All we asked for was everything. What we got was much more. What we got was beyond even the wildest of our expectations. Cork went to Thurles and destroyed Tipperary with a superb team performance that was peppered with moments of individual brilliance and genius. However much we adored the ruthlessness of Connolly, the effervescence of Horgan, the relentlessness of Harnedy, Barrett and Fitzgibbon and the defensive nous of Downey and O’Leary, it was the total sum of all the moving parts, and a whole lot more, that made the day what it was.
Cork defended as a unit, attacked with cohesion, dominated the physical exchanges and were worth every single one of the 18 points that separated the sides at the end, instigating another wave of red, this time onto the hallowed turf of Tom Semple’s field.
It capped a surreal eight days. The sheer emotion of the Limerick game still hadn’t quite dissolved into the ether, but here we were again, mesmerised by what we had seen, what we were seeing and, perhaps, lost for a moment in the ultimate fantasy of what we will see when our turn comes around again, eventually. This time, we didn’t join in the invasion. We stayed on our perch high up in the Town End and watched it all unfold below us.
The crowd was spectacular. The colour. The roar. The youth. The sheer number of Cork supporters who had made the pilgrimage to the centre of the hurling world. The stories of the surge in ticket sales after the Limerick game were incredible, but to witness the impact of that euphoria on the M8 was something else.
It was a car park at 11:45, and when the gates of the toll eventually gave up, we made the decision to go back to what we know best, to go to places we thought we would never see again. Off we went at Mitchelstown as muscle memory kicked in and guided us faithfully through Galbally, Tipperary Town, Dundrum, and the famous village of Holycross before we finally made it to a baking Thurles.
The anxiety in the car was palpable, it didn’t even dissipate when one of our fellow travellers was re-assured that it indeed was a 4:00pm throw-in. A few of us expected the worst, one of us was bullish and one of us then uttered the greatest fear of all: that we would win, but that four points wouldn’t be enough to extend the season.
That anxiety was exacerbated by events across the Shannon. Ennis had been kind to us on Friday night as the U20s found their inner-steel when they needed it the most, and when the footballers had got their job done on Saturday. Now we needed her to be kind again. Clare was scoring goals, but Waterford was just refusing to play their part. And then there was the penalty.
Of course, life as a supporter is defined by the thrill and terror of helplessness. We all know that us being there is important, that we are part of it, central to it, but we are also more than aware that our impact on proceedings is miniscule. However, the horror of relying on anything else other than what you have come to see to define your day, your week, your year – your life – is particularly agonizing.
Tony Kelly had a free. Short. ’65. Rodgers. Word spread quickly, a roar went up and it even seemed as if Cork knew when they came out onto the field. Then what we saw in the opening seconds was a chilling reminder of Walsh Park. This time though, the answer was far better.
Cork was very composed and managed to keep the scoreboard ticking over, even if a few did go astray. They couldn’t be as explosive as they were against Limerick, but there were no signs either that the emotional hangover was going to cast a shadow over the day. Did they leak a few easy scores? Yes. But Tipp have, will always have, good forwards and Noel McGrath, Jason Forde and Jake Morris have caused us plenty of problems over the years. And for all the improvement we have seen over the past two weekends, there is still much to improve on. And that is a good thing.
A satisfying opening gambit was then transformed into something far better when Connolly conjured something out of nothing. What a goal. What a moment. Then Brian Hayes caught fire on the resumption, Connolly stuck another one and though Tipp responded, they were creaking. The third Connolly goal broke them, and Shane Kingston buried them.
The rest of the game could be enjoyed, savoured, filed away for a rainy day. Nobody should pay too much heed to what happened after that in terms of who scored what or who did this or who did that. When you’re well ahead and the wave of momentum is with you, things flow a bit easier. What does matter is that in the midst of genuine adversity, the Cork players and management have shown their true character. How could you not be thrilled for every last one of them?
However, for the moment, we are stuck in limbo. We got a taste of what it is to be reliant on the performances of others at the weekend, but that sense of helplessness is going to result in far more fear and trembling on Sunday. In The Echo, Denis Hurley has laid out all the possibilities that lie before us at the weekend. There is only one that would sound the death knell for Cork. We all know what it is.
As already pointed out, whatever one thinks of Davy Fitzgearld, he never fails to create a genuine bond with his players. There is nothing to suggest that we won’t see more of the same on Sunday. As for Limerick, one would expect the usual levels of excellence, considering that everything is on the line. Clare will be heavily favoured versus Tipp, but Tipp were heavily favoured against Waterford this time last year.
As for Cork, we’ll just have to have a bit of faith, and hope desperately that our luck will hold. 4:00pm on Sunday might be a good time for a long walk, and I hear the lighthouse on the Old Head of Kinsale is open.
There is nothing like the great expanse of the ocean to remind us that, “there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”
By John Coleman
The Little All-Ireland 