The Muster of Cork

Saturday was the rarest of days as a follower of Cork. A day that went according to plan from the off. A day that they were in control of at all times. A day that was enjoyed as opposed to endured.

And now, they’re back where they wanted to be, where they needed to be. In the aftermath of last July’s disappointment, the players and management pledged themselves totally to atonement. Getting back to the Big Show is easier said than done, however. But they’re back there. Whether Cork is back or not won’t be known for a fortnight that will feel like an age.

I did mention it on the journey up. Not with any great conviction, more so as an icebreaker. I postulated that Saturday could be a game similar to the All-Ireland semi-final of 2004. Then, the moment Tom Kenny powered straight up the middle of the Wexford defence and planted a thunderbolt beyond the great Damien Fitzhenry, the game was over.

Fitzhenry kept the goal tally to one then, as only he could, but that great Cork team didn’t need too many goals. They were a different type of animal who had lost the goal menace of Setanta Ó hAilpín but had regained the services of God in return.

On the journey up, that foray into optimism was very much tempered by previous disappointments. If it was like the drawn game against Wexford in ’03, I think our collective heart would have struggled to take it. If it was like Offaly in 2000, well, if it was a day like that, I don’t think the bottom of the glass would ever be found again.

In the end, there was no need to worry at all. 

The spectacle that unfolded in front of us in Croke Park once we arrived was fantastical. We’ve seen stadiums overflowing in red before, but this muster of Cork was something else. Truly something that needed to be seen to be believed.

The noise during the parade was primal, the roar that greeted Brian Hayes’ first goal was elemental, the cheer that greeted Alan Connolly’s third was wholesome. The journey continues to bewilder. Should the final, ahem, sell out, the combined attendances from Cork’s home games in the league and all of their championship ones will be north of 450,000. Staggering.

The pace of the first twenty minutes was phenomenal, relentless, breathless. Dublin, a bit like Cork way back in 2008, dealt with it for a while before they were totally overwhelmed by it.

The best part of Cork’s display, was their focus. They proved that to be forewarned is indeed to be forearmed. There was a sharpness to their play, a commitment to their cause from the off. Declan Dalton’s monstrous opening free set the tone. I thought that Tim O’Mahony was the best player on the field. He was everywhere.

Brian Hayes’ opening goal was cinematic in its beauty. The defence was abrasive and disciplined. There were goals galore. Connolly silenced some of the nonsensical murmurs about his form.

The concession of the two goals and another few chances gave Pat Ryan plenty to work with. As did the few times Cork tried to force a goal in the first half when a point was the smarter option. As did the concession of 2-21. Hopefully, Seamus Harnedy and Cormac O’Brien will be fit enough to sharpen the instincts of the other players. Everyone will be needed for the latest attempt at Everest.

In the back of our minds, maybe this is what we were thinking all along about an All-Ireland semi-final against Dublin. However, we are so laden down with angst that we’re understandably slow to articulate those thoughts. That reluctance will continue for the next fortnight.

Because now it’s time for the Phoney War. The world of words will be full of little barbs, hidden agendas, open hostility. Cork will be talked up. And up. And up. Just so to make the schadenfreude, should it come, all the more enjoyable.

Eoin Keane has dealt magnificently with the Hype Train already. We all know what we need to do. Pack away those flags. Put those jerseys in the attic. Burn all the hurleys. Do not dare look forward to the Big Dance. I’m sure that’s what they’re doing in Tipp. Because, to dare to dream is hubristic. Life should be a long drawn-out wallow in dullness, despair and disappointment.

What type of eejit would have the gumption to follow their brethren with a bit of passion?

We all know what’s ahead of us. Cork playing Tipperary is one of the pillars of our love affair with hurling. There are enough men on the Cork panel who were in Limerick in 2018 and 2019 with a deep well of pain to draw from.

There are enough men on the Cork panel whose careers in red have been like an aplestos pithos of disappointment. There’s more than enough hurt in the locker to keep everyone’s feet firmly planted to the ground.

And yet, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying the ride all the way to its conclusion, come what may. 

John Coleman