That was the Longford game in '06 in Killarney as opposed to the Longford game in '09 which was in Longford.
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Kerry struggled past Westmeath another year - 2012 maybe.
Yeah, itâs generally a tough route when youâre dumped in there. Mayo and Tyrone will tell you all about it in the past 10-15 years. People can go on about how Kerry not being tested when they stroll into a AI QF or SF being a disadvantage but they can tailor and plan for that stage of the season nearly every year and aim to peak then. Other counties donât have that luxury and itâs down to the nature of the provincial structure.
Not much use Kerry training to peak for a semi when Tyrone wimp out of the fixture twice.
Nice that Kerry are allowed train when Tyrone wasnât.
Not every county is able to pull a few strokes to have their squads vaccinated prior to Championship.
Young fit men in their 20s gain no benefit from vaccination 
But the restrictions in place prevented Tyrone from holding a full collective training session for over a month prior to this game.
Whatâs wrong with zoom and individual training programs? Itâs not like theyâve never played Kerry before and need to forensically analyse them in person.
Itâs clear you never played at a high level.
Training collectively is the only way to build on a gameplan and keep match sharpness up.
I never made the grade in the Paula Radcliffe Cup 
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Come on Tyrone
Come on Tyrone
Come on Tyrone
Come on
So the lad who was âbed boundâ and the lad who âlost a stoneâ are available for selection. 
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https://www.rte.ie/sport/gaa/2021/0824/1242522-tyrone-squad-all-training-ahead-of-kerry-semi-clash/
It seems to sicken some lads that Tyrone should be allowed have a full training session before an AI semi final.
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@Fulvio_From_Aughnacloy was right then about the affects of covid on fit folks. This just proves the point that one lad who was âbed riddenâ and another who âlost a stoneâ were fit enough to fight off the virus and be able to make the squad for the game on Saturday. Get those 5kâs in.
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Hard to see Tyrone beaten on Saturday.
4D chess
Kevin McStay: Culture of machismo is greatest stain on the GAA
Last Updated: Tuesday, August 24, 2021, 06:00
I have had a week or so of holidays in Ballina. It wasnât the best timing to return to the fatherland after the controversy of the Dublin-Mayo game. I made a mistake in my initial commentary on the John Small foul on Eoghan McLoughlin and I suppose I had a bit of a Mayo version of a Fatwa placed on me. It might have been wiser to holiday elsewhere. But back to the soft craggy boglands and tall majestic hills we went anyway.
Thereâs an old truism that Ireland is small. And itâs never smaller than when you want to keep the head down. As it happened, many of my old team mates were on a charity cycle around the clubs of Mayo when I was in the county. It was really the 1990s team led by Dermot Flanagan.
Myself and my girls were out walking the Erris Loop head and, naturally, we bumped into them. We made arrangements to meet up in McDonnellâs pub in Belmullet, one of the great GAA pubs. There was a good atmosphere in there by four oâclock when I arrived: you could tell the boys were warming up. But when I walked in the door, John Maughan stood up and said: âRight lads, hereâs Kevin now, ye feckers: tell him what you were saying about him for the last half hour!â It was a good ice breaker and a fun evening.
Much of the debate on that tackle was carried out on social media. I left Twitter about a year ago because I found opinions so polarised and humourless and angry. What this latest controversy proved is that partisanship is alive and well in the GAA. I was deemed to have gone âagainstâ Mayo by not immediately crying foul in that moment. You are from Mayo? Then be Mayo.
In all the debate about the John Small foul, I heard nothing from local media or Mayo supporters about the removal of Shane Walsh as an effective player by a Mayo defender in the Connacht final. And that incident was off the ball: there is the tiniest mitigation in that Smallâs foul on Eoghan McLoughlin involved the ball - however notionally.
It all got me thinking about the history of violence on Gaelic football fields. Itâs only when you sit down and reflect that the memories come flooding back. They are not pretty.
I was on the field when John Finn had his jaw smashed off the ball in the drawn All-Ireland semi-final against Dublin in 1985. Four years later, it was my turn: I was hit off the ball in a championship game against Galway in Tuam. My jaw has clicked every second day for the past 30 years. I could be talking to someone and it will just click and I have to rub the joint back into place. It is annoying - and painful.
I was concussed twice in club games. In the first one I was just taken out with a typical football shot. It was a north Mayo final at minor level. I think it was against Lacken. I was running at the defence and was about to play a one two - with my brother, actually. I flashed the ball to him and as I moved for the return, the guy stepped into my path and knocked me out. You see it all the time. The attacking player has his eye and mind on the ball so is completely vulnerable.
John Small is challenged by Mayoâs Ryan OâDonoghue, Conor Loftus and Kevin McLoughlin. Photograph: James Crombie/Inpho
I remember a half-time during a league match in Monaghan in Clones in the mid-1980s. Monaghan were mean and flinty then. I was so frustrated at watching their forwards getting nice handy points. And I was roaring in the dressing room because our forwards were getting the s**t kicked out of us. And none of our defenders were laying a hand on Monaghan.
I once saw a promising young Mayo player hit so badly in a club match that he never played properly again. I had my teeth damaged in a vocational school final against Derry. It was a punch into the side of the mouth. I had an ankle broken against Knockmore. I broke my leg twice in quick succession going for balls I had no right to win - and didnât. The second break finished my Mayo career at 28.
They were complete accidents and entirely avoidable if I had not bought into the stupid machismo stuff that went informed my approach to those tackles. Youâd have old guys on the line telling you that you were yellow or windy if you backed out or tried to protect yourself.
Thereâs an old army story I heard several times down the years. It involved an Offaly footballer from the 1960s: an enforcer with a formidable reputation and a catalogue of big hits to his name. In his old age, he would arrive around the front door of the village church and greet rival club men - former victims - by saying: Howya, Lads. Are ye still getting the headaches?
Vicious assault
When I played underage football, my late father would not allow me to play against a certain north Mayo club. He knew that a tidy towny player would be an irresistible target. Martin Carney has told me about a vicious assault in a championship game against Sligo. He got a smashed nose and lost much of his sense of smell. Permanently. This stuff was happening all over Ireland.
But I told him to f**k off, to be honest. I was annoyed by it.
A pitch opener was particularly dangerous. You could do what you wanted. I played a game in Shrule where Meathâs Liam Hayes was absolutely destroyed with a belt. The culprit did it because he knew he could. A year later we reciprocated for a pitch opener up in Meath. Within minutes, it was open warfare. And shortly after that certain players were asked to leave the field in order to restore calm. I suppose that meant it was Mayo 1 Meath 1 after that game. But a few years later, Meath won the big boxing free-for-all on points in Croke Park.
Maybe the players who received these belts and assaults contributed to the culture by staying silent. But what were you supposed to do? Often, these assaults went unseen. For instance, my jaw was dislocated in June in that Connacht match. The culprit and myself were called to a disciplinary meeting. In October! In a hotel in Castlerea. I knew this guy and later played Railway Cup with him.
After that match, we were in the shower and he tried to say hello: wanted bygones to be bygones. But I told him to f**k off, to be honest. I was annoyed by it. We didnât speak at all that night in Castlerea. His punishment was a three month suspension. Those months were: November, December and January. The close season.
Funnily, a few weeks ago I was in Galway for a break. We hit Anthony Finnertyâs pub in Salthill. Fat Larry remains one of the funniest people I have ever met. I asked after his son Rob, who, of course, plays for Galway and was injured in this yearâs Connacht final.
âWell,â Larry said.â The swelling has gone from his head to his ankle so thatâs positive.â
We were in that land of: ah sure it might have been an accident about Robâs injury. But the Walsh one wasnât. Talk got around to the old saying that Mayo needed enforcers to win. And we were chatting about the old days when who walked in only my former marker from that night in the Castlerea Hotel. We had a few beers on us. He walked up and said âhowya Kevin âand put his hand out. We shook hands. And it was a good way to put it to bed 30 years later.
Fighting breaks out between Mayo and Meath in the 1996 All-Ireland final. Photograph: Billy Stickland/Inpho
Did I ever do anything myself on a pitch of which I am not proud? Yes. Just once. A fella from Ballinrobe was pulling and dragging out of me. A very nice fella. He was a rugby guy who thought he could pull and drag in Gaelic.
It is much better to be labelled an assassin or thug.
I said listen, Iâve gotta free myself here! You need to quit this. He kind of grumbled and carried on and eventually I swung back and I damaged some of his teeth. I hated that I did that. I still do. He lay on the ground and I got the ball and kicked a point. Nobody even wondered why he was on the ground. Again, this happened all the time. He played on.
To be classed as soft or windy is the worst reputation a Gaelic footballer can have. It is much better to be labelled an assassin or thug. It is well known that all teams have these enforcers. But the contradiction is that it is often the enforcers who are cowardly.
My brother Paul, more of a basketball player, was playing full forward once in a club match. He could see that the fullback was, letâs say, emotional, before the throw in. As he trotted in before the start of the game, the fullback trotted out. Paul presumed he was going to shake hands. The guy punched him on the nose and broke it. For no reason. It was insane stuff. And it happened everywhere.
Culture of machismo
The culture of machismo is the greatest stain on the GAA. I was working with Sean Cavanagh recently on the Sunday Game. Before we went on air, I asked him if the game was meaner or dirtier now than in my time playing. I was sure he would say no. But he suggested that the dark arts of the modern game produces a meaner type of intimidation. Itâs a different type of violence: more psychological. Sledging, late knee tackles, constant holding off the ball, blocking runs, grappling contests, nippling, even eye-gouging and biting.
I am asking the question here: why do we accept that kind of intimidation of our star players? These guys get special treatment. Cynical treatment. And we are allowing ordinary players to cancel the special skills of these players - through foul means.
I often get emails from people concerned that these star players will soon fade from the scene. The Conor McManus type guy. The once in a generation talent. They are identified young as brilliant footballers. And their reward is âspecial treatmentâ from a young age. And there is a school of thought that the next generation will begin to walk away, do something else with their lives.
Cian Connolly was a fing young footballer who lost interest in representing Roscommon soon after the incident in New York. Photograph: Ryan Byrne/Inpho
One last memory. I was out in New York in 2016 with Roscommon. Cian Connolly was playing a lovely neat game for us. A corner back from Ulster just hit him and broke his jaw off the ball. I was fuming. I went into Maruice Deeganâs dressing room afterwards. The conversation went roughly like this: âJesus Christ. How can you let this go?â âKevin I didnât see it. If I did I would have done something about it. Iâm bringing a guy to hospital. What do I tell his parents?â
No suspension, nothing, out of that day. It was ultimately the work of a coward.
Thereâs a hypocrisy at work too in that behind the âshockâ at these incidents is the fuel of adrenaline and excitement. Gaelic football thrives on the edges of wild athletic abandon. At its best, it is played on the edge. But when players are so inclined, they can move into that grey area where you can knock a guy clean out and nobody even blinks. The fights and melees and the hits get the blood going in the crowd and they provoke brilliant pub conversations and they make us feel alive.
Itâs all very well unless you are the guy in the hospital with the smashed up face. Iâll tell you, Cian Connolly was a fine young inter-county footballer. But he lost interest in playing for Roscommon shortly after that. Could you blame him?
Š 2021 irishtimes.com
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Look over there, look over there.
I havenât seem many belts to the face in intercounty football in recent years. Video replays have generally done away with that.
Strange for Deegan to be bringing the player to hospital.
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