Freed From Desire?

Vladimir Lenin told us that there are decades where nothing happens, and that there are weeks where decades happen. What then to make of Saturday night in Limerick? A night that felt like it would never end. A night where you did not feel the ground beneath your feet on the trek home.  A night that we are still re-living in every moment since as we try to make sense of it all. A night that we will return to with pleasure when the evenings grow shorter, darker and colder.

It was as enthralling an event that I have ever bore witness to. The tension, the colour, the cramps, the noise, the courage under pressure, the drama. It was illusory, incandescent, intoxicating. Magical.

This time the irresistible force did meet the immovable object. Both emerged unmoved, unbroken, emboldened. For the third time in eleven meetings, there was no separating Cork and Limerick after seventy minutes of hurling. Unlike in 2018, there was no separating them in the twenty minutes that followed either.

Extra-time has not been a friend of Cork’s in a long time. There was Killarney in ’87, Thurles in 2010, the Gaelic Grounds in 2013, Croke Park in 2018 and last year. When Aaron Gillane slotted over his late free, it seemed that would be the case again. But Cork found a way, with Darragh Fitzgibbon holding his nerve in the most severe of circumstances. When was the last time that a Cork player who wasn’t Patrick Horgan nailed a clutch placed-ball in championship?

Going up the road, we were looking for three things. A performance, no more injuries, and no red cards. We got all of that, and more. As soon as Timmy O’Mahony brought ground hurling back to life in the opening seconds, it was clear that Cork was going to perform as an Alan Connolly kick and a Diarmuid Healy pass led to Horgan’s opening score of the day.

Cork was giving it everything, but for that opening twenty minutes, it felt like that would not be enough as Limerick looked very ominous. Cian Lynch’s paw was like a magnet and Kyle Hayes was omnipresent as they tried to cut holes in the Cork defence. It was very like the Cork Kilkenny game back in 2008. Then Cork went toe to toe with one of the all-time greats, survived for twenty minutes or so before being put on the flat of their backs. They were what Tommy Hearns was to Marvin Hagler thirty years ago.

To continue with the boxing analogy, Limerick went looking for knock-out blows early and often. They have made their name on jabbing teams into submission, pointing them to death, knowing that once they hit their 50 shots, chances are, they will have done more than enough. Maybe the wind was a factor, but it seemed that they often turned down a shot at the posts in favour of the ball inside, or the extra pass to open things up. Cork held firm, in the main. And when the goal came, when the test was really put to them, instead of folding, they began to prosper.

The half forward line of Diarmuid Healy, Shane Barrett and Seamus Harnedy epiotomised the best of what Cork did. Time and again they found space where there was none. Ciarán Joyce thundered into the game, Mark Coleman enjoyed his finest hour in the blood and bandage, Fitzgibbon found some rhythm. We’ve become accustomed to thinking that to beat Limerick, you need to be operating at 95% everywhere to give yourself a chance. So, when the wide count began to rise, and the goal chances went astray, rightly or wrongly, the sense of foreboding remained.

Then came the goal. More ground hurling, but when the great Gearóid Hegarty slalomed through the Cork defence straight after, it seemed it would be given straight back to them. However, just like last July Patrick Collins saved and this time it was Connolly who scored the point that put Cork on the road to having something to defend when they turned to face the gale.

When the half time whistle blew, the drama continued. We all know that nobody wants to see that type of thing. But it was so nice to see that kind of thing. Nobody should have been surprised, either. There was a moment down the Páirc last summer, and during the league this year too. Wayne Sherlock has lost none of his aura.

Where to go from there? The whole thing is just a kaleidoscopic reel of memorable moments. There was Seán O’Donoghue’s late dispossession of Gillane, Eoin Downey’s point, Damien Cahalane carrying the ball out from short puck outs like back in 2017. Rob Downey’s hit on Lynch felt particularly pertinent considering what we saw three weeks ago. There was Barrett and Fitzgibbon’s unorthodox one-two that led to a point, Healy’s third point at a crucial juncture, Cormac O’Brien’s early catch over Hegarty.

There was Shane Kingston’s point with the entire population of Limerick converging on him after Conor Lehane had hit the post. There was Lehane’s outrageously cool penalty that went from bas to the back of Nickie Quaid’s net in under a nanosecond. There was Tommy O’Connell’s smile when he got the call to come on, there was his hook on Cathal O’Neill, there was his point. There was Brian Hayes’s flick to Horgan for the equalizer that just summed up Cork’s refusal to wilt.

There was Gillane’s free followed by Joyce’s wide followed by Darragh O’Donovan’s mishit. Then there were the penalties, the Cork players urging the crowd on. The goals, the saves, the misses, the embrace of Quaid and Collins.

There was the noise. The primal roars from the crowd every time the going got tough. There was tears of every variety, claps on the back, Timmy Mac’s smile, hugs, kisses, singing, dancing unbridled joy, unchecked emotion. And then we were all on the pitch, dancing to Dónal Óg Cusack’s tune as Liam Sheedy and Henry Shefflin looked on. Freed from desire? Not yet.

We can talk about Cork’s recent record as provincial champions another day, just as we’ll emphasise the fact that after 90 odd minutes, there was no separating Cork and Limerick.

What it all means can wait though, for now it’s all about what it is.

Corcaigh abú, go deo.

John Coleman