by
Norman Freeman

An astonishing tale of looking from afar.

A previous article about people using binoculars at matches has brought to light a most extraordinary story.

Binoculars are much more in evidence at matches these days. The modern ones are compact, can easily fit into the pocket of an anorak or a handbag and are no bulkier or heavier than a hip flask filled with whiskey or a pistol stuffed with bullets.

People find them of most use to get close-ups of goalmouth incidents and contentious passages, usually when play is held up and the participants, referee, umpires, linesmen and mentors are all involved in heated arguments.

Some regular users of binoculars have become accomplished lip-readers as well. From way up in the stands not alone are they able to observe the enraged faces but able tell what they are shouting. “Oh Jaysus, the full back is after telling the referee to fuck off. And the manager is calling the umpire a bollix.”

However, this astonishing tale of binocular-usage has nothing whatsoever to do with the field of play. The man in question is one of a well-known family from the village of Killusty near the western slopes of that legendary mountain, Slievenamon. As well as being true hurling followers the family are keen historians and environmentalists. The three brothers have played a leading role in protecting the fabled mountain from those who regard it as an ideal place to dump an old mattress as well as graffiti artists trying out their skills on prehistoric stone slabs.

One particular Sunday, when Tipperary were playing Limerick in the championship, the three brothers debated whether they would travel to Thurles for the match. They had just bought a wide-screen TV set and the match was being televised. But one of them had already been given a good ticket near the centre of the Ryan Stand in Semple Stadium and he decided to go. He brought along a pair of powerful binoculars that were actually unsuited to match-watching but they played a central role in this story.

From the upper rows at the centre of that stand there is a clear view of Slievenamon, almost twenty-four kilometres away. On most summer days it is a light-blue colour, with sunlight and sunbeams making it seem so distant.

On this particular Sunday the air was exceptionally clear. It was slightly overcast. It seemed as if Slievenamon had moved half way forward across the fertile plain of Tipperary. While the Tipperary and Limerick teams were parading round the field to the great clamour of their supporters, the Killusty man trained his binoculars on Slivenamon. He was surprised at how distinct its features were, even at that distance. He was easily able to discern the western slopes, with their heatherland and forest, with which he was very familiar.

Then, he was startled to discern a tiny plume of blue smoke rising from a part of the lower slopes. Straight away he called his two brothers on his mobile. They were sitting in front of the new TV set, awaiting the throw-in. They dashed outside. Sure enough they saw a fire beginning to blaze up in the heather. They jumped into their big four wheel drive and roared up a laneway to the bottom of the slope. They were in time to intercept three young fellows who came running down. The brothers confronted them threateningly. The three confessed their guilt.

“Ye started that fire so you better help to quench it,” the protectors of Slievenamon said, handing them wide-bladed shovels and pushing them forward. They took a big fire extinguisher from the SUV and they all rushed up the slopes. It took about ten minutes of quick climbing to reach the blazing heather and another twenty to completely stamp out the line of flame. Not a great deal of damage had been done. The culprits played their part and promised not to do anything like than again.

The game was going hammer and tongs into the last minutes of the first half when the mobile of the man in Thurles rang. His brothers, now making their way down the mountain, wanted to know how they game was going. “Oh God it’s a dinger, level pegging. Eoin Kelly is after scoring a great point for Tipp from nearly the corner flag. Hurry up and you’ll see most of the second half.”

Actually, when the referee blew for half time the brother trained his binoculars on the slopes of the distant mountain and was able to see for himself that the fire was out.

Unfortunately, there was a price to pay for his brothers’ good deed. In rushing out the door they neglected to lock it. When they returned they found to their great anger and dismay that the wide-screen television set had disappeared. They called the Gardai but there was little else they could do. They suspected that it had been taken in revenge by some of the regular rubbish dumpers of whom they had made enemies.

The two brothers listened to the last ten minutes of an exciting game on a small tinny-sounding transistor radio. It didn’t help their mood when the man in Semple Stadium called them. “Weren’t the last ten minutes of that half the best you ever saw?”

They told him what had happened and one of them finished the conversation grumpily with the words, “Next time it’s your turn to stay at home and look after Slievenamon.”

Related Topic:
More Than Meets the Naked Eye