Donny Doherty diary in the Irish News

[AZOffaly]

Episode 6 (I think)

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September 2nd 2008

7pm

"Welcome to Off the ball, the Sports show on Newstalk 106 to 108 FM", Declan turned the radio up to listen to his favourite radio show as he drove steadily along the Tullamore road on a nice sunny evening. Tractors and Trailors, Combines and Balers were littered along the road as the farmers made the best of the unusually good summer, oblivious to Declan and his mission this evening. Peter Foley was meeting him inside in the GAA Centre, where he was to appear before the Disciplinary committee. Peter had been confident when Declan talked to him on the phone, he was hopeful that they could get the sending off reversed, but Declan had his doubts. You had to try, the semi final against Shamrocks was on Sunday in Tullamore, but the video of the game hadn't shown anything. By the time the camera man had panned back towards the Clara goal, all you could see was flailing legs, other players jumping in, and a cloud of dust. Declan didn't think that was going to help, and they had decided not to introduce it.

As he drove along, half listening to the latest news about the upcoming All Ireland hurling final, Declan cast his mind over the past year. Paddy had definitely brought Ferbane on a good bit, and there was genuine confidence in the camp now. He'd done the best he could with the ridiculous on again – off again nature of the championship, and they were out the other side of the main fixtures' disruption, so it should have been plain sailing from here on out, preparation wise. But then a moment of madness against Clara had introduced yet another element of uncertainty, disruption and upset. Declan felt sick at the thought that his moment of sheer brainlessness would cost Ferbane another year of what ifs, so nears and frustration.

He'd not done anything more serious than a bookable offence really, there'd been no punches thrown, or anything like that. At the same time, he knew he'd let the team down. He'd gotten involved in a stupid incident, and while it didn't affect the result of the Clara game, he knew it would be a distraction, at least, against Shamrocks. Not the sort of leadership a great leader would be showing, but at least he wasn't captain this year. He was one of the leaders in the dressing room though, and he had let them down. Badly.

Peter Foley pulled into the car park at the GAA Centre, and saw Declan's car already there. Declan was a great lad, totally committed to the club even when he was with the county team, and was always punctual and reliable. The sort of man that GAA Clubs up and down the country needed to make it the great organisation it was. But now the self same organisation was going to punish one of it's good guys, unfairly. Peter had tried to exude confidence to Declan, but he knew they were on very shaky ground. Declan was well respected throughout the county, and his disciplinary record was excellent, but it would be very unusual for an incident like this to be resolved in the player's favour. But they had to try, the semi final was going to be a tough game anyway, and without Declan it might be too much for Ferbane. This was Peter's 5th year as chairman, and a county final would be a fantastic way for him to finish up his term. He thought they were on the right road, and now this. f**king Brian O'Leary, and f**king Tony Maher as well. And f**king Declan too, he thought, what had gotten into him?


Tony Maher's car pulled into the GAA Centre as well, and Declan was surprised to see him there. Clara were out, and there'd only be one or two league games in the 4 weeks. Hardy worth Tony driving down from Dublin, where he worked, to try and get off especially on an open and shut case like this appeared to be. 

'Well Tony? Are you up tonight as well? '.
'Yeah Dec, I said I'd come down so we were all singing off the same hymn sheet. There's no way we should have got the line for striking, and there's no way you should miss a semi final because of it.'

Declan realised what Tony was doing, and he was taken aback. Tony was adding weight to the defence, and if both he and Dec said the same thing, maybe there was a chance after all.

'Jaysus Tony, you didn't have to do that.'
'Ara stop. Sure you're like f**king Mother Teresa on a football field, the wife would kill me if I let you get shafted in the wrong. I'd say we're still fucked, but sure you never know'.

As the three of them marched into the meeting rooms, Declan smiled ruefully to himself as he thought about the different personalities some people had on a pitch. Last Sunday week he'd have gladly strung up Tony Maher for getting him sent off, and tonight they were comrades in arms, trying to buck the system.

9pm.

'Do you want a cup of Tea?' Mae Moriarty, the tea lady in the GAA centre since before Declan came in for his first under 14 Development Squad training session, stuck her head into the little room where Declan and Peter waited for the decision to be handed down.  Peter was after her like a shot, trying to get a sandwich as well, but Declan was in no mood for tea, or for one of Mae's infamous plain ham sandwiches. He just sat in the room as Peter went out, and considered the lie of the land. The hearing had gone well, he thought. The panel all knew him from his years of football, and they knew he had a clean record. They listened sympathetically, he thought, to the story he related, and to the robust defence offered by Peter as well, but it was hard to know. Tony had gone in, and given his version of events before heading straight back up to Lucan, shaking hands before he went.

'Sorry about this again Declan, I hope it works out'.
'Cheers Tony, and thanks again for coming down to this. I appreciate it'.

Declan turned his thoughts to Sunday and Shamrocks. A very different challenge to Shannonbridge or Clara, Shamrocks had been knocking on the Offaly door for the past couple of years, and had lost a couple of finals to Rhode. They were strong, and had some good footballers, but they were beatable, especially if Ferbane hit their top form. But would he be there to help, or was his lot to be a frustrated spectator, sitting up in the new stand with Máire and Oisin? That would be f**king hard to sit through. The door opened and Peter came back in munching on a ham sandwich. No surprise there anyway. Would there be a pleasant one from the room out back?

The door opened again. Tom Rourke stuck his head in.
'Declan, they're ready for you now.'.

Buzz buzz buzz.

Mel's phone vibrated on the mantelpiece. Mel was sprawled across the couch after coming in from a brief session on the treadmill, but he leaped up and went over to read the text.

'No gud. 1 mth and out for w/end'

Bollox. f**k it anyway. Mel had been hoping against hope that Declan would get off. He picked up the phone and called Dec's number.

'What happened?'
'Load of shite. Absolute waste of time. They were all nicey nice listening to me, but when we went in afterwards they said the Ref's report was clear, and they had to take it as sacrosanct.'
'He put you down for striking so?'
'Yep. On the recommendation of his umpire. f**king brutal.'
'Sure can't we appeal it?'
'No, there's no point. It'll only f**k up the preparations for Sunday even more. Just go out and beat them. I'll be back for the final.'
'f**k it Dec, we need you for this game'.
'No you don't, ye are good enough to beat them. Sure if I was injured I'd be out too. Just go ahead and f**king win it.'

Declan hung up and turned onto the Clara road, back towards Ferbane. He was crushed. Just when he thought there was a chance, it had been taken away again. He was right though, any appeal would only cause more distractions and confusion. Better to let Paddy pick his team and prepare them for the weekend, knowing the hand they held. But the sickening feeling stayed with him as he drove home in the darkness. What the f**k had come over him against Clara? If Shamrocks beat Ferbane, he'd be absolutely sickened.

The gravel in his driveway crunched under the tyres as he pulled up and turned off the engine.

'Come on to f**k lads. Give me one more chance. Don't let this year finish in a f**king meeting room.'

[stpauls]

brilliant, the suspense i really getting to me!! keep them coming!!

[naka]

 :oso he didnt get off, are ferbane in diffs will a new hero emerge

[Gold]

brilliant--keep them coming--the wait for that episode was too long!!

still think other men will stand up and be counted now that Decs defo out for Sunday

[Hardy]

Only seeing this for the first time. Great stuff AZ.

[AZOffaly]

Episode 7. The Semi Final.

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September 7th 2008

12.00 noon.

Mel looked out as he finished a light lunch, chicken and pasta as per Paddy's diet sheet, and winced as another howling gust of wind battered the rain against the kitchen window. 'What a f**king day for a county semi final'. It had turned nasty enough on Friday evening at training, and despite a decent forecast for the weekend, it hadn't improved much since. Tullamore was a great surface, and the good summer so far would help, but it was bound to be a sloppy, messy game and the wind would play havoc. This was going to be an extra dimension to the challenge posed by Shamrocks, and the inexperienced lads on the team would have to be ready. Yet another reason why Declan was going to be missed today.

At the meeting last night in the GAA centre, Declan had spoken, and apologised for missing the game. He had spoken well, and when he finished with a plea for the team to give him a chance to make it up to them in a county final, you could hear a pin drop. At least until Murph let a roar out of him.'Not a f**king worry Dec, No f**king WAY Shamrocks are going to stop us here. Get ready for Rhode!'. Everyone had roared, and then dispersed slowly to go home for a restless night. The wind howling around outside didn't help in the battle for sleep either.

Declan had come over to Mel after the meeting.
'Best of Luck tomorrow Mel, keep the lads calm. There's going to be messy times tomorrow, and probably sloppy scores conceded. Make sure they don't drop the heads.'

Mel could see how sick Declan was to be missing the game, and he was worried himself at the thoughts of the team coping without him, especially in bad conditions and unpredictable circumstances.
'No worry Dec. You're some sly hoor. Get suspended so you can sit up in the stand in a big jacket, while the rest of us are getting f**king pneumonia.'

Declan smiled ruefully. 'It has it's good points I suppose, but listen, do this tomorrow. Do a job. Don't let this season fizzle out on a mucky shit day, with me up in the stand drinking f**king soup'.

They shook hands, and as Mel got into the car, he remembered Declan's dilemma last Christmas. To see the fire in his eyes now, how could he have stayed away? Not a hope. 'That lad will be playing for 10 more years'.

Paddy had kept changes to a minimum. No major positional reshuffles. Brendan was in off the wing to Declan's number 11 slot, and Paul Flynn, a lad who was always there or thereabouts for a forward's berth came in at wing forward. Paul wasn't one of the really young lads, and had played a lot of championship football, so Mel wasn't worried about him, any more than he was worried about any of the lads at least. The biggest worry from Mel's perspective was whether the ball into the full forward line would be as good with Declan out. Brendan was a strong ball carrier, and a good man to take a score, but he wasn't as savvy as Declan, and wasn't as good a link man either. He would have to do a job today, especially in the conditions.

Mel threw his gear into the car. He was travelling alone today, another tradition. If one or the other wasn't playing for some reason, the other travelled alone. Stupid superstition, but he was glad in a way. He'd have gotten more nervous looking at Declan fidgeting and foostering in the car on the way in. Back to normal for the county final, at least that was the plan?  Shamrocks might have something to say about whether they were going as watchers or players.

Mel checked the gear one last time, had a thought as he rooted for his car keys. 'Well sure, we'll see in about 4 hours time.'

2.00 pm.

'Are we right?' Declan was trying to hurry up Máire and Oisín into the car, and was trying not to show how irritable he was. This was going to be a really strange day for him, and he had decided not to go in with the team to the dressing room. He didn't want to be a distraction, or the lads to see how worried he was. It was a brutal day, and Shamrocks were a physically big team. Big and fit, who could hit you hard. It's tough to hold onto a greasy ball when you are shipping big tackles, so Ferbane would have to be a lot more direct than usual.
Support play and short handpassing were a nightmare in wet conditions. Another variable in an already unusual equation. Would they be up to it? 'Please God, let us not lose today'.

Máire strapped Oisín into the car seat and they were away.
'Are you okay?'.
'Yeah, I'm grand. Sure there's nothing I can do anyway.'.
'C'mon Dec, the lads are good enough. They'll win. We'll be fine.'

Declan threw the car into first gear, and smiled at Máire. 'I hope you're right Máirs. Sure we'll see in an hour.'

3.00 pm.

Declan paid his money at the turnstile, and glanced over towards the dressing room. The lads would be roaring and shouting in there now. Steam going to the clouds. Deep heat on the air. Balls hopping. Jostles being thrown. Hands being clapped. 'C'mon to f**k lads. C'MON'. He could see it all in his mind's eye, and a wave of nervous tension came over him. This was way worse than being inside there. Concentrating on the first ball, the first point, the first tackle, the first belt. At least in there you had a purpose. You were important. What you did had meaning and you could impact the game.

Out here? Nothing. Worse than nothing actually, because you SHOULD be doing all those thing. It was the first time he had felt this, and he was able to empathise with ex-players who told him nothing compared with playing. It was a glimpse of the future for him, and he hated it. How could he have contemplated retirement? 'As long as there's life in these legs, I'll keep going, whatever happens.' A silent vow to himself, followed by a silent prayer to the man upstairs. ''One more chance God. One more chance.' They took their seats in front of the press box in the new stand, and Oisín immediately took Máire on a walk around the front of the stand. 'No harm' thought Declan, ' I don't want him to hear what I might be shouting anyway'.
He looked briefly at the program as the announcer confirmed there was no changes to the printed teams, and glanced up again as a roar went around the stand. Shamrocks were out, in their Red, Blue and Green colours, and they were big men togged out, just as he knew they were. Conor McPhilips was their main man at full forward, but they had a lot of good players. A couple of mistakes in the backline today and Ferbane could kiss it goodbye. 'Please God, let it not... C'MON FERBANE!!!!!!!' Declan didn't even finish his thought as the men in Green and white emerged from the tunnel. Jaysus this was hard. Mel looked calm enough, and he was going around to the lads, geeing them up. 'That's the way, Mel, keep talking to them today'.
The wind was howling towards the town goal, and when Ferbane played against it, Murph's kickouts were going to be in real trouble. The half back line was going to be vital, but Eamon Flynn and Liam O'Reilly were playing great stuff this year. 'Another big one today lads'  Declan silently implored his team mates, feeling like an orphan looking in at a family dinner through a dining room window. 'Come on Ferbane'.

3.50pm

'Alright lads. Sit down, and be calm. Did everyone bring a second pair of togs and socks? Get changed now, and put on the dry jerseys as well'. Paddy strode around the dressing room. Ferbane were in trouble. 2-06 to 0-04 was the scoreline, and Ferbane had hit a shocking patch before half time. The wind was huge, and playing into it had left them with a big deficit into the second half. It had been going well for 20 minutes, and Shamrocks were getting frustrated themselves, as Ferbane heroically kept them out. The score was 0-05 to 0-04 at that stage. A one or two point lead was going to be way too little in that wind. But, as so often happens in big games, a stupid mistake had changed the game entirely.
Kevin Dunne had been dominating Conor McPhilips, but as he charged out in front of his man for a routine ball, he had slipped on the greasy sod, and McPhilips had been clinical in beating Murph. A free by McPhilips had left it at 1-6 to 4 points, and then a long, wind assisted punt had been punched to the net with almost the last action of the half. A sickening blow, but now he had to lift them.

'Sit down lads, and relax. This game is far from over, in fact it's not even started yet. That wind is going to do havoc with their style of football lads, but we have to CHALLENGE them when they start to carry. They'll slip and slide. The wind is behind us, but don't kick stupid shots from 80 yards. Work your way in to good positions and then have a bang. A wide is no harm. Get up, and keep going. Heads up lads. This is not over at all. Let's get out there and get the first couple of scores. After that, it'll be panic stations for them. Clear the heads lads. Focus on what we have to do now. We are damn good team, far better than them, and we were proving it until the last 5 minutes of that half. Now we go out and prove it all over again, and this time we are the ones who go for the jugular. Ok?'

Paddy was satisfied. He had their attention. There was no beaten faces looking up at him. That was critical. It was a big task in front of them, but it was doable. Could this bunch do it? Paddy thought they could.

The lads all stood up, and were on their toes again, lively, eager. Not beaten. Mel looked around. He knew they were still in this game. Just as the dressing room door opened, he blocked it off. All eyes were on him. Captain. 'Lads. 30 minutes from now, we are coming back in here, and I am NOT going to listen to excuses about slippery conditions, inexperience, wind or any other f**king shite. It's time to be MEN now lads, MEN. Forget looking for Declan, or anyone else to pull it around. Look at yourselves. Look at your own heart. You are GOOD ENOUGH to do this. Now, are we MEN enough?. COME ON TO f**k!'.

Declan was frantic up in the stands. It had looked like a routine operation for most of the first half, until the collapse. At least it happened before 30 minutes, and not 60. There was time to haul it back, and the wind would be a major factor. Ferbane had score getters. There was time, were they able for it? Máire gave him a squeeze on the arm. She knew he was in bits. Even Oisín seemed to be sensing the pressure and tension. He sat in Máire's arms, looking from Declan, and then out to the field. 'What must he be thinking?' Declan thought to himself as he leaned over and gave him a kiss. Then a roar echoed around the stand again. Declan looked around. Shamrocks were back.

4.28.

5 minutes left. Declan had left the seat. He was pacing up and down along the front of the stand. 'Come on Ferbane. KEEP IT GOING!!'. He looked up at the scoreboard. Shamrocks 2-06 Ferbane 1-10. A fantastic comeback.  Mel had been brilliant in the second half, and the half backs and midfield had destroyed the Shamrocks around that sector. McPhilips hadn't even felt the weight of the ball in the second half, and Brendan and young Rory Molloy had chipped in with vital scores, Rory grabbing an opportunistic goal as Shay King, the Shamrocks goalie, had spilled a great shot from Mel. 5 minutes. 'COME ON FERBANE, NO SITTING BACK'.

Liam O'Reilly gave another great ball into the forwards, and Mel sprinted out to meet it, he took it safely into his chest, and was immediately hauled down, 40 metres out. He got up, and brushed the mud off his legs and chest, and looked at the posts. Normally he preferred to kick his frees off the ground, but with the ground the way it was, it would be safer from the hands. Slightly to the right of the posts, left leg, nice and easy, towards the far post and let the wind bring it over. No problems. Nice and easy. Deep breath.

'GREAT STUFF MEL, C'MON FERBANE'. Declan roared as the ball soared over the black spot. That was a vital score. 2 points up. 2 points, the most dangerous lead in Gaelic football, but Ferbane were well on top. 'Savage score Mel' Dec thought to himself as he looked at the stopwatch on his mobile. 3 minutes plus injury time. 'Come on lads, keep it going'.

Shamrocks were getting desperate now. They took a short kick out, and Brian McPhilips, Conor's younger brother carried it towards the half way line. 'HIT HIM THERE' Paddy Burke roared from the sideline. Striding up and down the line, soaked wet, slugging from a Lucozade Sport bottle. 'FOUL HIM THERE'. But McPhilips evaded Brendan's challenge and laid in a ball to Ronan O'Byrne, one of the Shamrocks county midfielders. He brushed aside a tired challenge from Liam O'Reilly and went for a shot for a point from 30 yards out. Paddy held his breath as the wind caught the shot and held the ball up. A deadly dangerous ball. Hanging in the air, coming down in the square. 'YOUR BALL MURPH' he roared as the goalkeeper came off his line to make the catch. Conor McPhilips tumbled as he came to challenge, and Murph made the catch well.

PEEEEEEP!. 'What the f**k?' Declan looked at the ref, Terry Dunne from Edenderry. Penalty! 'NO WAY TERRY!!!! FOR f**k'S SAKE!!!!'. Paddy Burke was going mad on the sideline as the Ferbane defence crowded around Dunne, who was indicating that McPhilips had been pulled to the ground. Declan put his head in his hands. Not again. Not another stupid refereeing decision. The lads didn't deserve that. This was robbery.

Declan crouched down as Conor McPhilips took the ball from the ref and placed it 13 metres out. Looking through his fingers he saw Murph banging his studs off the goalposts to knock the cloying muck off the cogs, and just before he lowered his head, unable to watch, he saw Murph spitting on his gloves and crouching into his stance... 'Please God'


'YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS'. Declan sunk his head miserably into his chest. Then jerked it up as he heard the rest of the roar. 'FAIR FUCKS TO YOU MURPH'. He looked up just in time to see Murph soloing, SOLOING ,the ball out to the side of the square and handpassing it off to Eamon Flynn who ballooned it out into orbit. It must have landed in the hospital car park, but Declan couldn't have cared less. Kevin Dunne was jumping on Murph's back, as Conor McPhilips lay prostrate on the ground. 'CALM IT FERBANE CALM IT!'. 'Holy Jaysus. I'm not able for this.'

'PEEEEP PEEEEP PEEEEP'.

'YESSSSSS' 'COME ON FERBANE'!!!!

Mel collapsed, exhausted, onto the ground. Rory Molloy came over and jumped on him, and he dragged himself to his feet to shake hands with the devastated Shamrocks players. He made his way down through the throng to shake hands with Conor McPhilips.

'Hard luck Conor, Keep the head up. I know how you feel, but you're a great lad. You'll bounce back.

McPhilips hadn't the stomach to reply, but he shook hands and clapped Mel on the back, before trudging disconsolately over to the tunnel, getting hugs on the way. 'The f**king small differences' Mel thought, as he made his own gleeful way to the same destination. 'Very f**king small'.


Declan could hardly contain himself, as he hugged Maire and Oisin up in the stand. 'I'm heading over to the dressing room love. You take the car to Gavin's, I'll travel back with Mel.'

'Take your time, I told you they'd do it'.

Declan beamed as he backed away, 'You were right. And we'll win the next one too. This year IS different'.

[screenexile]

Jesus I haven't had a moment like that in Gaelic since Johnny McGurk's left footed winner against Dublin in the '93 AISF... great stuff Murph!

Cheers for the diary AZ it's cracking stuff... COME ON FERBANE!!!

[ONeill]

This better have a bad ending. Feckin hate happy endings. And a bad ending that's bleak. None of this we lost but we'll try again next year. I want well bate, fall out and perhaps a fatality.

[screenexile]

You Tyrone shower are a cynical bunch of hoors the glass always has to be half empty with you!! AZ, is ther any chance that we could have Ferbane get to the AICSF to play Errigal Ciaran and for Murph to lay Canavan out going for a 50/50 ball? I would like that. That would be excellent!

[AZOffaly]

No way. It ends after the County Final. I'm only an amateur for God's Sake. Will it end with blatant flouting of the new rules as the Dowling Cup gets filled in Gavin's, or will it end with wailing and gnashing of teeth in the Green Fields around Ferbane?

Next week. Same Bat Time, Same Bat channel.

[Hardy]

There can only be one ending - a push in the back and a last-minute goal to win by a point.

[Uladh]

Sure its only an offaly championship....

[Billys Boots]

There can only be one ending - a push in the back and a last-minute goal to win by a point.

That's the Offaly style alright Hardy.

If it was Meath, they'd have to go down by 35 points with ten to go, and scrape through after an almighty ruckus with a last second point when the ball hops over the bar.

If it was Dublin, they'd lose after leading by 86 points with ten to go, and I'll stop now.

If it was Longford, it would never have got past Christmas.

If it was Armagh, we'd be stuck in Groundhog Day, September 2002 forever. 

If it was Mayo, it'd be just tragedy forever and ever.

[Hardy]

 

Tyrone -  they'd win by deploying American Football tactics - 4 downs to get within scoring distance.

Westmeath - sorry. Don't be silly. Westmeath winning something? Ha ha.

Cork - ah no ... too easy (no defence - just a team full of strikers  - you know yourself).

[Two Hands FFS]

Its like an episode of 24..you just cant wait til the next installment