what the league result a week earlier was. My words rang true, a 31 point massacre with Gilligan hitting 2-09. Their championship heads were on; as was Ballinascreen's when 'apparently' they beat us well. When I say 'apparently', it wasn't the fact that they were lucky to beat us; they beat us well but the fact I didn't make our first senior championship game was the reason I used such a word. My farewell dinner at work was something I couldn't get out of, but constant updates from Foreglen made my medium-rare steak a lovely consolation prize. We had beat them by 4 points a week earlier in the league, but never had the phase 'Championship football' been more adapt, 'apparently' we never turned up! Our former boss Paddy Campbell's team Castledawson had progressed on the same night against Claudy in the Intermediate, in last few weeks the 'Dawson have been progressing well; a double to come?

Due to my heavy head after a few farewell drinks the night before I decided to forgo the Intermediate double header in Ballerin, but quite a turn up for the books as Vale and Foreglen beat Ballymaguigan and Newbridge respectively. By the looks of it these were the matches of the weekend! After clearing the head; Me, Me Da and Me Da's friend went to Dungiven for the double header there; usually we would be a foursome but Me mate went to Lough Derg for a bit of soul-cleansing, walking on his bare feet and saying sorry for all his past horrendous deeds. 'Apparently' this worked, as he was offered a full time teaching job at the same time. Fair play to him! Well back to the action on the pitch..................... Well not much, as Bellaghy and to a lesser extent Magherafelt (ahem, sorry Chrissy Spears) offered the only value at a sun-drenched St.Canices. Bellaghy played a refreshing brand of play with long balls into the full forward line with their half-forwards coming off their shoulders at pace to tear Craigbane to shreds. Eoghan Brown was in fantastic shape as was Big Doc; mind ye Blain Gormley had a decent game in the engine room also. In the first game Banagher were simply awful; Magherafelt had constantly 2 men between the 21m and 45m line when they lost the ball and Banagher didn't know what to do. Me mate had stated earlier that Boylesports had Magherafelt at 1/5 and Ladbrokes at ½; he also said 'Thank God there are no Boylesports in Derry!!!!' Needless to say he earned a profit of £2.50.  On the way back up the road Me Da stated 'I'm not going back to another one-sided double-header.' I congratulated him on his excellent word play.

He was true to the word as he never made the trip to Ballinascreen, nor Glen the following day, we also lost our driver who had other plans. So after training on a Sunday morning it was me and my returning-Loug Derger who made the trip down the Glenshane with me behind the wheel in purist of an excellent day of football. Although my mate in shotgun position had found a new sense of belonging in life with his tales of the island outside Pettigo and rehearsing his 'Alluieua' songs going past Drumahoe he still wanted to listen to the Irish Brigade and Dubliners; so on went the MP3 and up sparked 'Irish Soldier Laddie' and 'Lonely Woods of Upton'. He sang to Screen and once had the crowd rocking in a bar in Navan after the Meath league earlier in the year with a great rendition of 'Streets of New York'. We managed to get the end of the Dungiven game, but by the looks of it we didn't miss anything and Dungiven were easy enough victors. The Lavey game started off in world-wind fashion and in honest Lavey could of been out of sight but failed to take their scores and in the process let Kilrea hit a craicing (thats how I spell it) goal before half time and it was inevitable what was going to happen in second-half. Kilrea weretoo powerful and pacey. We were on the road again after a short food top-up at the 'Jolly Fryer' in Ballinascreen where the food was lovely indeed (that'll be a 5er for the plug); before we took a wrong turn at the top of the village (us city boys get lost wile easily hi) and got back on track to head to Glen. We managed to get parked right near the pitch and got under the stand where the hospitality of everyone at Glen was indeed excellent (that'll be a 5er, FAO: Glen Treasurer). Although there was a big crowd the atmosphere was a let-down as there seemed to be a sort of apathy amongst them, each knowing that this wasn't really 'Championship football.' The back door was there. Slaughtneil always had the upper hand and Coleraine were toothless in attack, Deccy Mullan tried as he could didn't have a finisher beside him. Much was expected of Ciaran McGoldrick, nothing happened. The goal before the break finished it. Jim Kelly showed everyone why he is such a class act when introduced.

Roll on the second game..............................My mate 'Big Daz' who joined us for the double header had a special interest in this game. 'Hi Mucker' a regular reporter on this forum, has been telling him of the famous 'Great Dane' Higgins from the wilds of Glenullin. Hi Mucker had been telling constant stories of Higgins for years from his college days in Coleraine were they mixed it with the Kernans of Crossmaglen in their Ryan and Sigerson Cup campaigns. Hi Mucker would retort such daring deeds of such a fearless warrior on constant basis that 'Big Daz' was expecting a beast of man, a man who would take no prisoners, an unrelenting  solider who would lay his life down for the cause, a fearsome combatant who would beat Patsy Bradley with a dirty look.............. 'Big Daz' said; 'Je lads I could take that Dane fella'. Not to say that Dane Higgins is a shirking violet, his is a brute of a fella and a decent footballer to boot but such is Hi Mucker's exaggeration and 'Big Daz's' easy take on life; Higgins became a mere mortal. Anyway I was going for The Loup in this one; not because they have such a great name, not that they can raise their game for the championship, not that they have some fine looking birds sporting the green and white yesterday, but sorely for one reason and one reason only...........................Johnny McBride was back!! My favourite player ever to don the Red and White, it was a joy to see him yesterday, he was immense. Now if Hi Mucker had described Johnny McBride the way he did with Dane Higgins above, I would have no bother. Believe it or not there were actually 5 scores within the space of 10 minutes; she dried up after that however as both teams woefully hit shots on goal. Gavin Mallon, Brian Doyle and Deccy McVey tried to raise the standard for An Lub while Gerard O'Kane and Skinner did likewise for the Glensmen. Full time, all square. Extra time began, GOK made some run and shot, the Loup goalkeeper made a fantastic save, Loup 3 points on trot, late Glenullin goal.....................game finished; all square. Darkness was falling when back in the car, got away up the Glenshane in good time but we hit some heavy fog and which prompted a rendition of 'Foggy Dew' from my side-kick.

Well I left him back to the house and got home for about 10pm hoping to catch the Sunday Game, but to my horror the closing ceremony of a non-GAA sporting event was taking place. Disgusted I went to bed.

drici

Derry Thread

Quote from: theticklemister on August 15, 2017, 02:23:39 AM


Memories of the opening round of the Championship 2017


              "Hi lad, can you do me a £20 accum on Loup, Ballinascreen, Glenullin, Ballinderry, Slaughtneil and Coleraine, tis an £80 quid return" I texted my mate

"No probs" came the reply

I awoke late. I was travelling a lot on Saturday from different parts of Ireland so I had a lie in; I missed mass. As I came downstairs, my mum didn't ask me about being late for the '10 O'Clock' and I didn't want to tell a lie to her - so there was a mutual respect between us. We both feared getting different answers; the joys of being back home. Me Da came wondering in then returning from the '11 O'Clock' up the road (When ye live in the big smoke, ye have the choice of masses in a not-so-far-away chapel, up the city!!!!!!!!) He didn't ask why I wasn't at mass either – Theticklemister 2, parents 0. Toast was the only thing available in the house for breakfast, not great for a feast of championship football, but 4 slices did the job (I would live to regret this later).

It was Me Da's turn to drive, so in his new car (which was 12 years old) we collected our other passenger not so far away. We passed the local chapel and me head went down so I wouldn't make eye contact with the oul lad; it worked.

Free from guilt............ until next Sunday.

In came Mr. £%^$" into the car and off we went, a quick stop at Tescos in the 'Wateryside' for a charging lead was the only pause in our journey to Draperstown City. A lot of discussion about the potential team ensued on the journey down and we were 95% correct upon arrival. We were confident of victory. We took the back roads down past Benedy and enjoyed in the wonderful views. Old stories were brought back up of how Craigbane came into existence in the early 70s and how the hell they kept going with a sparse population. Another one was told of the existence of a small dedicated monument to Republican Volunteers of yesteryear situated in the Benedy area. It couldn't be found.

We travelled on and Ballinascreen City was seen on the horizon. We pulled into the carpark opposite the church and off we went to the pitch. I have been at this pitch a number of times before as a waen, but this time I actually playing on it for St.Patrick's Pennyburn a few years later, under the great guidance of the late, Brid Kelly McElroy - Brid took us down there to compete against the 'culchies' for a primary school blitz. Brid was a fantastic GAA gael. Born in the 'Bog', she stuffed the GAA down our throats and by feck, she made no apologies for it (editor's note - and thank feckin heavens for that). She later became Chairperson of Steelstown GAC in the '90s. Unfortunately, cancer took her in 1998 and my last time seeing her was on a wheelchair in Celtic Park at the Derry final between Lavey and Bellaghy. She was behind the goal at the changing room area, loving the culture and sport which she enshrined in many people at the school and club. She passed on a month later in October and memory is remembered in the pitch which is named after her. I can't remember how we did in the blitz, but we swore we travelled 8 hours that day to some distant land and we had a great day out. Farewell Brid.

We entered the chapel-side of the ground, beside the 'new' clubhouse area. I quickly raced back to buy a wordpad in the shop to take some notes   - as I'm a bit of a GAA geek- and I then got into the ground. A quick £1 to the ticket seller and I scurried along to the stand before throw-in. The stand was packed in blue and yellow, a lot of faces which I have never seen before – a wonderful sight. It shows the club has grown and by feck I was never as happy to see as many people as I didn't know before. I've been away on foreign shores and don't get to see my club as much as I want to. It's growing. I use to know every person who shouted

' ' Mon Steelstown'

Not anymore.

The game threw in and ourselves and 'Dawson tangled with each other for the opening 30 minutes without much difference. The second half Castledawson pulled away and played the better football to deservedly win. No complaints. I was thinking I should have went to mass earlier in the morn, but............... unfortunately I didn't. I followed last year's final through twitter sitting at the end of a bar, a double whiskey went down me throat on the 59 minute mark.  I was cheering on the lads in 2010 from the sideline, when your man Ciaran *&*%* - wait that's too obvious- we will go with *&*&* Brolly, made a few 'strange' decisions. A few double whiskeys went down that night too.
In bad humour, we stayed for the Ballinderry v Claudy game. To be fair to Claudy, they competed well for the opening 20 minutes; but the class of Ballinderry proved in the end. They look on a mission this year, so I have been told by a mate of mine (Slaughtneil could stop that in two weeks time however). We decided to leave just after the half-time as Claudy's brave efforts were beginning to wane – not before getting a lovely box of chips from the classy ladies in the Ballinascreen kitchen. A great bunch of girls altogether.
Walking out the gate we met a couple of lads from Greenlough

"How did youse do?" I asked

"f**k sure we were up by 10 and they came back and nearly beat us" came the reply

"Well done, yer doing well this year" came my positive response.

It was 5:13pm, the games in Owenbeg didn't commence until 6:15pm. An hour and 2 minutes -the chance of a pint hung in the balance, when suddenly a voice came from the back seat

"Any chance of getting a bite to eat?"

"f**k!" I said, the chance of a pint evaporated.

We made our way to Dungiven town and the traffic was beginning to build up. We pulled in beside Skippers and ignored our usual stop of Brians. I took over control of the vehicle as the others didn't know what they wanted. I ventured up to turn at the bus stop with McReyonld's on the side making it a more inviting stop. Down I returned and pulled opposite Skippers. The queue was getting fierce as the South Derry lads were arriving en-mass. I stuck on the radio to listen to the aftermath of the hurling, but me Da's car refused to acknowledge the position of the radio dial.

"f**k it!" came my reply.

I looked out the window and there were the two aforementioned Greenlough crawling past in the traffic.

"Alright lads!" I shouted towards them.

No reply came.

On the plus side, my two 'passengers' emerged from Skippers and we were ready for Owenbeg.

"f**k there was some queue in there" came their arrival into the car.

"That's why we normally go to Brians" came my response.

Less than 5 minutes later we arrived at Owenbeg.

"Drive on into the ground" said me Da.

"Yeah" came from behind me.

In I went. Greeted by a few lads from various clubs who we welcomed; greeted by the R.U.C. which we did not welcome - we parked the car and made our way to the stand. We were expecting an easy win for Slaughtneil, but by God Swatragh played well.

"They'll soon fade" came one remark from not so far away. But they didn't.

Conor McAtamney is a class act. By feck he is some footballer. He glides through the pitch as if he is skating on ice. He scored the goal to put them ahead with 10 minutes to go. I took a picture of the scoreboard and sent it to one of my best mates in Birmingham.

"You're going to win!"

Swatragh then lost. I am a terrible jinx.

Slaughtneil took control in the closing stages to a flattering 6 point victory. Slaughtneil, are a great club, on and off the field. They gathered 100s of jerseys for the 'GAA Jersey for Palestine' Campaign and in Oliver McCusker, they have a tremendous secretary who wanted to do more for the same cause to help the most unfortunate. The Tuesday before playing the All-Ireland Club Hurling Semi-Final, they paused with the 'GAA Jerseys for Palestine' Flag during a training session in Celtic Park, to show solidarity with those in a tortured land. A few days earlier in Slaughtneil when they handed over the jerseys, Oliver said

"We understand the suffering of those people, anything we can do more to help, let us know. We in Slaughtneil understand what they are going through." 

But I didn't want them to win, such is the case when the underdog is about, but they did and I'll cheer them on when they play again.

We expected fireworks in the second game.

Will Coleraine's powder be kept dry with their non-playing Derry contingent? Will Magherafelt's underage promise finally develop? The stand was 'dubh le daoine' and opposite, the terrace was half-full. A close game expected................. but was it f**k.

Coleraine led Magherafelt on a merry dance and the huge crowd felt pity on the Magherafelt defence as the McGoldricks were in 'some' form. Half-time came and I went to get some tea. I had only euros on me and I asked the nice lady

"Do you take euros?"

"No" came the reply. I returned to my seat with nothing to show for my efforts.

"Where's the tea?" was asked

"Your girl wouldn't take euros" I said

"For fucksake" came the response from the pair, in a delicate harmony.

Credit to the oul lad, me da went up and got the merchandise and returned to welcome applause.

Coleraine went onto blitz Magherafelt and should have killed the game within 5 minutes of the second half. They then began to toy with them. They took pity on their South Derry opponents. The game was over before it started, so my mind began to wander. Charlie Bonner was in front of me. The great Na Magha gael and steward, who does excellent work for the County, had to sort out a fight between a couple of youngsters in the corner. He returned 30 seconds later, mission accomplished. My mind came back to the game. Ciaran McGoldrick was on the ball – same story, dancing around the Magherafelt defence.

"GREAT TO SEE!!!!" I thought.

See here's the craic: I grew up playing underage within the North/South divide and still have a wee (big) bit of hatred for those SOUTH DERRY -superior-thinking-better-than-us-in- the -north- GAELS. 'Mon Coleraine. My first year of Senior football, Eoghan Rua were struggling at Junior, playing in the university grounds, they have come on well. Fair play to them. 

Alas, we decided to leave a second game of the day early to see if we could catch the hurling on the Sunday Game. It said 10:00 on me Da's car when we got in, but me Da's car is an hour fast; so it meant 9.  30 minutes to get back home, for 9:30 throw-in.

The weekend of 'great' football did not come to pass. My other 'team'down the country did exceptionally well in the second half on Saturday (on a different matter altogether), but the fare all day on Sunday was poor. The Championship intensity was lacking in each game.
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Anyway, returning to the start of these ramblings, my bet failed.


"Here's £20 quid" I said my mate on Monday morning.

"Take, it back; I forgot to do it" came his response.

All well, the weekend could have been worse.