By
Seamus Morris

All Ireland Final day, except this time it was the turn of the big ball version. Always a sign that the season is a changing; the summer is being laid to rest, winter escorted in with the schizophrenic conditions of autumn. It’s the same every year.

De Scribe had his ticket, gratefully received, appreciating the hardship of those thousands of not so lucky fans, especially from the West. So, once again, with feeling, it was time to make the trek down Clonliffe Road, immersed in the atmosphere of it all.

De Scribe was seated in amongst the gods, that is, at the second last row of the Upper Cusack. Up here the air is thinner, oxygen masks are available for those unable to make the summit under their own steam. It’s also cold, very cold.

Slowly the surrounding seats were beginning to fill, with the majority of them occupied by Mayo derrieres. A lone Kerryman sat beside De Scribe, almost nonchalant in his approach to the ensuing contest, as cool as the breeze that was swirling around him. The state of the Mayo fans could not have been in starker contrast.

Behind De Scribe, in the last row row “we have reached the summit and are planting the flag”, sat a Mayo fan who had become delirious in the rare air of our part of the Cusack. Upon taking her seat, she proceeded to inform all and sundry that it was like “looking at midgets” on the pitch below. Not content with telling her companions seated beside her, she then proceeded to tell umpteen friends on her mobile phone (which somehow still functioned at such an altitude). Yet the piece de resistance had still to arrive.

Our friend decided to phone a fellow Mayo fan, also situated in the stadium. She thought that she would pronounce her whereabouts to said friend, hoping that they could both somehow make eye contact across the vast sward of Croker. “I’m at the very back, look across the pitch, look at where the ball is now, up from that, that’s me !”. OK, the first time is possibly bearable, but to hear this rendition of her location bleated out at least twenty times, before she realised that contact would not be made, was way too much. The Kerry fan next to me looked incredulous, we only hoped that her battery would soon die… alas, it didn’t.

The teams came out. This one was a bit strange though. The programme had stated that Kerry would be first out, yet the men from the West were obviously in a hurry, and proceeded to take all and sundry by surprise, bolting onto the pitch just after three bells. It would be the only time that they would take some initiative during the afternoon.

Kerry came out, welcomed warmly by their men and women. The stage was set… almost. The teams had just begun their parade when two Kerry supporters, of the female variety, entered the row in front of De Scribe. They held in their hands two, legitimate looking, tickets. Yet their seats were not vacant. It transpired that four Mayo fans had the same set of tickets. De Scribe could see that two of the fans clearly had forgeries, for the numbers were written on the tickets, not printed. It was to be their fortune that the two Kerry fans were accommodating, willing to share their legitimate seats with the unlawful incumbents. Indeed, one Mayo fan ended up sitting on his arse beside De Scribe as six into four would not go; it was good to see that there was still room for some idiosyncrasies in the new, more serious Croke Park. We all settled down, some more than others, to watch the drama unfold….

Comment has flowed since that this was one of the worst All Ireland finals in years. To say such a thing would do a grave dishonour to Kerry, who produced a display of skill and brain to become the first team to raise twenty white flags in an All Ireland Final. The first ten minutes promised a classic, as both sides scored at will and Mayo provoked their fans into a state of delirium with an early goal. Bu then Kerry took over.

Their passing was fantastic, and from high up in the Cusack it was a joy to watch their play take shape, as their forwards clicked and produced a display of great synchronicity and style. The icing on the cake in the first half was Cooper’s goal, taken with cool aplomb, bringing back memories of players such as Sheehy and Egan in their prime. At half time, with Kerry having styled 1-12 on the scoreboard, we all knew it was up.

The second half was a victory parade, a chance for Kerrymen to sit back and luxuriate in watching their team make up for the disappointments of Meath ’01, Armagh ’02 and Tyrone ’03. It was more pleasure than ecstasy, each score soothing the pain of the previous three years. For Mayo, it was nothing short of a slow, painful death. Many could not watch, choosing instead to vacate their seats early, leaving the scene of the horror behind them, unable to subject themselves to any more.

It always irks De Scribe how supporters can choose to leave a game early, for surely the title ‘supporter’ means just that - you are there to support your team. The very idea that once defeat raises its ugly head you should turn and run is just abhorrent. There can be no excuse, particularly on All Ireland Final day, for turning your back on your county. Surely those fans were in no rush, surely they could have spared an extra twenty minutes, could have shared the last few remnants of what had been, up to then, a good season. How disheartening must it have been for John Maughan and his players to see a swarm of Mayo men and women leave their seats, ignoring their county when it was in most need of their support. When redemption does finally come to Mayo in the form of an All Ireland, those fans who left early should feel a little hollow, knowing that they abandoned their team in its darkest hour.

As for Kerry, they accepted victory, welcomed it like an old friend. Dara Ó Cinnéide’s speech was needed in a summer of bad oration. It was good to hear the native tongue spoke so eloquently and earnestly. The occasion was all the purer for it.

And that was it. The season was finished, all wrapped up and ready for storage. There are a few bits and pieces to be finalised, but the main fare is over, now just a memory. Each county will take what it can from the season, attempting to build hope for the next one. Same as it ever was.