“That cup could tell a few stories t' was able to talk”

“When the McCarthy Cup was raised heavenward, held by the bandaged hand of the team captain, a great roar rose up from the packed supporters jammed into the town square” That was the description in the local newspaper of the great event, when the long-sought trophy was at last brought back to the county after a long and painful absence…

The possession of the McCarthy Cup was the fulfilment of a great dream of hurling triumph. This distinctive silver trophy was also a visible reward for all those hurlers who had gone before and kept the flame alive but had never held it in their hands. Now, each member of the winning team and the manager took turns to hold it aloft. The cup was a tangible award that aroused county pride and during the course of the evening and long night and indeed early morning many people stretched their hands towards it to feel its cool silver surface.

Now let us fast-forward three weeks. The McCarthy cup has gone round the county. It has travelled more highways and byways than a senator seeking re-election. It has seen the inside of more pubs and hotels than the Guinness 'rep'.

It actually lies in a jumbled storeroom in the musty basement of one of the hotels. It has been put there for safekeeping. There had been a huge celebration at the upstairs dining room in that hostelry the previous evening. The McCarthy cup had been the centre of attention. Everyone wanted to be photographed with a hand on it. It had a place of honour on a baize-covered desk at the top of the dining room.

Things got lively as the night wore on. A lot of drink was taken. The goalkeeper, the comic turn of the team, was urged to get up and sing his favourite song. It was one recorded by an American entertainer, Boxcar Willie, which told of a fellow jumping onto to a freight train to take him away from spurned love.

The goalie easily rivalled Boxcar Willie’s ability to imitate the long, gurgling double-note hoot of the train’s siren, made at the end of each verse. But he went one better. In a moment of inspiration he took the McCarthy cup, put it too his mouth and hooted into it. It proved to have the properties of an astonishing echo chamber. The siren-sound that emerged had a sad, lonesome timbre that matched the words of the song itself. The gathering applauded loudly.

This encouraged the would-be entertainer to use the McCarthy cup as a kind of prop. He took it out onto the landing and placed it on his head like a gleaming silver helmet. It was his intention to make a grand entrance singing one of The Saw Doctors’ liveliest songs. Unfortunately, he took too many steps backwards and went tumbling hear over heels down the stairs. He suffered no more than bruises and a bit of a shaking up. The McCarthy Cup ended up in somewhat worse condition – one of the handles had been knocked a little loose.
The gathering was highly amused at his antics. They were the cause of much laughter. The cup was filled with drink several times and went round from mouth to mouth in a spirit of county camaraderie. Near the end of the night, it lay on the floor; with a yellow alcoholic reside at the bottom. And some regarded it as a very useful and commodious ashtray.

Some days later, it was brought not to a silver smith but to a panel-beating establishment. In that clamorous place, dented panels of damaged cars were being straightened out with great hammering. Someone with a big acetylene torch did a soldering job on the handle of the McCarthy cup. It was no longer loose but was now out of kilter and the burn marks of the torch provided an unexpected splash of colour.

In other ways the cup was not quite the same any more. There are a few dents and scratches on its surface, not very noticeable but there nonetheless. Over the years that trophy became as battered as the visage of Charlie Haughey. As we know, it was eventually replaced with a new one.

There is nothing at all unusual about this. Worse has happened to other hard-won trophies. Only a few years ago some over-excited and alcoholically-enlivened supporters kicked the Sam Maguire cup down the street in Tuam. The County Board and the Galway media expressed appropriate outrage but the reality is that trophies of all kinds have met some unusual treatment.

And not just the All Ireland trophies. Some of the county championship cups are exceptionally large, even ridiculously so. One such trophy was put to peculiar use one year. It was the centrepiece of a dinner for the winning team in what might best be described as a road-house in the northern part of the county. After all the speeches, much drink was taken. Some of the players were booked into the cell-like rooms of the ‘hotel’.

In the small hours, the team captain, who had been entrusted with care of the hard-won trophy, stumbled into his room, and placed the cup in a corner before falling into bed. He was awoken some hours later by the pressure from his full bladder. He was vaguely aware that there was a sort of communal toilet at the end of the corridor. Unfortunately, and unsurprisingly, the lock on the door of his room was defective. Try as he might he could not get out the door. He was desperate. In the end he seized the county trophy and used it as a sort of ornate chamber pot. Luckily it is a very commodious receptacle.

In the morning he finally got the door open by wrenching it vigorously. His first task was to sneak unseen to the toilet and empty the contents of the trophy down the lavatory bowl. Then he took it down to the kitchen and, with the aid of the assistant cook and a scullion, who were there preparing breakfast for the guests, scoured out the trophy with boiling water and then restored some kind of shine to it with a Brillo pad. The captain mentioned the adventure to some of his fellow players.

Unfortunately the chairman of the county board heard about the incident. He got very annoyed and accosted the captain truculently.

“That cup was hard won. It’s not a piss pot”
“Sorry. It was an emergency. I couldn’t get the door open.”
“Why didn’t you pee out the window? That’s what I do if ever I’m stuck like that.”

That very night the gleaming cup again took pride of place at another dinner in another venue. It looked so resplendent and even dignified. People came up and touched it with greater reverence than if it was a sacred relic being touted round the country.