Further into the vortex

Come on Tipperary hurlers, play the game. Waterford and Cork’s hurling panels have both staged heaves against their manager, and now Clare and Limerick are doing the same. That Sheedy fella must have some skeletons in his closet that demand a principled response. Won’t someone please think of the children?

Turning the dial away from Silliness FM, the week’s events on Shannonside represent an escalation in a process that manages to be both inevitable and impossible to predict. It would be tempting to dismiss either spat as unrelated incidents, that the respective County Boards should simply back their managers to the hilt and that’ll be the end of the matter. Indeed, Clare already seem to be going down that road with chairman Michael O’Neill being rather bright and breezy about it all.

Tempting, and entirely misguided. International rugby squads once famously assembled the night before a match without much in the way of anything as shallow as training or preparation, and this was probably true back in the day for inter-county squads. This meant that camaraderie was purely based on internal county loyalties. Nowadays though, GAA panels spend months on end in each other’s pockets. No doubt Justin McCarthy would be of the opinion that there is no ‘panel’ once the season ends and he can start from scratch the following year. Strictly speaking he’d be correct but you can’t expect players, especially ones from a county who were lambasted by all and sundry like Limerick’s were after losing to Tipp last season, to so casually walk away from each other.

It’s a classic case of the law of unintended consequences. When the back door was introduced, the GAA didn’t foresee that county panels would become so much more militant as a result. And it’s only going to get worse.

Waterford United 2-1 Limerick

The chief guest at the wedding at Cana was aggrieved that the best wine was saved until the end of the reception. He could have been talking about this Waterford sporting weekend, for the champagne came in Thurles after the Blue Nun had been quaffed in the RSC. It’ll be hard to cast a non-jaundiced eye over my first competitive home Blues of the 21st century after the excitment against Galway, but I’ll try. Honest.

The first thing to ponder is the price. Having paid €15 for the Ipswich ticket last week – okay, €10 as we got three for the price of two – I assumed that it would be cheaper on Saturday. The piece in the programme notes where they noted that they had considered putting prices up for that game but decided not to screw the loyal half-thousand had clearly sailed over my head, and after the initial WTF reaction, it struck me that that wasn’t too bad. What did I consider good value? €10? €8? Cutting prices would not lead to any more visitors and putting them up would probably lose them a few punters so they’ve probably pitched the prices just right. And the €200 price of a season ticket seems like excellent value. That wouldn’t buy you four seats in the Kop.

Rolling up to the RSC with my brother-in-law in tow, eager as he was to add another location on his Facebook application showing sports venues visited – ranging from Anfield, Old Trafford and the Millennium Stadium at the top to Selhurst Park and Fratton Park at the bottom – we handed over our money and received a big grin along the way. Being friendly or pleasure at seeing a new face? Probably the latter, because at the risk of blowing the big reveal from this post we were immediately confronted by the biggest problem facing the League of Ireland – lack of atmosphere. Initial feelings of awkwardness soon faded. They were probably a consequence of not having done this for such a long time and being nervous we’d end up in the wrong place. But the way individual voices echoed around the stand was excruciating. It’s classic Catch-22. You won’t get the crowds if there is no atmosphere, but you won’t get the atmosphere if there are no crowds.

I’ve watched a good few hurling matches where there was man and a dog present, so could the quality on offer or the lure of the Waterford brand overcome these concerns? My suspicions after the Ipswich game that a more even match-up with a competetive edge would prove more engaging were confirmed. The Blues were clearly the better team with the odd purple patch from certain players proving decisive at key points. Defender John Kearney looked the pick of the bunch early on and it was his calculated punt into the box which unlocked the Limerick defence, good control from *checks match report* Paul Walsh allowed the Blues to put the ball into the mix. If a Waterford player didn’t get to it a Limerick defender would find it hard to avoid it and so it proved, the ball looping into the net off Brian O’Callaghan. It was a good goal, but there was that whole atmosphere problem again -  a pregnant pause followed  while people digested this event. If there had been people behind the goal it would have been immediately obvous to all. There was almost an apologetic air about the celebrations that eventually followed.

What came next was typical of soccer, and indeed sport, the world over as the Blues failed to push on despite their manifest dominance. The only noteworthy moment in the first half was a dive by the Limerick no 9 which was correctly punished by the ref with a yellow card. By half time I was seriously wondering why I had bothered. The other potential hook, that of this being Team Waterford, was not massaging any emotional lobes. This had nothing to do with the team consisting of blow-ins, a charge routinely laid against the Blues by GAA types. In fact, the notes in the (rather good) programme demonstrated that seven or eight players were from the Waterford / Tramore area which is a good core to have in any team. It’s just . . . I was having to fake enthusiasm, and that’s no way to follow a team.

Then early in the second half, a curious thing happened. The Blues failed on probably four occasions to get rid of a ball that was just begging to be put in to row Z, or at least over the running track. Danger was only averted by a poor effort at goal from a Limerick forward. By the time I had calmed down, it was just possible to see the beginnings of actually caring a little bit about the outcome. Interest in a team doesn’t come from the womb or the drinking water, it has to be cultivated. Had I known the characters involved enough to be able to go “ah for f***’s sake, XYZ!” then it’s not hard to see some real interest developing. If I want to get the most out of the Blues then the onus is on me to make an investment, not the other way round. Catch-22 is all very well, but is that just an excuse to rationalise not going?

It was a bit easier to get involved now, and it helped that top scorer Graham Cummins stepped up to the plate. His runs became increasingly more threatening and one such foray culminated in a penalty shout that looked a bit optimistic to me but was awarded after some prevarication on the referee’s part. The penalty was terrible but it popped up from the save in such a way that much as with the own goal earlier it could only be finished by a Blue or knocked into his own net by a Limerick player and Cummins duly did the needful.

2-0 up and that should have been that. Limerick began to threaten a little more as the Blues withdrew a bit. Michael Devine flapped at one cross, but butter knives have more cutting edge than the Limerick attack and it was going to take something daft / special for them to get back into it. The daft was the awarding of a penalty when no one hit the deck and it  seemed that the ball struck no hand. Devine and another Blue got booked, so vehement were their protestations, which only shows that the habit of trying to lay down a marker for future 50-50 moments is a universal trait. The special was a brilliantly dispatched penalty, struck low and hard so that Devine wouldn’t have saved it even if he had known where it was going. There was to be no late grandstand finish though as the Blues closed the game out with commendable coolness . Three useful points earned.

So the $64,000 question: is that the weekly wage bill of League of Ireland club? Sorry, old habits die hard. The question is: will I be back? The answer is probably yes. It would help to find someone who attends the match regularly so I can share the experience and not feel like I’m watching the game on my own (irony-seeking veterans of European Cup semi-finals don’t count). And a season ticket would be good, allowing you to extract maximum value from each game and imposing a repetition on your viewing habits that creates positive feedback for the next game. Anyone got €200 handy?

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)

Waterford United v Limerick, 25 July 2009

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.

Not my province II

Considering it is believed to be tempting fate to contemplate matches that are not yet cast in stone (see: Waterford’s supposed dismissal of Limerick before the anticipated clash with Kilkenny in 2007 All-Ireland final), would thinking about potential opponents in the qualifiers doom us to avoiding the qualifiers altogether? Ah, if only . . .

Following today’s qualifiers clashes, it struck me that there is a theme dominating what I want from each game: defeat for the Munster teams. Familiarity breeds contempt, and there isn’t a single county in Munster that wouldn’t draw an angst-ridden groan were we to draw them in the qualifiers. Just look at all the baggage that would come with drawing Limerick. There’s Justin McCarthy, the fact that we’ve played them already this year with decidedly mixed results, and we can do without rehashing the events of 2007. The seemingly never-ending clashes with Cork were great for the neutral but they need to be put in mothballs for a while to regain that sense of excitement for the committed. It’s doubtful whether the scars of ‘98 have truly healed with Clare, and after watching their limp exit to Galway tonight it’s not a stretch to say their good efforts last year were built on the back of sticking it to Waterford – as usual. And Tipperary . . . the less said about their love of piling the pain on us, the better.

It’s fair to say that all counties relish the prospect of catching Waterford on one of the days when the demons are are just below the surface waiting to be coaxed out by a poxy goal or a sub charging into the right player. It was a concept famously commented on by one the Wexford Larry’s – can’t remember if it was Murphy or O’Gorman – after they defeated us in the 2003 qualifiers. He said words to the effect that “you always fancy your chances against Waterford”, a putdown all the more galling for being true. But at least with non-Munster counties there is the prospect of something different. It’s not too much to ask for.

Town and country

There’s even more hoopla attached to the Munster final this year what with all the 125th anniversary celebrations, so the eyes of the nation will probably be fixed with even greater intensity on Waterford than usual. Over the years we’ve gotten used to Waterford being everyone’s favourite second team. The freewheeling nature of the team’s style of play meant games were frenetic and exciting. If you wanted top notch sport then Waterford was where it was at.

That status has come under threat in recent times. The shafting of Justin McCarthy certainly wouldn’t have endeared them to people, nor would the fist-pumping and jersey-kissing so beloved of certain players. One doesn’t have to think these matters to be deal-breakers to accept that they could be source of ire to a reasonable person. However, reading Emmet Moloney’s piece over at An Fear Rua, the appearance of a double standard needs to be addressed.

I’m going to refrain from fisking Emmet’s piece too much. He’s entitled to his opinion and the tone is more one of sorrow than anger – and besides, the devilish detail is  sufficiently put under the microscope in this thread. What really leapt out at me was the manner in which he referenced the hyper-kinetic behaviour of Davy Fitzgerald when he was a player.

Davy Fitz was a perfect case in point. As a player he got straight into it with referees, umpires, opposing forwards and, of course, the Tipperary supporters. And normally before the ball was even thrown in! That was his game.

Seems almost cute, doesn’t it? Except when certain Waterford players do it, the tone darkens. Not only does it send out a bad message to children – thank you for that, Helen Lovejoy – it’s what costs Waterford All-Ireland’s. Eh? The same antics didn’t harm Clare’s endeavours in the 90’s, so what is different? Emmet Moloney might be able to slide a cigarette paper between their respective displays in the manner that Michael Duignan did recently – Limerick pump each other up, Waterford play to the gallery – but from my admittedly biased point of view it reeks of a culchie contempt for townies bringing their soccer-style ways to the game.

The worst part of it all is that Waterford should be loud and proud of the presence of so many townies in the team. Too much of urban Ireland is a GAA wasteland, particularly with regards to hurling. When living in Galway, hurling was rarely a topic of discussion amongst the masses. Cork city is home to some iconic clubs yet neither Glen Rovers or St Finbarr’s have won a county title in the last 15 years. In Limerick, the once great South Liberties are now an intermediate team. All this stands in stark contrast to Waterford where city clubs not only dominate but hurling is the primary sport. The sneer from horny-handed sons of the soil isn’t going to help hurling regain pre-eminence in other urban areas any time soon.

Davy Fitz +1

A lot has happened since I last posted – that’ll happen when you take two weeks off in the summer. Expect a mish-mash of confused thoughts over the next few days as I try to make sense of it all without having experienced any of it first hand.

The first thing that springs to mind is how, after all the jigs and the reels, it has been a tremendously successful period for Davy Fitzgerald. There was a lot of pressure on both managers after the shambles of the drawn game, a match that was bad to listen to on a car radio in Durham and was likely infinitely worse in the rain-soaked flesh. Therefore it was inexplicable that Justin decided to make no changes to the Limerick team. How can a team score 1-8 in any 70 minute match and be considered worthy of such a vote of confidence? Davy Fitz, on the other hand, rang the changes. Playing Gary Hurney ahead of Dan Shanahan was not at all obvious and left him open to abuse should Waterford fall short. Leaving Ken McGrath out was unavoidable but there have been situations in the past where Ken was not much better than a cripple but Waterford managers have recoiled from the prospect of playing without him even as an impact sub. And the positional switches clearly worked wonders with John Mullane making mincemeat of the Limerick defence, adding 50% to his points tally from the weekend before and generally traumatising them to the extent that they had to keep on fouling him. Yep, after a fraught week Davy Fitz can feel pretty smug.

And so on to the Munster final, what will be our sixth appearance there in twelve seasons. To put that figure into context, it’ll only be the 24th time we’ve contested the final. It bears repeating again and again and again – this is a golden age for Waterford hurling. Rather than bemoaning the lack of All-Ireland titles or even finals, let’s rejoice in what has been achieved.

It’s not worth the drama

As alluded to previously, we ‘ll be jaunting our way through the highways and byways of Britain for the next two weeks and won’t be going to the Limerick match. For those of you surfing on by looking for a slice of that Come on the Déise insight into clashes with the Shannonsiders, fear not: refresh your spirits with this account of one of the greatest hurling matches ever, certainly the best I’ve had the privilege of witnessing. Hopefully though it’ll be a bit less head-wrecking than that one and more like this. With me being in Blighty, the omens are good.

Where will we meet up in Thurles?

We won’t.

*shuffles shamefacedly away*