That’s it for another year, the party is over, the guests have left, and all we have now are the memories. Sunday saw another final, another conclusion to another season. Those old foes Kilkenny and Cork, meeting for the umpteenth time, the rivalry still as intense as ever, perhaps getting deeper as each year passes.

We took our seat in the Hogan Stand, grateful once again to be present at such an auspicious sporting occasion in the nation’s calendar. The buzz was growing before throw-in, Cork fans painting the stadium a sea of red. Hill 16 was monopolised by the Rebels, with only sprinklings of stray Cats interrupting the red.

The game was adequate – it never reached the heights of 2003, but it kept our interest all the way through. In truth, Kilkenny were deserving winners, worth probably a few more points than the three they won by. Cork stuttered all the way through, lacking any real flow. That late goal did give them hope, but it would have been unjust on Kilkenny were then pegged back.

That’s the game, but what about the afters? As soon as the final whistle went, we waited and wondered whether the call for supporters to stay off the pitch would be heeded. As the players acted out the appropriate emotions (Kilkenny elation, Cork dejection) we saw the first few incursions on the hallowed sod. Below me I could see a Kilkenny specimen, buzzing like a wasp, as he evaded stewards with moves that would have done Henry Shefflin proud. Ducking and diving, he was on the field in an instant, and boy did he enjoy it.

Jumping and lepping, this Kilkenny fan seemed unsure of what to do; alone on the Croke Park sward, just minutes after the All-Ireland final, unless you are a player what exactly is your role? He needed company, and it soon arrived in the form of a female from the Marble City. Both embraced – their union was cheered uproariously as if the Cats had just added another score to their tally.

Slowly but surely the green baize began to take on a Black and Amber hue. Mini contests were played out between exuberant supporters and flustered stewards. De Scribe saw a few of the men in fluorescent yellow lose their footing on the controversial Croker sod, the sight of which provoked much mirth in the watching masses. From the Canal End, Cusack Stand and Hogan Stand they began to flow out, the stream gathering in intensity. What would the Hill get up to we thought…

We looked across and saw that a surge had begun on the terrace, the Cats were scratching to get out. Then it happened – one gate was opened and the Black and Amber spewed forth. Almost instantly the siren sounded, and the announcement that stewards and Gardaí must revert to ‘Plan B’ was made. The big screen now had, in massive white lettering, ‘PLAN B’ etched across it. Michel Platini, a spectator at the match as guest of the FAI, must have thought he was in the middle of a full scale emergency.

But he wasn’t – he was in the middle of one of the great Irish sporting traditions, that of supporters spontaneously joining in with their team as they reach the Promised Land. It is a practice unique to Irish sport, and while some may claim that it is dangerous, perhaps backward, to have thousands of people race onto the pitch in such a disorderly manner, I am unaware of any serious injuries having occurred due to the practice.

The only reasons I know of that have been given for the disbandment of pitch incursions after the match are, (1) Insurance claims made against the GAA, and (2) Damage caused to the Croke Park pitch.

The first issue is one that has become, unfortunately, all too real in these times. We live in a society that is becoming increasingly litigious, a climate of ‘mé féinism’ is prevalent. Those in the know claim that it is not enough for the GAA to say that those who enter the pitch area do so at their own risk. Apparently if I enter the pitch, despite being told not to, and slip on my arse, bruising my precious bum, I can sue the GAA.

Is this just? No, but it’s the legal world we live in today. It may just be the cause of the end of the joyous scenes that we have grown used to witnessing post All-Ireland finals. That’s the reality of the situation.

The second issue is the pitch. Since it was laid four years ago there have been many concerns raised about the surface. At the beginning it was deemed too hard, resulting in sliothars bouncing at previously unseen heights. This was followed by the complaint that it lacked any grip, ensuring that the games top players resembled Bambi on ice. On days when the sun was shining from above Jones’ Road, top class footballers and hurlers were losing their grip at a rate of knots.

Peter McKenna, he who is fast acquiring a reputation for vocabulary vacillation, attempted to lay the blame at the feet of the players, literally. Claiming that they were wearing the incorrect footwear, McKenna was basically questioning the intelligence of top inter-county squads who in this day and age have their preparations down to a tee. It was a gross misjudgement on McKenna’s part, not the players.

Cyril Farrell has claimed that the pitch should be dug up and a natural surface put in its place, but this brings us back to 2001 when sliothars were getting bogged down in the natural sod when it absorbed too much water. A happy medium needs to be found.

In the meantime we have the memories of the season just past, one that promised much but delivered less. Still, there is always 2007 to look forward to…

Linked articles:
Kilkenny"s win was marginal, not mythical
Reflections on a golden game