The kiss of death

With friends like this, who needs enemies?

Waterford 1-16 (19) Galway 0-18 (18)

Does adrenalin speed your reaction times up to the point where time seems to slow down? I’m not sure if it is scientifically the case, but there is plenty of anectdotal evidence to suggest this and there was one such anecdote yesterday in Thurles. As Declan Prendergast – and I’m sure it was him, not Michael Walsh – emerged from his own half with the ball, soloing towards the Galway goal with all the grace of a gazelle with a lion on its back, who should I spy tearing up on his right hand shoulder but John Mullane. It was almost as if time telescoped as Mullane moved towards the event horizon of a black hole. Prendergast batted the ball towards him, Mullane caught in his stride and barely broke it as he sent the ball in a curving arc over the bar. And all hell broke lose among the Déisigh.

I’ve been following Waterford’s efforts closely for over a decade now – hurling started in 1998, doncha know – and plenty has happened in that time. We’ve had close games, a few big wins, a few big defeats, drew some, and lost games we should have won easy. But at no point have we won a game where we were behind the 8-ball for most of it. The only occasion that comes to mind where we snatched defeat from the jaws of victory was when Paul O’Brien scored a late goal against Tipperary in the 2004 Munster semi-final. And even then we had led for most of the game only to be overtaken in the last ten minutes. Against Galway yesterday we were probably behind for 60 of the 70 minutes, and were six points down midway through the second half of a low scoring, goalless encounter. To turn that around was the stuff of fairy tales.

The day had not gotten off to the most auspicious of starts. Taking the wrong roundabout coming off the Clonmel ring road sent us on the Fethard road. It had been a while since we had taken this particular cross-country jaunt beloved of those convinced they can trim thirty seconds off the journey. No problem with going through Fethard then. It was just that it got really wacky when we found ourselves in New Birmingham. Who knew there was a place in Tipperary called New Birmingham? We certainly hadn’t, which informed us in no uncertain terms that we’d come too far. Turning around brought us in conflict with a road race where the wretched of the earth were shambling along in the middle of the highway causing us to do swerves that would have impressed John Mullane. Next time we’ll make sure we stick to the main road.

We arrived in Thurles with flaming arrows poking out of our wagon and found the town eerily quiet. In retrospect, I was probably looking forward to some culchie craziness to make our English guests – my brother-in-law and Mrs d’s second cousin, although a much closer relation than that status usually implies  - come away thinking the Micks were all mad when in crowds. God forbid they might think it no different to a regular league match at Anfield or Goodison Park. Making our way into the ground you then started worrying that they’d be certain it was nothing like Anfield or Goodison Park as the decrepit nature of the venue blazed forth for them to see (although the Red part of me wonders whether the Toffee would have felt right at home, ho ho). As it happens the authorities made the sensible decision to close the Killinan End thus forcing everyone together and minimising the gaps that might have reduced the atmosphere. Allied to some relatively decent seats, certainly  by relaxed Ticketmaster criteria, I began to relax myself.

It wasn’t as if I had high expectations, and when the dust had settled my brother would confess that the main reason for going was what he saw as giving a send-off to this generation that have given us such a wild and wonderful time. With 15 minutes to go he would muse that this was going to be the last time Tony Browne would pull on a Waterford shirt. Then again, all things might well pass but that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen today as Dublin failed to bring a tremendous season for them to the next level and reach an All-Ireland semi-final. Quite apart from hoping Dublin would make such a breakthrough and having those hopes dashed, there was a slightly queasy feeling at what would be said when Justin McCarthy’s new team did better than the team who had shafted him last summer – not that I begrudge Justin his happiness, but I can do without the trolling on the subject.

So having got through usual pre-match pleasantries, i.e. Amhrán na bhFiann, which I’m relieved to report didn’t leave me embarrassed at such a brazen display of nationalism in front of the post-imperial visitors , I was trying harder than usual to keep cool. This wasn’t made any easier by the presence of as big a bunch of balubas as ever to grace a sporting event sitting directly in front of us. They weren’t obnoxious, they were simply clueless about the game of hurling in general and the etiquette of match-going in a non-segregated environment (which, as expected, freaked the English folk out no end) in particular. They would applaud the ref for giving a free to Galway when he had given it to Waterford. Every Waterford wide was greeted with cheering and leaping to the feet which is fine in the last five minutes but totally OTT in the first five. One yahoo even had a Dublin beanie hat on, doubtless an expression of true love from some Jackeen brassie he had met in the boozer a few hours before. In fairness to the lads none of their clownishness was directed at those around them, but it was a source of constant irritation throughout.

Not as big as Waterford’s first half performance though. After the initial period of fencing Galway got on top. Looking at the programme beforehand I was struck by the lack of marquee players up front. When you consider how the likes of Noel Lane, Brendan Lynskey, Martin Naughton, Anthony Cunningham, Eanna Ryan and some fella called Joe C spring to mind even twenty years on, Galway’s attack – with the exception of some fella called Joe C – didn’t strike fear into our hearts. They’ve never had a problem racking up big scores since those days, the problem has usually been lightweight back lines. And to see Waterford being horsed out of it by the Galway backs was a source of great concern. Only Stephen Molumphy seemed to be getting any change out of the ball, and Ollie Canning’s limpet imitation on John Mullane was working a treat from Galway’s perspective. Points were exchanged from frees before Galway got the first point from play, an excellent strike from Aongus Callanan after an under pressure Clinton Hennessy had sent the ball straight down his throat. It was just as well that Eoin Kelly had brought his free-taking hurley – and it should be noted what a relief it is that this aspect of Waterford’s game is no longer such a source of angst – because Galway were well on top, helped along by a point from a sideline from Joe Canning. But the double-edged nature of such a talent would be illustrated by a period midway through the half. 0-5 to 0-2 up, Galway embarked on a shocking series of efforts, two dreadful wides bookended by two sideline cuts that were brilliantly struck but drifted wide. Waterford reacted to these let-offs with a couple of frees, one of them a really soft one when John Mullane was hit by what looked to me a clean shoulder, and a great point from Kevin Moran to almost miraculously level matters.

There was no disguising Galway’s ascendancy though, however scrappy it might be. Galway began to edge clear, helped by a point from Joe Canning when he was pulled all over the shop by Declan Prendergast and resorted to kicking the ball over the bar from a long way out. The unusual nature of the point disguised just how easily he had made the space. Waterford would be grateful for a great save from Clinton Hennessy which illustrated to the newbies the value of the reaction of the crowd in gauging what had just happened – abrupt ooh = wide / 65; ripple of applause = point;  huge roar = goal. Anyone taking notes would appreciate this later on.

Canning knocked over the 65 and another ‘point’ from him soon after would cause consternation. Shooting from an acute angle the ball looked wide from where I was – admittedly as far away as it is possible to be and still be in the New Stand – but was signalled over after some hesitation from the umpires. What followed did no credit to either Waterford or the ref. Eoin Kelly in particular can consider himself fortunate to have escaped censure as he flew off the handle. The ball may well have been wide but the display of histrionics was unnecessary and could have seen him booked, or worse. The ref though displayed a surprising level of procrastination, heading in to have a consultation with his umpires when he was surely in no position to second-guess them then allowing the point. Either chalk off the score or get on with it. Eoin Kelly could probably claim on the sly that such pressure helps when the next 50-50 decision comes his way, and it looked right suspicious when Kelly went down in a heap right under the Old Stand on the 45m line. He scored from the subsequent free and we went in at half-time grateful to be only four points down and praying that the swirling wind was a factor.

Initially it looked like it might be the case with Mullane flashing a goal effort narrowly wide, Eoin Kelly scoring one of those ridiculously precocious over-the-shoulder efforts and Kevin Moran tacking on another fine point. But this was a false dawn as Galway struck back with three quick points, one of them the result of a free when Eoin Murphy simply chopped Damien Hayes down in a blatant professional foul. Joe Canning must have pondered having a go for goal to extract maximum punishment and Galway would come to regret such caginess.

The post half-time blowback had now evaporated and Galway moved six points clear. The Shanahan brothers came on – Maurice and Dan respectively, which demonstrates how the pecking order has changed – and Maurice made a nuisance of himself from the word go. Not enough of a nuisance to impact the scoreboard, although he could claim frustration when his good play put Mullane in the clear only for the effort from a narrow angle to go wide. Or did it? Instinct again told me it was over and we got another display of petulance from Waterford as it was waved wide, this time slapped down with righteous indignation by Diarmuid Kirwan. It looked like heads were beginning to drop as the good work by the backs wasn’t translating into scores at the other end.  It was around this point, as alluded to previously, that maudlin thoughts about the imminent departures from the white and blue began to play around in certain skulls. Waterford managed to trim the gap to three but Galway quickly moved back to the insurance score clear, and even the English second cousin could see that Waterford were going to need a goal, something that I suggested was not going to come.

At some point Dan Shanahan had moved in to full-forward. In a sport which consists of 14 mini-battles all over the field with the final result dependent on the collective tally of those battles a simple switch can have a spectacular impact. It’s doubtful whether Noel Hickey would be as discombobulated as Eugene McEntee was, but the brief period where Dan made a difference was explosive. First he gathered a high ball and drove the ball goalwards. Narrowly wide but 10/10 for the effort. Then it happened again, only this time he got the ball clear. I couldn’t see who it fell to or how it ended up in the net – after-the-event nod in the direction of Shane Walsh here for a fine finish –  but the reaction of the Waterford crowd on the Town End told us all we need to know. Suddenly it was a one point game. Galway had a chance which drifted hopelessly wide allowing Waterford to come back down the pitch, earn what looked like a soft free even at the time, thus allowing Kelly to level matters up right on the stroke of the 70 minutes. Extra time loomed but Prendergast and Mullane brought up that thrilling, scarcely believable denoument. There was time for Joe Canning to leap into a phone box and don the outside-the-suit underpants but his tricky effort slipped wide sparking wild celebrations – what was that about not celebrating opposition wides? – as the two minutes of injury fizzed into the bottom of the egg timer.

The final whistle blew and Thurles reverberated to disbelieving Waterford celebrations. During his bout where Waterford supposedly boozed away the chance of beating Dublin in the League, Bernard Dunne found himself well behind on the judges scorecards as it went into 11th round. He had to land a knockout blow and he did. This was similar. We hadn’t exactly been battered by Galway and while they were well ahead it could still be won with a knockout punch. It didn’t seem at all likely though as we went into those last rounds, which was what made it so special when they landed that late flurry of blows and Galway didn’t get up off the canvas. No one in Waterford will be under the illusion that Kilkenny will be quaking in their boots after this. But each individual Championship success has value when you are from Waterford, and the manner of this one will rank it up there with the very best.

Waterford:  Clinton Hennessy, Eoin Murphy, Declan Prendergast, Noel Connors, Tony Browne, Michael Walsh, Aidan Kearney, Kevin Moran (0-2; Dan Shanahan), Shane O’Sullivan, Jamie Nagle (Maurice Shanahan), Seamus Prendergast (0-1), Stephen Molumphy, John Mullane (0-1), E Kelly (0-12, 0-11 f), Shane Casey (Shane Walsh, 1-0)

Galway: Colm Callanan, Damien Joyce, Eugene McEntee, Ollie Canning, Fergal Moore, John Lee, Eoin Lynch, Ger Farragher (0-2), Kevin Hynes, Aongus Callanan (0-2), Cyril Donnellan (Kevin Hayes), Andy Smith (0-1), Damien Hayes (0-3), Joe Canning (0-9, 0-5 f, 0-1 65), Niall Healy (Joe Gantley, 0-1)

HT: Waterford 0-7 Galway 0-11

Referee: Diarmuid Kirwan (Cork)

Semi-final non-draw

There’s been much confusion online since the weekend as to how the semi-final pairings for the Senior All-Ireland (nice to have to make the distinction from how the Minor All-Ireland will work) will be decided. The GAA have nipped all speculation in the bud:

Depending on the winners of next weekend’s quarter-finals, the semi-final pairings will be as follows:

- If Limerick and Galway win (both provincial runners-up are eliminated, Galway previously played Kilkenny), then the semi-finals are Kilkenny v Limerick and Tipperary v Galway.

- If Dublin and Waterford win (both provincial runners-up), then the semi-finals are Kilkenny v Waterford and Tipperary v Dublin

- If Dublin and Galway win (Dublin are provincial runners-up), then the semi-finals are Kilkenny v Galway and Tipperary v Dublin

- If Limerick and Waterford win (Waterford are provincial runners-up), then the semi-finals are Kilkenny v Waterford and Tipperary v Limerick

(H/t to johnnycool and De Paper)

The logic is impeccable. Provincial finalists can not meet. If the quarter-finals throw up two teams who one of the provincial champions have already played (e.g. Dublin and Galway, or Waterford and an imaginary Clare) then those champions play the team they played earliest in the championship. It’s just a pity that this rationale had not been applied in 2007 when we would have ended up playing Wexford in the semi-final rather than Limerick. Then again, maybe it’s just as well; contriving to lose to Wexford might have been too much for our fragile egos.

Free to do whatever I choose

A thought began swirling around in my head after the Clare – Tipperary game which formed into a fully-fledged lightbulb after this weekend’s round of matches. Colin Ryan’s excellent performance from frees against Tipp was matched by one from Alan McCrabbe for Dublin yesterday. It seems that any team with pretensions to excellence in hurling has to have a player who can rattle over dead balls from anywhere inside the 65 metre line. Having someone with that talent is not a sufficient condition for success - Kieran Delahunty couldn’t save Waterford back in the 80’s – but it is surely a necessary one.

Which made the display of shooting in the game between Monaghan and Armagh in Clones on Saturday so shocking. Anything more a than a few metres either side of the posts seemed to go wide, and rarely by a small margin. Paul Finlay kept on missing, yet no one seemed willing to step up to replace him, which suggested that out of his fourteen teammates there was no plan B were to have a ‘mare.

If free taking in football has gone to pot, why? Jimmy Keaveney, another top free taker in his day, has observed that it more reliable to kick off the ground as kicking from the hand involves dropping the ball on to your foot. Maybe it’s a low percentage opportunity. It isn’t an easy thing to strike a football at the best of times, and investing the time and effort in training to perfect the skill like, say, Charlie Redmond used do isn’t worth the effort.

Whatever it is, the art of free taking, so marvellously displayed in the past by the likes of Larry Tompkins, Brian Stafford and Maurice Fitzgerald, seems to be dead in football just as it is all the rage in hurling.

Counties That I Don’t Hate – Dublin

(No 1 in a series of 2)

Jerry Seinfeld once made the observation that when it comes to sport, we are ‘rooting for laundry‘. When Michael Owen was playing for Liverpool he was a hero to the Kop – his outside-the-outfit-y-fronts were slightly skid-marked for effectively displacing uberhero Robbie Fowler, but he was still an object of veneration. Yet three years ago he was roundly jeered and even booed by most of Anfield. His crime? Wearing a Newcastle United shirt. Wearing different laundry.

We’re meant to hate. Nick Hancock – yep, my vision of the world is informed by the bon mots of comedians – put it well when he denounced the habit of having a ’soft spot’ for a team. Hancock denounced such talk, saying that “football is not like religion, football is religion, and you don’t hear the Pope saying he has a soft spot for Islamic fundamentalism”. His addition to this quotable quote, that he was disappointed every weekend of the season that the optimum set of results – Stoke City winning and everyone else losing – didn’t come to pass, struck a chord with me back in the mid 90’s.

Now though, I’m not so sure. Even Nick Hancock would admit that Port Vale are singled out for special doses of venom – he must be having a right old time at the moment as Stoke sit comfortably in the Premier League while Vale languish in the depths of League Two. And once you admit that all teams are equally hateworthy but some are more equal than others, then there’s got to be someone you hate least. It might be due to geographical distance, or lack of competition, or lying down like a whipped cur whenever they meet your team – take a bow, Newcastle United. And my recent affection for the England soccer team has shown me that is possible to change your tune as you grow old(er) and mellow(er). So with all those caveats in mind, I’d like to record the existence of two counties that I like to see win, even feeling some disappointment when they fail.

The first of those is Dublin. I can imagine the splutters of outrage that would greet such a sentiment expressed anywhere else online or in the real world. The Jackeens! How could you like the soccer hooligans masquerading as GAA fans? And it would be fair to say that in the real world there is a divide between them and culchies. Many’s the time in my time in college in Dublin where I encountered situations where they looked down on everyone and everything from the provinces, as if the only difference between their home town and New York was that only one of them was still a capital city.

But in GAA terms, that sense of difference is something to be celebrated, not scorned. Noel Purcell was once asked when he would be heading up to Croke Park to watch the Dubs. Why, he replied, would he be bothered with a team of culchies? At the time I thought he was making some Hot Press-style cut at bogball and stickball. Now a little older and a little wiser, I can see that he meant that ‘Dublin’ GAA teams were stuffed to the gills with people up from the country who only played for the Metropolitans because it was impossible to haul themselves back home of a weekend to play for their real county. It would be hard for the native Dubs to get excited about a team like that.

Which is what made Heffo’s Army so exciting. The weight attached to this team in GAA history far outweighs their achievements. Four All-Ireland’s in ten years was a decent return, but Offaly won three All-Ireland’s between 1970 and 1983 and their legend is almost entirely based on one kick by Seamus Darby. The Dubs were different because of that soccer-style sense of razzmatazz and the townie ways of Tony Hanahoe, Brian Mullins et al. But they were the same too because, well, they loved Gaelic games (or one form of it, and how many of us genuinely devote equal time to both football and hurling?)

The Dublin GAA fraternity are our allies, not our enemies. When the rugger buggers were swooning because 20,000+ attended the decisive match in the 1993 All-Ireland League between St Mary’s and Young Munster, such hubris was slapped down by Robbie Kelleher who scornfully noted that the Dubs could get attendances like that at League matches. Whether this  is true or not – seems unlikely – it doesn’t change that fact that having the likes of Kelleher, a D4-type stockbroker, on our side against those who despise the GAA and everything it stands for, is something to be celebrated.

The charges laid against the Dubs are usually puddle-shallow. Supposedly they are all bandwagon jumpers because 70,000+ go to Championship matches while you’d be doing well (whatever Robbie Kelleher says) to get 7,000 at Parnell Park in the spring. This means they have an awful lot in common with the rest of us beyond the Pale. There were only 14,000 people at Waterford’s opening Championship match last year against Clare and a lot fewer than half of them were from Waterford (full disclosure: I wasn’t one of those present). Yet there must have been 50,000 people in Croke Park in September wearing white and blue. By that measure, it is the Déise ‘faithful’ who are the bandwagon jumpers, not the Dubs. These metrics – modest crowds far below the capacity of the venue in May / June, hysterical bleating that the diehards can’t get tickets in September – can be applied to every county in Ireland. Except Dublin.

Then there’s the whole soccer thing. It’s been a long time since liking soccer was considered an insult even among diehard GAA types. Almost everyone I know who is involved in the GAA, even those who are active in their clubs, has some interest in soccer, particularly (and ironically) English teams. Yet when the Dubs are involved their olé-oléing is instantly bracketed as some manner of crime against the memory of Michael Hogan. So what if the way the Hill supports its team is different to the rest of the country? Would people rather they were down in Dalymount Park?

So those are some defences against the Dubs. But there are reasons other than numbers and a shared sense of tribalism to like Dublin. In football, they are truly a bunch of the most lovable losers. Mayo are often cited (not least here) as a county whose inability to close the deal makes them attractive. Yet in 2006 Dublin managed to out-Mayo Mayo, throwing away a seven point lead against supposedly the most brittle county in the land. How could you hate someone who could implode in a manner that would make a British tennis player blush?

In hurling, sympathy for Dublin comes from another direction. Hurling is a sport constantly having to prove itself. With Laois completely gone out of the picture, Offaly and Wexford heading that way, and Clare, Galway, Limerick and Waterford continually flattering to deceive, the sport is desperately in need of some new blood.  It’s not a question of someone challenging Kilkenny. At the moment, we need Kilkenny to dip their standards for that o happen. But once that happens – and it will; it must – Dublin, with a lot of success and minor and Under-21 level, could be waiting in the long grass.

All this might change were Dublin to become any good. A team striding through the world would get old pretty fast, and there might be some justification to concerns that Dublin’s population advantage would make it invincible were they ever to get their act together. The thing about sleeping giants though is that they invariably tend to go comatose rather than wake up. Look at Newcastle United. Why have a down on a team for something that might, but probably won’t, happen? When the facts change, I change my mind. If Dublin become successful, I’ll reassess my attitude to them in that light. Until then, it’s hard to hate.

As I wrote this, it dawned on me that a success for Dublin could have immediate dire consequences for Waterford. If Dublin win Leinster and we win Munster then one of our rewards would be put in the same half of the All-Ireland series as Kilkenny. But you know what? I’ll take that chance. Winning Munster is an end in itself, and the odds are that we’re going to have to meet Kilkenny at some point if we want to win the ultimate prize – avoiding them until the final didn’t do us any good in 2007. So bring on a Dublin win in Leinster, a fitting reward for the efforts of those faceless drones that have dragged Dublin hurling up from the mire over the last decade. And when the capital joins the rest of us in embracing the joys of Gaelic games, you will all be grateful for what they did.

Smells like team spirit

Team spirit is an illusion only glimpsed in victory

Steve Archibald

Davy Fitzgerald’s confession that Waterford may have been sufficiently distracted by the events in the Point (or whatever it’s called these days) to the point that they couldn’t concentrate on the thing that they had gone to Dublin for, i.e. playing Dublin, must rank as one of the great cop-outs of our time. Had Waterford scored a late goal or managed a mere two points extra over the course of 70 minutes then he would have been crowing about the success of their morale-building exercise.

The truth is that Waterford had a bad day at the office, one they could have had whether they consumed a few too many scoops the night before or had retired to bed with a mug of cocoa after the news. Davy’s implication that, all other things being equal, we’d have beaten the Dubs if only the team had not gone to the boxing is a slap in the face to the Dubs and one that will be used for motivation should we meet them in the Championship this year. Then, if we beat them, Dublin will be accused of being too fired up and not focussed on simply playing hurling. And so on and so forth, ad nauseam . . .

And we would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for those pesky Dubs

Just about every assumption re the League has changed this weekend. Dublin were never going to be a pushover but it’s not unreasonable to expect a team with Waterford’s lofty aspirations to, uh, push them over. 1-11 is a puny total, and with most of it coming from Eoin Kelly you’ve got to wonder what the rest of them were up to. John Mullane’s return can’t come soon enough. There’s  consolation in the performance (or at least what I heard from the few snippets I nervously tuned in to on WLR) of Adrian Power. Oh, and we can keep telling ourselves that Dublin are a genuinely decent outfit. Really.

The bigger problem seems to be that Kilkenny and Tipperary might stride away as everyone else takes points off each other. With the top two going straight into the League final, it’s already out of our hands. Then there’s the wild card that is Cork. Objectively speaking Cork weren’t that great against Clare today. Subjectively (and I say this as someone who was hoping Clare would smack them upside the head; oh, how times change) they were awesome. Not only was any win today impressive in the context of coming at it cold after their self-imposed exile but once again they gave a team a decent lead then reeled them in (see: Galway and Clare in last year’s Championship). With Clare looking adrift at the bottom, it looks like there’s going to be a lot of phony skirmishes in the peleton.

Still, the footballers bounced back well after last week’s shock, and today was never entirely about Waterford. Not a bad weekend overall.

Change for change’s sake, thankfully

Having recently expressed concern that the Waterford team might become calcified in the quest for League success, it would be remiss not to express approval at the changes to the Waterford team for the match against Dublin this Sunday.

Of Jerome Maher, I know nothing so I will refrain from commenting except to say it is good that someone, anyone, is getting a chance (although Noel Connors may wonder what he has done wrong). Of more interest are the selections right at the heart of the defence. Adrian Power has been earning rave reviews in the Ballyduff Upper goal so it’s about time he made an appearance. Goalkeepers are the stuff of mythology in soccer, which makes sense given the highly specialised role they occupy. This is much less true in Gaelic games where the goalie is a souped-up full back. Despite this, the cult of the goalie seems to have crossed over. Cork have effectively had only two goalies since Ger Cunningham made his debut back in 1981, while the Dublin football netminders are similarly monolithic.  Clinton Hennessy still has first claim on the first shirt, but it’s no harm to keep him guessing.

Then there’s the full back. The relative failure of Tom Feeney to make that position his own shows that being a good hurler does not make you a good full back and one presumes that is the logic underlying playing Kearney there. And it would be entirely correct to note that the selectors collective hand has been forced by the absence of Declan Prendergast. Still, we won’t know if Kearney will make the grade unless we try. The logic of picking him is surely impeccable.

And with that kiss of death, it’s off to Parnell Park we go.

Result of the day. Just not today.

Given our mediocre record against them in recent times (21 point massacres notwithstanding), beating Clare away should have been the most notable result of the day in the National League. Except this was the day that Dublin dished out an 11 point hiding to Galway. Most GAA folk relish Dublin’s failings but I’m not one of them – there’s no place more difficult to be a Gael than the capital -  so well done to the Jacks on a great win. Limerick came close to toppling Kilkenny, but close doesn’t cut it when it comes to shocks. And the less said about the Cork hurlers (as opposed to the Cork “hurlers”) show against Tipp . . .

The lights are on, but there’s nobody home

The first match of the National Hurling League season can only be ever adequately assessed at the end of the hurling year.

• Win, do well in the League and do well in the Championship, this was when the ball was set rolling.
• Win, do well in the League and do badly in the Championship, it bred unjustified confidence, covered up the cracks by not exposing players incapable of the summer game and distracted from the real business at hand.
• Lose, do badly in the League and badly in the Championship, the rot had set in early.
• Lose, do badly in the League and well in the Championship, phew, we dodged a bullet there what with not  having a tiring run in the later stages of the League.

And so on and so forth, for all possible combinations. With that in mind, forgive me if my mind isn’t entirely focussed on the phony war against Tipp in Walsh Park today. Can Spurs do Liverpool a small favour today against Arsenal? Can West Ham do Liverpoool a colossal favour against Man Utd? And, most intriguingly, how will Cork’s C (D?) team do against Dublin? I invariably wish that the Dubs, the great hope for a resurgence in hurling’s fortunes, can dump on one of the aristos of the game. But now I’m hoping Gerald McCarthy’s callow group of loyalists can stick it to the continuity Corkonians of Cusack, Ó hAilpín et al. Then again, what damage might such a result do to the fragile confidence of the equally callow Dubs under the new management of Anthony Daly? Intriguing is definitely the word.

I might even watch the match at hand as well. Might prove significant later on in the year.