Donny Doherty diary in the Irish News

[AZOffaly]

How many episodes do you think there'll be? I don't want to clutter the board with two fictional ramblings, especially since I'm no Tom Humphries!

[ONeill]

Probably a good 10 parter.

[AZOffaly]

Unless it's for set dancing I doubt it

[AZOffaly]

Jesus, this is gaa-fiction, not pulp-fiction. I'd read yours as well though

[AZOffaly]

OK. Part 4. One for the weekend. I'm fecking wrecked from it So much for a bit of work today...

June 22nd

"Right lads, it starts now. It starts here and now. All the work in the gym, all the puking in the field, all the challenge matches and all the minding yourselves was with this in mind. We can go out here today and leave it all in Ferbane, go home with our tails between our legs and tell each other how unlucky we were,  or we can start this championship and make a statement. Ferbane are back, and we're back to stay". Mel's first championship captain's speech. No shouting and roaring, no banging balls off the walls, or fists thumping the tables. That will come later, if there's a chance.

The training had been fierce until the middle of May, and league games came and went. A 5 point defeat to Rhode, after two good wins away to Clara and Shamrocks, had been a hiccup, but generally speaking the morale was great in the camp. Declan could see the difference in a year, but was it enough? Lads were fit, keen and confident. But were they confident deep down in their stomachs? When the going got tough and that question would be answered, would it really be enough? Today was Shannonbridge, in Tullamore. First round of the county championship, and 4 games from the holy grail. But today was not for thinking about September or October, today was for thinking about Shannonbridge. Shannonbridge. Shannonbridge.

Shannonbridge, a name which engendered contempt from the ex-players in the crowd, who had never lost to Shannonbridge in probably 20 years of playing. But it was different now. A lot of the 'bridge lads had gone to school in Ferbane, and had proven themselves to be good footballers. They had two county men, JJ O'Brien and Paddy Kelly at centre forward and centre back respectively. Declan would be on Paddy, and he knew him well from school, and from other clashes, including an infamous county semi final. Shannonbridge had strolled to a 6 point win that day, shocking everybody in the county, apart from the two sets of players. These lads were serious, and had one of those batches that small clubs get every so often, with 6 or 7 good players all of a similar age backboning a very difficult championship side.

Declan reflected on all this as the smell of deep heat and ralgex wafted around the dressing room. He was confident, wasn't he? He knew the work had been done, Mel was right. Everything was 10 times better than last year, and a number of years before that, but was it good enough? The doubts were feeding his customary pre-match nerves, and making them as bad as they had ever been. Worse maybe.'Jaysus this is supposed to get easier as you get older'. Big John Murray was starting to supply the roaring in the dressing room. Still #24, and still as eager as ever. Declan had thought that this year's training would finally drive Big John out into the stand, but his love for the club, and for being involved, helped him stick it out, even if he wasn't quite as 'Big' John this May.

"Come on to f**k lads, we're very quiet. Come on and lift yourselves. Get stuck into these hoors from the first ball. No backing down, no going around them. Go through the f**kers. COME ON!!!!" Declan and Murph exchanged brief smiles as John started jumping around and thumping lads with shoulders. John worked on a farm with a lad from the 'bridge, and it would kill him to go in tomorrow morning as a beaten docket. It wouldn't be fun for anyone. But not this year. This year was different. Wasn't it?

Murph was as white as a sheet, and his usual wisecracks were missing. He had finally, after a good few frustrating years backing up Declan Ryan, and yearning for a chance to be a forward, made the first 15 as goalie. He'd done well too, although his kickouts weren't as good as Ryaners. He was accurate with them, and the half back line were slowly learning to give him a target. Over 35 yards he could land the ball on a sixpence, but he just wasn't able to kick the ball any further. He had surprised the lads though, because he had turned out to be a great shot stopper, barring one mistake against Rhode, and he also dominated the square when a ball was dropping in. 'If he'd been there against Clara last year, that ball would never have bounced in the square' Declan thought, before mentally giving himself a shake. 'Forget last year. Forget every other year. This is 2008. This is Shannonbridge, and  this is f**king IT'. The door opened, and the sunlight streaming in met a mass of jostling, seething bodies running in the opposite direction. 'THIS IS IT'.

Mel turned to look up at the scoreboard. Ferbane 0-11 Shannonbridge 0-08. 10 minutes into the second half. It was going well, he thought to himself. Shannonbridge were their usual selves, making every ball a battle and hanging in when things were going poorly. Declan was going well, Paddy Kelly was switched off him after 25 minutes, and he had 4 points from play on the board at that stage. He'd been quieter since then, but was still winning a lot of ball. Mel had popped over a couple of frees, and Rory Molloy, the young corner forward had helped himself to a couple as well. It was tough going, but it would stand to them. At least, it would if they held on to win. It wouldn't be worth a shite if they lost. No second chances in the Offaly championship this year.

JJ O'Brien tapped over a free, and all of a sudden the Shannonbridge crowd seem energised by it. "Come on the 'Bridge. These lads are fucked. They've been shite since Sean Moore retired, and aren't getting any better now. COME ON THE BRIDGE". They say you can't hear the crowd at a match, but sometimes you can. An odd remark can slip through the buzz of background noise, and this one had. It sounded like Paddy Moore, a shopkeeper from Shannonbridge. He'd be all about you if you went into him for anything. Typical. Murph's kickout went to Eamon Flynn at wing back, and he found Declan with a good ball. Mel made his run from full forward, and Declan prepared to give the ball in, teaming up as they had done countless times before. "f**k you Paddy Moore" said Mel to himself, as he raced over towards the new stand.....




'Phew, that was a tough one'. Murph took a long slug out of his pint of Rock Shandy back in Gavin's. Declan nodded, and Mel replied. "Never any different with them lads. It'll stand to us though. A few of the other lads stood up today."

"And George Foreman here did the business as well" laughed Brendan, slapping Declan on the shoulder. The 'retirement' was still a running joke, and at this stage Declan had forgotten how many famous comeback artists he'd been compared to. f**k's sake, he'd only missed a month. 6 points was a good tally today, and he was happy with himself, but Shannonbridge had been as tough as he expected. JJ O'Brien had gotten himself sent off after Mel had put 3 points back between the teams, and that killed the 'bridge off. It wasn't exactly free-wheeling to the end line, but 2-14 to 0-10 would look more comfortable in the paper than it was on the field.

"We have to keep the feet on the ground. 10 points is a big win, but we were only 3 or 4 points a better team. Paddy was right afterwards."

Paddy had been cool in the dressing room after the game, and Declan liked it. There was no hullabaloo, and he told everyone to calm down. The warm down was done in front of the dressing room area, and when it was over he sent them to the showers, and straight home. "No drinking in Gavin's lads. Have a mineral. If Offaly lose next weekend, we'll be out on the 6th. Training on Tuesday night, a bit of ball work, and rubs for the weary. Well done lads, but this will mean f**k all if we don't keep going".

And then he was gone. Paddy never stuck around long, after training or a match. Some of the lads didn't like it, but Declan knew what he was thinking. He was an outsider, and that suited him better when difficult decisions had to be made. No point trying to buddy up to lads if you knew you were there to do a job. Paddy was already being tipped to take over in Roscommon, after they'd crashed out of the Connacht Championship, and Declan knew he would probably go. Good managers want to win All Irelands, and good managers from Roscommon would want to win titles with Roscommon, not Ferbane.

One year would probably be the limit of his involvement. If Ferbane were going to do it they better do it this year. So if it is different this year, is it enough?

[naka]

az offaly who do we get in the next round, whats the odds on ferbane, will paddy stay if ferbane win the championship ? soo many  questions 

[AZOffaly]

Well at least ye'll all recognise the name when Seán Óg Ó'Ceallachain reads them out on Sunday nights

[Gold]

lovin this AZ

absolutely hooked

great great stuff

[AZOffaly]

No bother, in Ballycumber, between Clara and Ferbane. Just after you come over the bridge into the village, it's on the left. Gavin's Corner House Auld John Paul is dead now, RIP, but the son Paul is running it.

http://www.ratemypub.ie/pub.php?county=Offaly&pub=Gavin-Paul

And the famous Cosy.

[ExiledGael]

Tempted to give the football another go myself after reading that.

[mhacadoir]

AZ, any chance of part 5 soon?

[AZOffaly]

I'm busy at work at the moment, but part 5 will be on the way soon. We've only just qualified for the quarter final. Part 5 might be the last part though, if Clara repeat the dose from last year

[AZOffaly]

Declan Grennan - Episode 5.
***************************

August 24th 2008.

1 p.m.

9 weeks. 9 f**king weeks. Paddy Burke shook his head. Offaly hadn't lost their next championship game, nor the one after that. In fact a surprise run to the Leinster final, and the Qualifier match, coupled with hurling 'weekends' and other postponements had dragged the quarter final out to the 24th of August. 9 full weeks since the promising beginning against Shannonbridge. 9 weeks. It might as well have been a f**king new season. How were you supposed to prepare lads to peak in June and then come back to the boil in August? All the momentum was gone. Ridiculous bullshit in a county like Offaly. It's not like they weren't used to having dual players or dealing with county teams. Ridiculous.

Training had suffered. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but Paddy secretly feared he had lost impetous and urgency. The players had settled into a comfort zone, and despite the odd mid week league game, which had been mixed, there was a danger that the focus would be lost. A weekend away in Cork, and a challenge with Ballincollig,  had helped dispel the boredom and routine a little, but when you never really knew what weekend you were actually aiming for, it was very hard to get their heads right. In truth, he only had 2 weeks to prepare for the quarter final after Offaly finally ended their interest in the Qualifiers, and the hurlers were also consigned to the championship scrapheap. 2 weeks, after 7 weeks of false starts, 'in case' training and last minute challenge matches. Ridiculous. This club management lark could really wear you out. The approaches from Roscommon were looking much more appetising at this stage.

And now Clara were on the horizon. The team that had knocked Ferbane out at this stage last year. Paddy had seen the video of that game, and had seen Clara in action against Tubber in the first round. Ferbane had also had a good win in the league in Clara, but that was back in April. Might as well have been April 1990. Stupid f**king fixtures. So now it was Clara, and as Paddy drove past the County Hospital in Tullamore, and got his first glimpse of the new stand in O'Connor Park, an uncomfortable uneasiness entered his head. Were Ferbane ready? Or had they lost too much momentum? f**king Fixtures. f**king County team....

Declan checked his gear bag one last time. Two pairs of boots, one moulded, one screw in. Two pairs of socks, plus his 'lucky' ankle socks which he wore inside the Ferbane pair. Two shorts, a warm up jersey and tracksuit. Gloves, but they'd not be needed today, tape for the ankles and wrists, and the ubiquitous 'Deep Heat'. He wasn't sure if Deep Heat did anything other than burn the balls off you if you put it on wrong, but the smell comforted him, and it was part of his routine. Routine was important on days like this to keep you calm.

It had been a funny couple of months. Paddy had tried his best, but lads' minds had wandered, as every weekend was like a watching brief. 'If Offaly lose, we'll be out in 2 weeks'. Rumours spread like wildfire. 'The county board are going to try and run off the quarter finals on the Saturday of the hurling qualifiers'. It was all rubbish. Declan had been involved in enough Offaly teams over the years, until marriage, kids and work made it totally unrealistic for him, and he knew there was very little that could be done. The county teams needed the players fit, and that was that. It was a pain in the arse for the clubs though, and with Liam O'Reilly and young Rory Molloy after getting the call up to the seniors, they were missing 80% of the training and challenges for Ferbane. He'd been in that boat himself, but it was still very frustrating for the other lads. With all the uncertainty about fixtures fellas were also getting grief at home and from girlfriends about postponed holidays, being unable to book specific dates and the like. Sometimes you wonder if it's worth the hassle. Still, if they lost today they could all f**k off to Honolulu in the morning and it would be 100 times worse feeling than frustration or irritation. There's a terrible certainty and finality in defeat, and Declan would prefer another 6 months of not knowing when the game was on than experiencing that again. But today it was. Today and Clara...

Declan always drove in from the town side of Tullamore, up by the Distillery, because he had always done so. The other lads used to slag him about it, but Declan didn't care. He'd gone that way in the car with his father when Ferbane were winning county finals like they were picking apples, and he'd continue going that way until they won another one. He knew his father would be following along on the same road in an hour or so. Traditions or superstitions? Hard to tell, and he didn't really care to question himself on it. More important things to think of today. He glanced over at Mel in the passenger seat. Mel was always quiet on the way into Tullamore for big games, and Declan knew what he was thinking. Not today, not Clara, not again....

Mel stared out the window of Dec's car as they coasted in towards Tullamore town centre. He always slagged Dec about not taking the new ring road. It added about 10 minutes in traffic to the journey, but he knew Dec drew comfort from it. Truth be told he took a little comfort himself. Same routine every time. Dec driving, Mel's wife bringing Dec's wife ,and now his kid, later. Consistency, routine, tradition. Definitely comforting when your mind was racing with negative thoughts, and you were trying to tell them to shut up. The sports psychologist Paddy had invited in to chat to the lads had been great, even if most of them had been sceptical to begin with. Visualisation, he had told them, was a crucial part of your preparation. As crucial as all the sprints, weights, diet and practice games. Visualise success, drive out the negative thoughts, and see the game panning out in your mind the way you want it to. It made sense to Mel, but it was getting hard to do as the stand began to appear in the distance. He closed his eyes and started picturing lifting the Dowling Cup. Jaysus what that would mean......

Dec parked the car, and himself and Mel hopped out and took the gear bags from the boot. Ferbane 2004 was Declan's. The last county final appearance. Mel's was a more modern Offaly bag. Dec liked to use the club bag for club games, and county bag for county games or, more recently, Astroturf soccer. Superstition or Tradition? Who cares? As the car beeped the car alarm on, the two friends crossed the road into the players' entrance. Dec took a deep intake of breath and blinked away the sunshine. Here we go again......


4.47pm

His hands in his head, Dec stared at the dressing room floor. He couldn't believe it. What had happened to him? He didn't know what to feel. Only once in his life had he ever even been booked before, and now he was sitting staring at the floor, the image of Brian O'Leary holding up a red card an indelible image, burned into the back of his brain. What the f**k had happened?

He replayed the incident again. 10 minutes into the second half. Ferbane had started slowly, but Rory Molloy, Mel and Declan had slowly started to motor, and by 20 minutes in Ferbane led 0-05 to 0-02. Midfield was in control, and again Brian Scully had been anonymous, and Darragh was being held well by Liam O'Reilly at centre back. Murph's kickouts had been placed expertly, and Eamon Flynn, O'Reilly and Mark Nugent had dominated the half back line. It was all going nicely.

Half time came and went, and with Paddy's words about driving home, rather than hanging on, ringing in their ears, Ferbane had stretched the lead to 1-07 to 0-04 when Declan looked up at the scoreboard with 10 minutes gone in the second half. It was all going well, this year WAS different. Clara were launching another attack, and out of the corner of his eye Dec saw a scuffle breaking out between Rory Molloy and Tony Maher, the Clara corner back. Declan shouted over at Rory to let it go, and concentrate, when Maher, a 34 year old veteran, threw a punch and Molloy went down.

All the frustrations from last year, and the 9 years before that, flashed in front of Declan's eyes and they seemed to take over his entire body. He raced over, and rugby tackled Maher to the ground. The pair wrestled and rolled around the dusty ground until they were separated. Declan stood up, breathing heavily. 'You're nothing only a cowardly p***k Tony. Picking on a f**king young lad'. 'Go f**k yourself Grennan'.  Nothing to it. Handbags. O'Leary sauntered over, the big fat bastard, and had a quick chat with his umpires.

'Ferbane number 11, Clara number 4. Over here'. He called over Declan and Tony Maher.
Said nothing.
Notebook out.
Declan and Tony shaking hands. 'No hassle ref, just a scuffle'.
Then what seemed like an eternity as O'Leary reached for his pocket. The BACK pocket?!? Surely not!
'Off ye go lads. None of that on my pitch'.

Declan stood open mouthed as Tony Maher launched a tirade against the Ref. Mel came over and led him away as it sank in. Sent Off. First time ever. For f**k's sake.
Mel muttered some consoling words as he went off, but Dec never heard a syllable. Sent Off? I've never f**king hit anybody. Out of the corner of his eye, he barely registered Tony Maher flinging his boots against the Clara dugout, but as he sat down with the subs, he thought he could see his father shaking his head.
'Good enough for you Grennan, you tr**p'. One of the heroes in the crowd shouted out. 'f**k off with yourself. That man never threw a dirty belt in his life!' The Ferbane riposte. Worthless. Pointless. Helpless.
Sent Off? 

The game had tailed off to an anti climax after the sending off incident, and Clara never really mounted a challenge. 1-12 to 0-08 was the final score. Declan tried his best to lift himself and roar on the lads, and he cheered with the rest of them when the final whistle went, and shook hands with Tony Maher ('Sorry about that Dec. O'Leary's only a useless bastard') and some of the other Clara lads, but it was a blur, and now he found himself here. Still togged out. Staring into his bag as if the answers were to be found there. What the f**k had happened him?

Brendan came over, he'd had a solid game in at wing forward himself, and was delighted with himself. 'Great stuff Dec, them bastards won't be shouting and roaring today'. Dec smiled half heartedly, and gathered his stuff for the shower. 'Well done Brendan, well played today'.

From the shower he listened to Mickey Moran wishing them well on behalf of Clara, and to keep it going for the rest of the year. 'f**k' thought Declan, 'The semi final would probably be in two weeks time'. He dried himself off quickly and went outside to find Brian O'Leary, and have a quiet word. As he left the dressing room, he met Paddy Burke coming in, and Paddy led him away by the arm, into a quiet corner.

'Striking Declan'.
'What?'
'He's reporting you for striking. The umpire told him you hit Maher a box on the ground'.
'Ah for f**k's sake Paddy, it was harmless. We rolled around, no one hit anyone'.
'I know Dec, that's what I saw as well, but that's what's going in the report'.

Dec shook his head, and said nothing. Striking. That's an automatic one month suspension. And at least 1 game. f**king stupid, blind umpire. Striking. Bullshite. The semi final was gone.

He gathered himself, and went out to meet Máire and Oisin, for the drive back to Gavin's and beyond. It was a great result for Ferbane today, and he had to remember that, but his head was spinning too. Red Card. Striking. One Month. This year was different alright. Very different.

[T O Hare]

why was there no donny this week?

[naka]

i take it we are going to appeal dec`s sending of to the dra, is logan available