Con Houlihan passed away this morning after a long illness. He was 86.
A fine writer, Kerryman, sports lover and above all a gent.
Ar dheis De a anam.
RIP . Wrote his last column this week apparently . Will be in tomorrows Sunday World.
RIP Con - Thanks for the memories
RIP Con. My father always raved about him as a writer and he used to buy the Evening Press just to read him. In later years I came to see how unique he was compared to every other writer.
RIP Con
had the pleasure of a game i played in been reported on by the great man and having my performance complimented by him
His writing and now himself will be greatly missed
Go ndéanfaidh Dia Trócaire ar a anam uasal.
Had the pleasure of meeting the man over a few pints in the Portobello many moons ago, as knowledgeable about Welsh club rugby pre professional days as he was about Gaelic Football,Hurling,Intl Rugby,soccer etc
A true gent( a very hard to understand gent, but a gent nonetheless)
His sports writing will no doubt be held up as THE way to do it for future generations of scribes, though how many future sports reporters will also be a Greek and Latin scholar?? not too many i would imagine.
Ar dheis De a anam.
He was on another level. I didn't always agree with his positions or opinions on things but he was a brilliant writer and you could always see his point. When you see some of what passes for sports journalism these days it makes his passing all the sadder.
What an intellect. What a sportsman, what an irisn man, what a brain, what a mind of information, what a reporter.
What a great man.
RIP
A great sports writer. Used to buy the old Evening Press just to read him. So few replies on here is sad. Time moves on and I suspect many of our posters are going 'Con who?' 'What Evening Press?'
Con epitomised so much of what is great about this small nation. He may have gone to his eternal reward but his words, his wisdom and his wit will live on.
I remember when I started reading his articles at first,I did not think they were very good .Thankfully it did not take long before the penny dropped and I used to look forward to buying the evening press just to read what he had to say.RIP con you were one of the greats
To paraphrase a former Taoiseach: "In the fullness of time, the greatness of Con Houlihan will be recorded"..
RIP Con. We will never forget you. Anybody wondering what the fuss is about should read "Windfalls", the collection of Press articles.
Con Houlihan once said "there's no such thing as a middling spud, it's either a good spud or a bad spud".
Tis true.
Fogra
RIP
Quote from: Shamrock Shore on August 05, 2012, 10:30:44 AM
Con Houlihan once said "there's no such thing as a middling spud, it's either a good spud or a bad spud".
What an epitaph.
RIP
A man who knew his priorities. Was it a Brandy and Milk (for the goodness) he drank?
RIP, remember reading him in the Sunday World many many moons ago, not really knowing who he was and thinking he was very out of place in such a rag. Will be sadly missed.
The late Con Houlihan was one of the greatest sportswriters of all time. His ability to switch, seamlessly, from Gaelic Games, to Soccer or Rugby within the confined limits of his thrice weekly columns, in the Evening Press, was uncanny in its presentation and absolutely brilliant in his sense of the varied characteristics of different people, different places, different skills, different occasions. However, for me, it was his consummate love of Gaelic Games and his inherent ability to accurately reflect the many nuances of any game that made his writing a class apart. Furthermore, it was his instinctive flair for mingling his intimate knowledge of Greek, Latin or English literature with a vivid description of Mike Sheehy or Matt Connor converting yet another wonderful goal in Croke Park that made him so special. As a long time suffering Derry football supporter, one anecdote stands out above all others. It was the Autumn of 1992 and Con Houlihan had a particularly good article in the Evening Press - the finer details of which I forget. Then in the last paragraph he suddenly, as was his wont, switched to a different topic and related the substance of a dream he had the previous night. To paraphrase the concluding sentences, he stated that in the following year-1993- when the green apples were turning to a harvest red in the orchards of Ireland, the men from the Oak Leaf County would at last be celebrating their first Sam Maguire Cup win.
N.B. Apparently, Con had witnessed Derry's great win, in the 1992 Ulster semi final, against the then All Ireland champions Down and was so impressed with players like Tony Scullion, Kieran McKeever, Anthony Tohill, Brian McGilligan, Enda Gormley and their inspirational captain Henry Downey, that he immediately knew when they did not win that year's All Ireland they would certainly win the next year's. Somehow, I do not think that there is any great scribe out there forecasting a similar win for Derry in the near future.
Ar dheis De go raibh a anam. :'(
And Con never sat in the press box but always stood on the terrace.
Quote from: Hardy on August 08, 2012, 12:30:33 AM
And Con never sat in the press box but always stood on the terrace.
Sometime in the early 80's, I took a carload of kids to Landsdowne to watch a Leinster v Munster game. While I can't remember the exact year, I can never forget those youngsters. I taught in Finglas and they were some of my sixth class pupils.
To say I was teaching a volatile gang is an understatement and this bunch of little beauts were the liveliest of the lot.
The craic was ninety, mar a deirfá, and by the time I landed them on the terraces they were in flying form. The day was cold and the game was dire and the spectators around us spent more time bantering with my lot than in watching the proceedings out on the field.
Con was at the game, standing in line with the '22' at the Landsdowne Road end. I noticed that he showed no emotion whatever throughout the entire game, break included. He would turn his head to exchange remarks with anyone who spoke to him or stand aside to let another pass by but that was about the height of it.
Damned if I could see anything out on the pitch that was worth looking at. He stood about 30 yards apart from my buddies and I, and as none of them were brave enough to go up to the old gent with the long silvery hair and the ankle length frieze overcoat, I thought he hadn't noticed their carry-on.
I was wrong.
After the game was over, the little buggers hared out onto the pitch to have a look around; they had pencils and notebooks at the ready, waiting to ambush the players when they emerged from the dressing rooms on the far side. That was allowed but I motioned them to come back to me on the sideline. I didn't fancy a row with any steward who might be daft enough to try and intercept one of them.
Now, the terraces had almost emptied and I thought nobody was watching us as we stood by the corner flag, where I got them in line, ready to walk around the pitch with me to the dressing rooms.
Suddenly, one of the chirpier ones piped up, "Sir, I want to score a try."
"Good man," sez I, "here's the ball. You can't do worse than anyone who was out there."
So he tucked the imaginary ball under his arm and walked back about 20 yards to wind up for his equally imaginary try.
He stood still for about five seconds, to rev up as it were, and then with an ear-splitting 'Yippee,' he took off. He deftly sidestepped through the bunch, giving me a hefty hand off into the bargain, and then with a flying leap, he crossed the try line and slid along for a good yard or more.
This last flourish took everyone, including the try scorer, by surprise.
"Jaysus," I thought, "the two of us will be in trouble when his ma sees the state he is in."
Then Con tapped me on the shoulder.
"Leave him be, master. Don't break the child's spirit. The dirt will wash out." (Or something like that- can't recall exactly, given all those years and my befuddled state of mind at the time.)
Anyway, Con went over to the lad; picked him up; patted him on the head and told him he had never seen such a well-executed try.
He stood around chatting with the boys for a couple of minutes and it was hard to credit that he was the same man who had been standing on the terraces behind us for almost two hours without moving a foot one way or the other.
Talk about a study in contrasts. It was as if a statute had come to life.
He didn't need to be told who they were;where they were from or where they were off to either.
He already knew. I had thought he wouldn't have noticed our presence but obviously he had and what's more, his hearing must have been exceptionally sharp.
He offered me a handshake on parting and said, "They're best mannered young men I have ever met, master; a great credit to you and their parents."
Whatever about the credit, he was right about their manners. They knew their limits.
None of them went on to play rugby; Finglas people had different interests but all of them will never forget the gentle giant with the culchie accent who stopped to chat with them in Landsdowne Road.
I know this because I have met them all from time to time since we parted company and without fail, the meeting with Con Houlihan will be mentioned.
God rest him, the gentle soul. I won't forget him either.
Quote from: Lar Naparka on August 08, 2012, 02:39:08 PM
Damned if I could see anything out on the pitch that was worth looking at. He stood about 30 yards apart from my buddies and I me,...
Great story Lar, but I hope you weren't teaching them grammar like that! ;)
Quote from: Hardy on August 08, 2012, 12:30:33 AM
And Con never sat in the press box but always stood on the terrace.
Love that picture of him behind the fencing on the death notices thread. May he rest in peace .
Great story Lar
Thanks for that, Lar.
Mighty stuff Lar. I was picturing it all in my head as I read it.
Quote from: Shamrock Shore on August 08, 2012, 04:18:27 PM
Mighty stuff Lar. I was picturing it all in my head as I read it.
When Con put his hand on Lar's shoulder some of the gift must have transferred.
Quote from: magpie seanie on August 08, 2012, 04:25:08 PM
Quote from: Shamrock Shore on August 08, 2012, 04:18:27 PM
Mighty stuff Lar. I was picturing it all in my head as I read it.
When Con put his hand on Lar's shoulder some of the gift must have transferred.
For sure Seanie. Lar has a great way of writing a yarn, every now and again i think about the one he wrote about the bike and no brakes and smile to myself . One of my favourite posters on the board . Keep it up Lar :)
Quote from: the Deel Rover on August 08, 2012, 04:39:27 PM
Quote from: magpie seanie on August 08, 2012, 04:25:08 PM
Quote from: Shamrock Shore on August 08, 2012, 04:18:27 PM
Mighty stuff Lar. I was picturing it all in my head as I read it.
When Con put his hand on Lar's shoulder some of the gift must have transferred.
For sure Seanie. Lar has a great way of writing a yarn, every now and again i think about the one he wrote about the bike and no brakes and smile to myself . One of my favourite posters on the board . Keep it up Lar :)
Just broke out laughing in the office there. I wonder did he tell the young pups in Finglas that one!
Quote from: the Deel Rover on August 08, 2012, 04:39:27 PM
Quote from: magpie seanie on August 08, 2012, 04:25:08 PM
Quote from: Shamrock Shore on August 08, 2012, 04:18:27 PM
Mighty stuff Lar. I was picturing it all in my head as I read it.
When Con put his hand on Lar's shoulder some of the gift must have transferred.
For sure Seanie. Lar has a great way of writing a yarn, every now and again i think about the one he wrote about the bike and no brakes and smile to myself . One of my favourite posters on the board . Keep it up Lar :)
Agree with all preceeding posts, lovely story, well told. Off home now, must put the bike in for a service. http://gaaboard.com/board/index.php?topic=21668.msg1114389#msg1114389 (http://gaaboard.com/board/index.php?topic=21668.msg1114389#msg1114389)
Lovely story Lar. One of the better tributes I've read about Con Houlihan.
Con happened to attend the Hillsborough Disaster game back in 1989 and he wrote touchingly and memorably about it.
Quote from: Shamrock Shore on August 08, 2012, 04:18:27 PM
Mighty stuff Lar. I was picturing it all in my head as I read it.
Me too.
In the early 80's it's safe to say Con was the Evening Press. Like many others, bought it on the days that Con wrote. I remember him talking about being on an away soccer internatiional once well before the days of Jacks Army. He was in a taxi with some of a very small travelling group of supporters and the driver excitedly told them to get down to such a bar as it had an Irish barmaid, "ah sure we'll give that a miss we have plenty of those back at home" replied one of the passengers. Nowhere near the pick of his offerings just one I remember. The prose will certainly improve in Heavens press box.
Great story Lar! I am a tad on the young side to have fully enjoyed Con at his peak but I bought a collection of his best pieces about five or six years ago but lost it. Class apart. I saw the Indo ran his piece after the 1978 All-Ireland football final today. Comparing Paddy Cullen rushing back as Mikey Sheehy lobbed him with the quick free to a woman dashing back who smells a cake burning. Brilliant.
Quote from: RedandGreenSniper on August 09, 2012, 09:56:29 PM
Great story Lar! I am a tad on the young side to have fully enjoyed Con at his peak but I bought a collection of his best pieces about five or six years ago but lost it. Class apart. I saw the Indo ran his piece after the 1978 All-Ireland football final today. Comparing Paddy Cullen rushing back as Mikey Sheehy lobbed him with the quick free to a woman dashing back who smells a cake burning. Brilliant.
Here it is
Con Houlihan: 'Paddy dashed back to his goal like a woman who smells a cake burning ... '
Thursday August 09 2012
If A MAN who fishes for salmon with a stake net had seen his cordage dance as often as Paddy Cullen did in this astonishing All-Ireland final, he would have been very happy indeed with his day's work.
But there is an immensity of difference between bending to take out a salmon and stooping to pick up a ball that has got past you -- and for long years to come Paddy will now and then rack his brains and try to find out what happened him yesterday.
At about 20 minutes to four he had every reason to feel that his bowl of glory was about to flow over: Dublin were playing as if determined to get a patent for a new brand of Gaelic football -- and Paddy, himself, was ruling his territory with a style and authority redolent of Bat Masterson.
And the many Kerry battalions in the crowd were as apprehensive as accused men waiting for the jury to return after the judge had given a most unfavourable summing-up against them.
And well they might -- because in the first third of what was surely the most extraordinary final since Michael Cusack codified the rules of Gaelic football, their team seemed faced not only with defeat, but humiliation.
If looked every bit as one-sided as the meeting of Muhammad Ali and Leon Spinks -- and the more it went on, the more the gap in ability was seen to widen.
In their glory-garnished odyssey since the early summer of '74, Dublin have never played better than in the opening third yesterday.
The symphony of classical football began with Paddy Cullen -- he got no direct shot in that period, but his catching of a few swirling lofted balls, dropping almost onto his crossbar, was as composed and technically correct as if being done to illustrate a text book.
And his distribution was as cool and unerring as the dealing of a riverboat gambler.
So was that of his comrades in the rear three -- Kerry's infrequent sallies towards the Canal End almost always ended up as launching-pads for a Dublin attack.
The drizzling rain seemed irrelevant as Dublin moved the ball with the confidence of a grand master playing chess against a novice.
From foot and hand it travelled lucidly in swift triangular movements towards the Railway goal -- Kerry were forced into fouls as desperate as the struggles of a drowning man.
And Jimmy Keaveney was determined to show that crime did not pay: the ball took wing from his boot like a pigeon homing to an invisible loft strung above Kerry's crossbar.
The blue-and-navy favours danced in the wet grey air -- the Hill revelled and licked its lips at the prospect of seeing Kerry butchered to make a Dublin holiday.
They roared as the points sailed over -- and one felt that they were only flexing their vocal muscles so that they might explode when Charlie Nelligan's net bulged.
And such was Dublin's supremacy that a goal seemed inevitable -- by the 25th minute it was less a match than a siege.
And Dublin as they have so often done, had brought forth a new ploy for the big occasion -- this time the rabbit from the hat was the swift breakdown with hand or fist. It added to Kerry's multitude of worries.
And Kerry's not-so-secret weapons were misfiring: Jack O'Shea was not ruling the air in midfield and Kevin Moran was playing as if his namesake Denis had only come for a close-up view.
Kerry's map was in such tatters that Eoin Liston, their lofty target man, the pine tree in whose branches they hoped the long high ball would stick, was forced to forage so far down field that his marker, Sean Doherty, was operating within scoring distance of Kerry's goal.
After 25 minutes Dublin led by six points to one -- it did not flatter them. It seemed less a lead than the foundation of a formidable total.
But perhaps it is true that whom the gods wish to destroy they first make mad -- the ease with which Dublin were scaling the mountain seduced them into over-confidence.
They pushed too many troops forward and neglected their rear -- and then a swift brace of passes from Jack O'Shea and Pat Spillane found a half-acre of green ground tenanted by only Paddy Cullen, and with Johnny Egan leading the race in its pursuit.
Paddy Cullen is a 'modern' 'keeper -- he guards not only the goal but its forecourt. And it was one of the ironies of a game that might have been scripted by the king of the gremlins that now he was caught too far back.
He advanced desperately but Johnny Egan, scorer of that lethal first goal in the rainy final three years ago, held the big trump -- and he coolly fisted the ball over the 'keeper and into the net.
That goal affected Kerry as a sudden day of May showers a languishing field of corn.
Dublin were like climbers who had been driven back down the mountain by a rock fall -- they had to set out again from a plateau not far above the base.
Soon a few Kerry points had put them at the very foot -- then Dublin went ahead with a point.
And now came the moment that will go into that department of sport's museum where abide such strange happenings as the Long Count and the goal that gave Cardiff their only English FA Cup and the fall of Devon Loch.
Its run-up began with a free from John O'Keeffe, deep in his own territory. Jack O'Shea made a flying catch and drove a long ball towards the middle of the 21-yard line.
Mikey Sheehy's fist put it behind the backs, breaking along the ground out towards Kerry's right. This time Paddy Cullen was better positioned and comfortably played the ball with his feet away from Sheehy.
He had an abundance of time and space in which to lift and clear but his pick-up was a dubious one and the referee Seamus Aldridge, decided against him. Or maybe he deemed his meeting with Ger Power illegal.
Whatever the reason, Paddy put on a show of righteous indignation that would get him a card from Equity, throwing up his hands to heaven as the referee kept pointing towards goal.
And while all this was going, Mick Sheehy was running up to take the kick -- and suddenly Paddy dashed back towards his goal like a woman who smells a cake burning.
The ball won the race and it curled inside the near post as Paddy crashed into the outside of the net and lay against it like a fireman who had returned to find his station ablaze.
Sometime, Noel Pearson might make a musical of this amazing final and as the green flag goes up for that crazy goal he will have a banshee's voice crooning: "And that was the end of poor Molly Malone".
And so it was. A few minutes later came the tea-break. Kerry went into a frenzy of green-and-gold and a tumult of acclaim. The champions looked like men who had worked hard and seen their savings plundered by bandits.
The great train robbers were first out onto the field for act two -- an act that began almost as dramatically as the first had ended.
In their cave during the interval Dublin, no doubt, determined to send a posse in fierce pursuit -- but within a minute of the restart, the bridge out of town had been broken down.
Eoin Liston was about to set out on a journey into folklore -- and for the rest of the game it must have seemed to Sean Doherty that he had come face to face with the Incredible Hulk.
Eoin proceeded to leave the kind of stamp on the second half that Mario Kempes left on the final of the World Cup.
People were still settling down for the second half when Jack O'Shea drove a long ball from midfield; Eoin, near the penalty spot and behind the backs, gathered, turned, and shot to the net.
Dublin's defence is justly famous for its covering and the manner in which this score came indicated the level of their morale.
Not everyone suspected it but Dublin had conceded defeat. From then on only a few of them had their hearts in the battle.
Kevin Moran never surrendered and played magnificently all through that unreal second half. He had good lieutenants in Tommy Drumm and Bernard Brogan.
But they might as well have been trying to prove that George Davis was innocent, O.K.
Every Kerry man seemed to have suddenly sprouted wings -- they seemed not members of a different county but of a different species.
And a cynic might have suspected that they had agents in the Dublin camp -- some of the men in blue sent the ball to their opponents with unfailing accuracy.
Kerry's fourth goal was both a finisher and a symbol of their immense superiority.
A high ball dropped into the apron of Dublin's goal. It seemed to be manned by a little man with spikes in his forehead who was shouting: "Take me to your leader."
The leader of course, was, Eoin Liston who plucked it out of a low flying cloud, gave an instant pass to Ger Power on his right and moved on to an instant return.
Eoin's right-footed shot was executed with the panache of one who knew that he could do no wrong.
And the remarkable aspect of what followed was that Kerry did not score a dozen goals.
They got only one more -- when Eoin Liston raced on to a fisted cross-goal pass from Johnny Egan on the right and planted the ball in at the far post.
And so in the grey drizzle we saw the twilight of the gods.
The Hill watched, as lively as the Main Street of Knocknagoshel on Good Friday. And it all seemed so unreal. The final score was no reflection of Kerry's second-half superiority -- neither did it tell the truth about the difference between the teams.
For 25 minutes, Dublin were brilliant; for 45, Kerry were superb. How come the change?
That wry prankster we call luck has the answer.
And in the last chapter of the minor final, he had shown his hand.
A fumble by Dublin's 'keeper gave Tom Byrne the chance to drive home the decisive goal. (We will write about the game on Wednesday).
The mistake that gave Mayo victory came at the Canal End too.
There was a gremlin down there who did not like Dublin.
And he was humming to himself "What a day for being in Goal".
More of Con Houlihan's writing will be featured in the Irish Independent Review this Saturday
- Con Houlihan
Irish Independent
Quote from: the Deel Rover on August 10, 2012, 07:39:16 AM
Quote from: RedandGreenSniper on August 09, 2012, 09:56:29 PM
Great story Lar! I am a tad on the young side to have fully enjoyed Con at his peak but I bought a collection of his best pieces about five or six years ago but lost it. Class apart. I saw the Indo ran his piece after the 1978 All-Ireland football final today. Comparing Paddy Cullen rushing back as Mikey Sheehy lobbed him with the quick free to a woman dashing back who smells a cake burning. Brilliant.
Here it is
Con Houlihan: 'Paddy dashed back to his goal like a woman who smells a cake burning ... '
Thursday August 09 2012
If A MAN who fishes for salmon with a stake net had seen his cordage dance as often as Paddy Cullen did in this astonishing All-Ireland final, he would have been very happy indeed with his day's work.
But there is an immensity of difference between bending to take out a salmon and stooping to pick up a ball that has got past you -- and for long years to come Paddy will now and then rack his brains and try to find out what happened him yesterday.
At about 20 minutes to four he had every reason to feel that his bowl of glory was about to flow over: Dublin were playing as if determined to get a patent for a new brand of Gaelic football -- and Paddy, himself, was ruling his territory with a style and authority redolent of Bat Masterson.
And the many Kerry battalions in the crowd were as apprehensive as accused men waiting for the jury to return after the judge had given a most unfavourable summing-up against them.
And well they might -- because in the first third of what was surely the most extraordinary final since Michael Cusack codified the rules of Gaelic football, their team seemed faced not only with defeat, but humiliation.
If looked every bit as one-sided as the meeting of Muhammad Ali and Leon Spinks -- and the more it went on, the more the gap in ability was seen to widen.
In their glory-garnished odyssey since the early summer of '74, Dublin have never played better than in the opening third yesterday.
The symphony of classical football began with Paddy Cullen -- he got no direct shot in that period, but his catching of a few swirling lofted balls, dropping almost onto his crossbar, was as composed and technically correct as if being done to illustrate a text book.
And his distribution was as cool and unerring as the dealing of a riverboat gambler.
So was that of his comrades in the rear three -- Kerry's infrequent sallies towards the Canal End almost always ended up as launching-pads for a Dublin attack.
The drizzling rain seemed irrelevant as Dublin moved the ball with the confidence of a grand master playing chess against a novice.
From foot and hand it travelled lucidly in swift triangular movements towards the Railway goal -- Kerry were forced into fouls as desperate as the struggles of a drowning man.
And Jimmy Keaveney was determined to show that crime did not pay: the ball took wing from his boot like a pigeon homing to an invisible loft strung above Kerry's crossbar.
The blue-and-navy favours danced in the wet grey air -- the Hill revelled and licked its lips at the prospect of seeing Kerry butchered to make a Dublin holiday.
They roared as the points sailed over -- and one felt that they were only flexing their vocal muscles so that they might explode when Charlie Nelligan's net bulged.
And such was Dublin's supremacy that a goal seemed inevitable -- by the 25th minute it was less a match than a siege.
And Dublin as they have so often done, had brought forth a new ploy for the big occasion -- this time the rabbit from the hat was the swift breakdown with hand or fist. It added to Kerry's multitude of worries.
And Kerry's not-so-secret weapons were misfiring: Jack O'Shea was not ruling the air in midfield and Kevin Moran was playing as if his namesake Denis had only come for a close-up view.
Kerry's map was in such tatters that Eoin Liston, their lofty target man, the pine tree in whose branches they hoped the long high ball would stick, was forced to forage so far down field that his marker, Sean Doherty, was operating within scoring distance of Kerry's goal.
After 25 minutes Dublin led by six points to one -- it did not flatter them. It seemed less a lead than the foundation of a formidable total.
But perhaps it is true that whom the gods wish to destroy they first make mad -- the ease with which Dublin were scaling the mountain seduced them into over-confidence.
They pushed too many troops forward and neglected their rear -- and then a swift brace of passes from Jack O'Shea and Pat Spillane found a half-acre of green ground tenanted by only Paddy Cullen, and with Johnny Egan leading the race in its pursuit.
Paddy Cullen is a 'modern' 'keeper -- he guards not only the goal but its forecourt. And it was one of the ironies of a game that might have been scripted by the king of the gremlins that now he was caught too far back.
He advanced desperately but Johnny Egan, scorer of that lethal first goal in the rainy final three years ago, held the big trump -- and he coolly fisted the ball over the 'keeper and into the net.
That goal affected Kerry as a sudden day of May showers a languishing field of corn.
Dublin were like climbers who had been driven back down the mountain by a rock fall -- they had to set out again from a plateau not far above the base.
Soon a few Kerry points had put them at the very foot -- then Dublin went ahead with a point.
And now came the moment that will go into that department of sport's museum where abide such strange happenings as the Long Count and the goal that gave Cardiff their only English FA Cup and the fall of Devon Loch.
Its run-up began with a free from John O'Keeffe, deep in his own territory. Jack O'Shea made a flying catch and drove a long ball towards the middle of the 21-yard line.
Mikey Sheehy's fist put it behind the backs, breaking along the ground out towards Kerry's right. This time Paddy Cullen was better positioned and comfortably played the ball with his feet away from Sheehy.
He had an abundance of time and space in which to lift and clear but his pick-up was a dubious one and the referee Seamus Aldridge, decided against him. Or maybe he deemed his meeting with Ger Power illegal.
Whatever the reason, Paddy put on a show of righteous indignation that would get him a card from Equity, throwing up his hands to heaven as the referee kept pointing towards goal.
And while all this was going, Mick Sheehy was running up to take the kick -- and suddenly Paddy dashed back towards his goal like a woman who smells a cake burning.
The ball won the race and it curled inside the near post as Paddy crashed into the outside of the net and lay against it like a fireman who had returned to find his station ablaze.
Sometime, Noel Pearson might make a musical of this amazing final and as the green flag goes up for that crazy goal he will have a banshee's voice crooning: "And that was the end of poor Molly Malone".
And so it was. A few minutes later came the tea-break. Kerry went into a frenzy of green-and-gold and a tumult of acclaim. The champions looked like men who had worked hard and seen their savings plundered by bandits.
The great train robbers were first out onto the field for act two -- an act that began almost as dramatically as the first had ended.
In their cave during the interval Dublin, no doubt, determined to send a posse in fierce pursuit -- but within a minute of the restart, the bridge out of town had been broken down.
Eoin Liston was about to set out on a journey into folklore -- and for the rest of the game it must have seemed to Sean Doherty that he had come face to face with the Incredible Hulk.
Eoin proceeded to leave the kind of stamp on the second half that Mario Kempes left on the final of the World Cup.
People were still settling down for the second half when Jack O'Shea drove a long ball from midfield; Eoin, near the penalty spot and behind the backs, gathered, turned, and shot to the net.
Dublin's defence is justly famous for its covering and the manner in which this score came indicated the level of their morale.
Not everyone suspected it but Dublin had conceded defeat. From then on only a few of them had their hearts in the battle.
Kevin Moran never surrendered and played magnificently all through that unreal second half. He had good lieutenants in Tommy Drumm and Bernard Brogan.
But they might as well have been trying to prove that George Davis was innocent, O.K.
Every Kerry man seemed to have suddenly sprouted wings -- they seemed not members of a different county but of a different species.
And a cynic might have suspected that they had agents in the Dublin camp -- some of the men in blue sent the ball to their opponents with unfailing accuracy.
Kerry's fourth goal was both a finisher and a symbol of their immense superiority.
A high ball dropped into the apron of Dublin's goal. It seemed to be manned by a little man with spikes in his forehead who was shouting: "Take me to your leader."
The leader of course, was, Eoin Liston who plucked it out of a low flying cloud, gave an instant pass to Ger Power on his right and moved on to an instant return.
Eoin's right-footed shot was executed with the panache of one who knew that he could do no wrong.
And the remarkable aspect of what followed was that Kerry did not score a dozen goals.
They got only one more -- when Eoin Liston raced on to a fisted cross-goal pass from Johnny Egan on the right and planted the ball in at the far post.
And so in the grey drizzle we saw the twilight of the gods.
The Hill watched, as lively as the Main Street of Knocknagoshel on Good Friday. And it all seemed so unreal. The final score was no reflection of Kerry's second-half superiority -- neither did it tell the truth about the difference between the teams.
For 25 minutes, Dublin were brilliant; for 45, Kerry were superb. How come the change?
That wry prankster we call luck has the answer.
And in the last chapter of the minor final, he had shown his hand.
A fumble by Dublin's 'keeper gave Tom Byrne the chance to drive home the decisive goal. (We will write about the game on Wednesday).
The mistake that gave Mayo victory came at the Canal End too.
There was a gremlin down there who did not like Dublin.
And he was humming to himself "What a day for being in Goal".
More of Con Houlihan's writing will be featured in the Irish Independent Review this Saturday
- Con Houlihan
Irish Independent
Amazing piece. Pure brilliance.
--" and suddenly Paddy dashed back towards his goal like a woman who smells a cake burning.
The ball won the race and it curled inside the near post as Paddy crashed into the outside of the net and lay against it like a fireman who had returned to find his station ablaze".
Immortal, sheer brilliance.
Quote
At about 20 minutes to four he had every reason to feel that his bowl of glory was about to flow over: Dublin were playing as if determined to get a patent for a new brand of Gaelic football -- and Paddy, himself, was ruling his territory with a style and authority redolent of Bat Masterson.
Why to Kerrymen consistently attempt to package the opposition's football as something new when they're being beaten?
Only joking Con, RIP. ;)
Quote from: ziggy90 on August 10, 2012, 11:10:09 AM
--" and suddenly Paddy dashed back towards his goal like a woman who smells a cake burning.
The ball won the race and it curled inside the near post as Paddy crashed into the outside of the net and lay against it like a fireman who had returned to find his station ablaze".
Immortal, sheer brilliance.
Fantastic, had often heard the cake burning bit but the fireman returning to find his station ablaze had me sniggering, brilliant !
Ar dheis De go raibh a anam usal.
Quote from: ziggy90 on August 10, 2012, 11:10:09 AM
--" and suddenly Paddy dashed back towards his goal like a woman who smells a cake burning.
The ball won the race and it curled inside the near post as Paddy crashed into the outside of the net and lay against it like a fireman who had returned to find his station ablaze".
Immortal, sheer brilliance.
Striking imagery alright but Con was too much the gentleman to follow up by saying Paddy should have stayed by the griddle to mind his cake or spent his time sliding down the pole or whatever firemen do to keep their minds and reflexes sharp.
Dubs will forever blame Seamus Aldridge for doing them an almighty injustice and thereby gifting an AI to Kerry.
But if Sheehy's goal was the turning point of that game, you have to blame Paddy for leaving his (fire)station in the first place. I don't know why Aldridge awarded that free but award it he did.
He was the ref and it was his decision to make. Paddy forgot his primary duty and the rest, as we say, is history.
I've always assumed it was for Paddy's slight contact with Ger Power which, even by today's standards, was innocuous.
Is there a collection of his articles available?
Con was a man of a different age and a different Ireland. We are a lot worse off for his passing. I was fortunate to spend an hour in his company a long time as a gasun and looking back I probably didn't appreciate the wisdom that he was sharing. The last line of this article resonates today.
Twists
As a small boy I couldn't believe in the Ice Age. It was hard to imagine that there was no life in this island. And now it seems that I was right. The remains of a small boat found in the Shannon Estuary about 15 years ago caused the scientists to revise their beliefs radically. It delighted me that sometimes the romantics are right.
There is an old belief that certain species managed to survive the Ice Age. They probably found caverns here and there that gave them heat and air and they came out when the ice had receded. There is a tradition that the ancient Irish were a small, dark people. Cu Chulainn became a symbol of that.
The old Irish cattle were dark and small as the Kerry cattle are today. And then there was the belief that a species of hare had survived. I have proof of this. One day when we were coursing hares about five miles north of Castle Island, a small black hare sprung up. He was so small that we gave him extra yardage of leave. And even then you were afraid that the hounds might catch him quickly.
But the small dark hare was a master of twists and turns and often went around full circle and tormented the two dogs. Time and again he appeared to be captured but by sheer elusiveness he kept the contest going until at last he reached a farm yard where he went under the lowest bar and escaped.
One of our members estimated that the course had lasted three minutes. This was hardly true but when the two dogs came back, they looked bewildered and they were certainly exhausted.
That day, long ago, I was in the company of about 12. Most are gone to another world. A few who are alive are in another country. We never saw the small dark hare again nor did anybody see him -- the species is probably extinct.
What we call the Irish hare has big ears, a long slender body and powerful hind quarters. It was a miracle how he survived because he always lived in the open. Some hares live in woodland but when the rain comes, they get away from the droppings of the trees and will live inland even on a bare field.
The hare has no hiding places. He makes a kind of a form usually of grass. He has total vision and very clear hearing and great power of scent -- even so, it is a miracle that the Irish hare has proliferated. And they are getting bolder.
The young hares are born with their eyes open and a slight fur. They are defenceless and at the mercy of their natural enemies, the stoat and the fox. The old people claimed that the young hare has no scent and that is probably true. The mother usually brings three into the world and she deposits them far apart from one another. This is a help and we are told that when she is coming to see after them, she doesn't run the last one hundred yards but makes a series of leaps and bounds to break off the trail. I have never seen this but it makes sense.
There are all kinds of legends about the hare. Some of them are true. You will be told about a Game Hare: he lives in much the same place for most of his life. He is not extraordinarily fast. He is a little bigger than a normal hare and can be very hard to run down. He is very tricky in his twists and turns and usually he gets away clearly.
There was a Game Hare in my locality for about 10 years. He seemed to take pleasure in playing with the greyhounds. Eventually he was killed by a shepherd dog in the snow.
Some hares have an escape route. It is called a "run". It may consist of many factors to thwart the greyhound: it could be a bush in the middle of the field around which the hare will go full circle while the hounds go flying; it could be a stile over which the hare can skip where the hounds must struggle; it could be a narrow passage under a fence; it could be a gulley; it could be below the lower rung of a gate. One thing is certain: when a hare gets on his "run", he is almost impossible to catch. When, however, he doesn't get on his "run", he has to use all his pace and trickery to avoid capture.
Stamina
Other hares live on the mountain. They are the same species but they are endowed with enormous stamina. When the mountain hare escapes the first two or three minutes, he will race away until the hounds come back to their base looking puzzled and weary.
There is another species of hare found in this island: the English hare. He is bigger and more rounded than the Irish hare. They are now nearly extinct in this island.
The Irish hare is a great swimmer and will travel several miles to some island or other in the breeding season. The hare's fur is waterproof. And this is a help to survive cold weather.
In recent years the Irish hare has proliferated despite all his natural enemies. Obviously he is very intelligent and we are glad to have him with us.
It is legal to shoot a hare but any man who does so will not be a hero in the sporting community. They are a noble animal and though they stand up on their backsides like boxers and fight at the breeding time, it was never known for a hare to kill another hare.
A famous woman called Mrs Beaton published the bible of cuisine. Her recipe for cooking a hare became a classic. It consists of only four words: "First catch your hare."
- Con Houlihan
RIP.
With all due respect, can i ask anyone in here to explain why Con had such a hang up about republicanism ? He really tore into O Bradaigh once.
http://www.independent.ie/opinion/analysis/patriot-games-have-always-been-a-cover-for-irish-bigotry-and-murder-1116924.html
It was a very bitter read towards ROB and republicanism in general, it was also completely untrue to demonise both as bigots/sectarian.
Maybe because he was chief of staff of an extreme paramilitary group? I'm sorry but bigot is the appropriate word for people of such extremes on both sides of the divide and they should be marginalised at every available opportunity, lest others be swayed by the insanity they espouse.
Three cheers for Con on that count.
Quote from: Syferus on August 10, 2012, 11:53:43 PM
Maybe because he was chief of staff of an extreme paramilitary group? I'm sorry but bigot is the appropriate word for people of such extremes on both sides of the divide and they should be marginalised at every available opportunity, lest others be swayed by the insanity they espouse.
Three cheers for Con on that count.
Oh well, there's no arguing with that then. Republicanism should be marginalised at every opportunity and partitionist ill informed or make that pure lies should be promoted.
No matter how you see gallant men like ROB, journalists should not be applauded for pure spoofing but it is accepted in Ireland since Devela and The Irish press unfortunately.
Republicans= bad guys/killers/low lifes
Free staters/castle catholics/ right wingers/capitalists/ gombeens/bankers/chancers/sean quinn et el= always the good guys in Ireland.
Just for the record, respect Con as a sports writer and by all accounts sounded like a decent man, just can't understand why so bitter towards Irish Republicanism.
Quote from: seanog on August 11, 2012, 12:09:27 AM
Free staters/castle catholics/ right wingers/capitalists/ gombeens/bankers/chancers/sean quinn et el
Jesus Seán Óg, you rounded up a fair few usual suspects in that sweep!
Quote from: Hardy on August 10, 2012, 03:52:33 PM
I've always assumed it was for Paddy's slight contact with Ger Power which, even by today's standards, was innocuous.
I was directly behind them on the Canal. Paddy kicked/tapped Power in the ankle. not properly seen on tv. That is why the free was given.
Quote from: seanog on August 10, 2012, 11:40:55 PM
http://www.independent.ie/opinion/analysis/patriot-games-have-always-been-a-cover-for-irish-bigotry-and-murder-1116924.html
Just read a bit of that now. I'm puzzled by this:
Quote
The self-styled PIRA were perhaps the most remarkable secret army in history -- certainly in Europe. For a start, it was hardly a secret army at all. And for a finish, they were the best fed and the best clad and the best housed and the best armed. And for good measure they had a national daily paper to give them aid and comfort.
Which national daily paper can that have been giving aid and comfort to the PIRA? It can't have been the Press - Con Houlihan famously loved the press. Does that mean it was the Times or the Indo? There were no other papers. What's going on?
Quote from: seanog on August 11, 2012, 12:09:27 AM
Quote from: Syferus on August 10, 2012, 11:53:43 PM
Maybe because he was chief of staff of an extreme paramilitary group? I'm sorry but bigot is the appropriate word for people of such extremes on both sides of the divide and they should be marginalised at every available opportunity, lest others be swayed by the insanity they espouse.
Three cheers for Con on that count.
Oh well, there's no arguing with that then. Republicanism should be marginalised at every opportunity and partitionist ill informed or make that pure lies should be promoted.
No matter how you see gallant men like ROB, journalists should not be applauded for pure spoofing but it is accepted in Ireland since Devela and The Irish press unfortunately.
Republicans= bad guys/killers/low lifes
Free staters/castle catholics/ right wingers/capitalists/ gombeens/bankers/chancers/sean quinn et el= always the good guys in Ireland.
Just for the record, respect Con as a sports writer and by all accounts sounded like a decent man, just can't understand why so bitter towards Irish Republicanism.
The extremists don't have a monopoly on republicanism no matter however much they want to portray themselves as its flag bearers. I don't think you realise how anachronistic and genuinely irrelevant someone like Ruairi O'Bradaigh now is. Whereas even Ian Paisley mellowed somewhat and moved nearer the centre people like O'Bradaigh were happy to assume the fringe equated some sort of better, purer form of their ideology.
Don't just assume someone is lumping it all together when they critique bigotry.
Quote from: seanog on August 11, 2012, 12:09:27 AM
Quote from: Syferus on August 10, 2012, 11:53:43 PM
Maybe because he was chief of staff of an extreme paramilitary group? I'm sorry but bigot is the appropriate word for people of such extremes on both sides of the divide and they should be marginalised at every available opportunity, lest others be swayed by the insanity they espouse.
Three cheers for Con on that count.
Oh well, there's no arguing with that then. Republicanism should be marginalised at every opportunity and partitionist ill informed or make that pure lies should be promoted.
No matter how you see gallant men like ROB, journalists should not be applauded for pure spoofing but it is accepted in Ireland since Devela and The Irish press unfortunately.
Republicans= bad guys/killers/low lifes
Free staters/castle catholics/ right wingers/capitalists/ gombeens/bankers/chancers/sean quinn et el= always the good guys in Ireland.
Just for the record, respect Con as a sports writer and by all accounts sounded like a decent man, just can't understand why so bitter towards Irish Republicanism.
Its an RIP thread ffs ::)
They dont make them like Con anymore. Maybe Wee Wishie Fogarty is from the same mould, but he wont be as well known on a national scale -he writes for "The Kerryman". Cons subject material was so wide and varied. I enjoyed Lars recollection of meeting him - that kind of says all you need to know about him.
Enjoyed the history of the Irish hare too. I once had a greyhound who was leading/favourite for the Derby trial stake at Cons former town, Castleisland. It was a good trek down from the North and the meet was interrupted by snow. I spent the cancelled day between in Kirbys Brogue Inn and met up for not the first time with Wishie Fogarty. Well worth checking him out too. You would be in Wishies company, with some of his cohorts around Tralee, and they would regaling each other for hours, in a normal everyday way I dont see in other counties.
Like John B for instance, Kerrymen must be the masters at not telling, but painting a story in a magical/lyrical way. Must be a bardic tradition passed on, because I know a couple of Kerrymen now living up here in Co Antrim and they have exactly the same characteristics.
Quote from: seanog on August 11, 2012, 12:09:27 AM
Quote from: Syferus on August 10, 2012, 11:53:43 PM
Maybe because he was chief of staff of an extreme paramilitary group? I'm sorry but bigot is the appropriate word for people of such extremes on both sides of the divide and they should be marginalised at every available opportunity, lest others be swayed by the insanity they espouse.
Three cheers for Con on that count.
Oh well, there's no arguing with that then. Republicanism should be marginalised at every opportunity and partitionist ill informed or make that pure lies should be promoted.
No matter how you see gallant men like ROB, journalists should not be applauded for pure spoofing but it is accepted in Ireland since Devela and The Irish press unfortunately.
Republicans= bad guys/killers/low lifes
Free staters/castle catholics/ right wingers/capitalists/ gombeens/bankers/chancers/sean quinn et el= always the good guys in Ireland.
Just for the record, respect Con as a sports writer and by all accounts sounded like a decent man, just can't understand why so bitter towards Irish Republicanism.
Jaysus, seanog, you went on a mighty solo run there!
If the creation of straw man fallacies were an Olympic discipline, you'd be over in London right now.
If you are being serious and I'm not altogether sure you are, why not start a thread of your own and leave this one to those who want to mark Con's passing?
No bother, apologies for being insensitive and derailing the thread.
Well done
Quote from: IolarCoisCuain on August 11, 2012, 12:29:32 AM
Quote from: seanog on August 10, 2012, 11:40:55 PM
http://www.independent.ie/opinion/analysis/patriot-games-have-always-been-a-cover-for-irish-bigotry-and-murder-1116924.html
Just read a bit of that now. I'm puzzled by this:
Quote
The self-styled PIRA were perhaps the most remarkable secret army in history -- certainly in Europe. For a start, it was hardly a secret army at all. And for a finish, they were the best fed and the best clad and the best housed and the best armed. And for good measure they had a national daily paper to give them aid and comfort.
Which national daily paper can that have been giving aid and comfort to the PIRA? It can't have been the Press - Con Houlihan famously loved the press. Does that mean it was the Times or the Indo? There were no other papers. What's going on?
I think it was the Irish Press, Iolar.
Tim Pat Coogan, the senior editor at the time was regarded by many as a closet Provo supporter. I don't think Tim Pat could be accused of giving comfort and aid to the PIRA but I don't really know if he did or not. Certainly, his paper didn't go to the same lengths as the other two dailies did when it came to condemning Provo outrages.
Con certainly seems to have enjoyed his time with the Press but I imagine he was referring to the evening paper.
Quote from: Lar Naparka on August 11, 2012, 11:38:10 PM
Quote from: IolarCoisCuain on August 11, 2012, 12:29:32 AM
Quote from: seanog on August 10, 2012, 11:40:55 PM
http://www.independent.ie/opinion/analysis/patriot-games-have-always-been-a-cover-for-irish-bigotry-and-murder-1116924.html
Just read a bit of that now. I'm puzzled by this:
Quote
The self-styled PIRA were perhaps the most remarkable secret army in history -- certainly in Europe. For a start, it was hardly a secret army at all. And for a finish, they were the best fed and the best clad and the best housed and the best armed. And for good measure they had a national daily paper to give them aid and comfort.
Which national daily paper can that have been giving aid and comfort to the PIRA? It can't have been the Press - Con Houlihan famously loved the press. Does that mean it was the Times or the Indo? There were no other papers. What's going on?
I think it was the Irish Press, Iolar.
Tim Pat Coogan, the senior editor at the time was regarded by many as a closet Provo supporter. I don't think Tim Pat could be accused of giving comfort and aid to the PIRA but I don't really know if he did or not. Certainly, his paper didn't go to the same lengths as the other two dailies did when it came to condemning Provo outrages.
Con certainly seems to have enjoyed his time with the Press but I imagine he was referring to the evening paper.
Seán Óg has graciously taken this discussion off the table Lar so I'll take his lead and let sleeping dogs lie. Sometimes the best thing to do with the past is just draw a line under it and move on.
Waiting For Houlihan, on RTE1 now
Quote from: Ciarrai_thuaidh on August 05, 2012, 04:28:35 AM
To paraphrase a former Taoiseach: "In the fullness of time, the greatness of Con Houlihan will be recorded"..
RIP Con. We will never forget you. Anybody wondering what the fuss is about should read "Windfalls", the collection of Press articles.
Got an oul battered copy for a couple of quid off the interweb a few years ago. Just finished it for the 2nd time this evening. Mighty, mighty stuff.
Quote from: 5 Sams on December 05, 2012, 09:47:27 PM
Quote from: Ciarrai_thuaidh on August 05, 2012, 04:28:35 AM
To paraphrase a former Taoiseach: "In the fullness of time, the greatness of Con Houlihan will be recorded"..
RIP Con. We will never forget you. Anybody wondering what the fuss is about should read "Windfalls", the collection of Press articles.
Got an oul battered copy for a couple of quid off the interweb a few years ago. Just finished it for the 2nd time this evening. Mighty, mighty stuff.
5Sams/anyone;
doing a bit o xmas research for the oul fella, on amazon there is also, "In so many Words" (a Best of..), "More than a Game" and "A Harvest" (collection of works);
anyone recommend, or not, any of the above, or would i best be best sticking with this Windfalls you speak of....
ta, jibbajabba
Quote from: quit yo jibbajabba on December 06, 2012, 12:34:41 PM
Quote from: 5 Sams on December 05, 2012, 09:47:27 PM
Quote from: Ciarrai_thuaidh on August 05, 2012, 04:28:35 AM
To paraphrase a former Taoiseach: "In the fullness of time, the greatness of Con Houlihan will be recorded"..
RIP Con. We will never forget you. Anybody wondering what the fuss is about should read "Windfalls", the collection of Press articles.
Got an oul battered copy for a couple of quid off the interweb a few years ago. Just finished it for the 2nd time this evening. Mighty, mighty stuff.
5Sams/anyone;
doing a bit o xmas research for the oul fella, on amazon there is also, "In so many Words" (a Best of..), "More than a Game" and "A Harvest" (collection of works);
anyone recommend, or not, any of the above, or would i best be best sticking with this Windfalls you speak of....
ta, jibbajabba
Can only vouch for Windfalls and More than a Game. Both top class...must get my hands on the others....dunno where you're based jibba but I got More than a Game in an Cafe Liteartha in Dingle for 5 yo yos.
They're all available second hand on Amazon, though at fairly hefty prices when you include shipping.
cheers men
Abebooks.com is the place to go with international and home sellers. Getting them on time for Christmas might be your biggest problem.
More than a game can be got for 13 yo-yo's on bookdepository lads.
http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/More-Than-Game-Con-Houlihan/9781907593246 (http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/More-Than-Game-Con-Houlihan/9781907593246)
Windfalls is his best book by far though..couldn't find it there in a quick search..I'm sure plenty old bookshops down here have it...its well worth getting.
5Sams, good to hear you followed my recommendation...its a great read isn't it?
Quote from: Ciarrai_thuaidh on December 11, 2012, 03:46:12 AM
More than a game can be got for 13 yo-yo's on bookdepository lads.
http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/More-Than-Game-Con-Houlihan/9781907593246 (http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/More-Than-Game-Con-Houlihan/9781907593246)
Windfalls is his best book by far though..couldn't find it there in a quick search..I'm sure plenty old bookshops down here have it...its well worth getting.
5Sams, good to hear you followed my recommendation...its a great read isn't it?
Just saw your post lad. Amazing collection...now read on... ;)
For the weekend that's in it...Michael Foley reminds us in the Times today how Con described Micko's attempts to turn Páidí into a corner back..."it was like tying a spaniel to a concrete block..." Brilliant!
went for the More than a Game option via Amazon, due to my usual lateness in getting sorted;
i will of course have a few reads while sitting on the throne before i pass over said gift :)
ill let you know how it goes down......the present that is ;) thanks again men
Indo doing a special on Con next week.