fuck off
I remember them on a sunday… talking about putting players into melting pots to make one player…absolute bat shit crazy stuff…i’ll try and dig out one of his articles if I find one and I’ll bring it along the day we hook up pal…we’ll have a right old chuckle…
its before the internet age so they are hard to find
@Fagan ODowd might have an idea,
[SIZE=6]Pupils give masters a lesson[/SIZE]
August 12th, 2000
PLAINTS and lamentations about these players and those selectors will -not cease in Cork for some time yet.
And why should they? But, aside from -all persons and perpetrators, the grievous fact of Cork’s 16 wides to Offaly’s five should remain very central indeed to reflection on that match. Offaly were better — not quite immeasurably better, just three times as good! — at one of hurling’s profoundest fundamentals: making the ball go where you want it to go.
If Cork’s plague of wides were a once-off, such as befell the great Tipp forward line in the 1963 Munster final, the malignity of fate could be submitted to, and attention turned to discomfiting the GPA and those nabobs in Corporate Park whose doings gave the GPA its spurious pretexts for its pestilential existence. But inordinate numbers of wides have been as predictable a part of this Cork side’s performances as they were of those of Clare. And just as ineluctably bound to catch up.
After the triple semi-final of 1998, your correspondent opined in print that five pucks by Offaly were worth seven by Clare: Offaly could come somewhere near to Michael Keating’s ideal of having “a message in every ball”; the Banner, what with slices and desperation and opacity of purpose and, of course, wides, could not. Last Sunday, it looked even starker: one possession for Offaly seemed to be worth two for Cork. Here we think of “possession” in the traditional and correct sense of actually arriving first to the ball or of having the first option at the ball when it shoots out of broken or confused play, as well as in the modern, exclusive — and pernicious — sense of having the ball in hand.
By dint of youthful pace and chasing and hunger Cork had much more possession, more opportunities to use the ball, than Offaly. The figures of 31 crossings of the end line to 24, plus Cork’s seemingly infinite time and sweat expended in confusion and futility in front of the Offaly posts, plus more gridlock in midfield, probably support our estimate-that Cork had near enough twice as many opportunities to use the ball. So, Offaly can play hurling wisely and economically; Cork cannot.
Why? Because for more than a little while now, especially but not exclusively up front, Cork have been sliding, declining, into the soloing and handpassing methodology — the Cyril Farrell system. That thing is a truncation and a desecration — as who should ordain that Mozart be played with bodhrans and tin whistles, and all the soaring and transcendent expressions and potentialities be discarded.
Solo running is, in its place, a legitimate and pleasing skill, as Pat Delaney and Christy Ring and Tom Cheasty demonstrated to the satisfaction and delectation of millions.Last Sunday, Offaly’s solos were few, brief and to the point. Cork’s soloists were many and inexpert; and three of them, O’Connor and McCarthy and McGrath, seemed intent upon outdoing the great shitehawk of legend who, as you gentle and erudite reader well remember, flew and flew about in circles until he disappeared up his own fundament.
Again and again, Offaly hit the sliotar first time off the ground with stunning virtuosity — and profit. Cork did, 'tis true, essay the ground stroke but, sadly, apart from Alan Browne’s glorious effort which led to a point, neither frequently nor skilfully enough. Indeed, Seanie McGrath had a chance of a goal with a ground stroke, but because the requisite, instinctive, adjustment of his feet didn’t occur to him, who has more dazzling footwork than Gene Kelly in most other ways, Seanie. lifted and handled and lost.
Two months since, Joe Deane scored a tap-in against Limerick and his deed was’ greeted with global and orgasmic alleluias. That is a measure of how far standards — and expectations — have fallen: Joe, standing all unmarked on the edge of the square, scored a goal with the most elementary of overhead strokes, and the world went loopy. In 1954, Johnny Clifford, with John Doyle on him, scored a point from an angle 40 yards out, with a left-handed overhead stroke; two years earlier, against Tony Brennan, a master of overhead counter-play (i.e. spoiling), Liam Dowling scored two points with overhead strokes; in '61 against Waterford, Ring scored a fulminating overhead goal and another first time off the ground — and, quite as much as either of those gaisci, valued his third, in which he had to apply his elbows and backside to defenders in order to scramble the ball over the line. Time out of number, in his midfield days, Justin McCarthy, finding himself unmarked or loosely marked, still rejected handling and simply — but how sweetly! — doubled the high ball onward.
That is the background — or, rather, a tiny taste of it — to Joe’s tap-in. Yet, in scores of chats and arguments over the past five days, the problem of the failure of Cork’s forwards to let fly on at least some of that plethora of high balls remained curiously distant from the minds of all critics — bar the present one. Kevin Murray did make a couple of one-handed waves at the ball — feeble and perfunctory to the point of embarrassment.
So, it seems, Cork are incapable of playing hurling the Cork way — or, niore likely, they are no longer taught or encouraged to do so. While Offaly continue to win matches because, many years ago, a Corkman, Brother Denis, went amongst them and taught and cajoled generations of their youth to hurl the Cork way. 'Tis a quare ironic twist — and enjoyable if you’re from Offaly.
It is not just Brother Denis: when John Ryan first appeared in championship hurling he looked raw and clumsy; last Sunday, his point, and a few lesser deeds, provided evidence that someone had been applying generous measures of polish to him in the interim. Whereas, on.the Cork side, McCarthy and McCormack look as if they’ve not received a lick of a shammy since the day they were called up. Yet amongst Cork’s mentors are men who could make a ball talk and a hurley sing. Curiouser . . .
Perhaps, it is to do with emphasis. Nowadays, every other sentence we hear from coaches, especially concerning forwards, is about the imperative of “getting them to believe in themselves.” If that is what Nicholas English and Jimmy Barry Murphy are trying to do, they are promoting the most abominable heresy, and interviews with Senor Torquemada are called for. What the ladeens who ruined the Summer for JBM and English require is to have their wee minds most ruthlessly disassembled, all fads and obsessions and enslavements excised, and awareness of the full range of hurling’s skills and splendours engraved — with a blow torch. Generous helpings of legitimate aggression should be installed during this overhaul.
As for details: we know how that Brian Corcoran’s mind was on lower things; Pat Ryan as a free-taker was never other than unreliable; a few years ago, Corcoran was being brought up from corner-back to hit the midfield frees, now, when he’s positioned 40 yards nearer to them, he’s not wanted. And, did it occur to anyone to send him, Corcoran, up amongst the forwards?
Derek Barrett jumped into Sean O’ hAilpin and conceded a point; Diarmuid O’Sullivan did likewise with Corcoran; Pat Ryan and Alan Browne collided and injured each other. Bro Denis must have sighed, or scowled.
[quote=“Sidney, post: 873644, member: 183”][SIZE=6]Pupils give masters a lesson[/SIZE]
August 12th, 2000
PLAINTS and lamentations about these players and those selectors will -not cease in Cork for some time yet.
And why should they? But, aside from -all persons and perpetrators, the grievous fact of Cork’s 16 wides to Offaly’s five should remain very central indeed to reflection on that match. Offaly were better — not quite immeasurably better, just three times as good! — at one of hurling’s profoundest fundamentals: making the ball go where you want it to go.
If Cork’s plague of wides were a once-off, such as befell the great Tipp forward line in the 1963 Munster final, the malignity of fate could be submitted to, and attention turned to discomfiting the GPA and those nabobs in Corporate Park whose doings gave the GPA its spurious pretexts for its pestilential existence. But inordinate numbers of wides have been as predictable a part of this Cork side’s performances as they were of those of Clare. And just as ineluctably bound to catch up.
After the triple semi-final of 1998, your correspondent opined in print that five pucks by Offaly were worth seven by Clare: Offaly could come somewhere near to Michael Keating’s ideal of having “a message in every ball”; the Banner, what with slices and desperation and opacity of purpose and, of course, wides, could not. Last Sunday, it looked even starker: one possession for Offaly seemed to be worth two for Cork. Here we think of “possession” in the traditional and correct sense of actually arriving first to the ball or of having the first option at the ball when it shoots out of broken or confused play, as well as in the modern, exclusive — and pernicious — sense of having the ball in hand.
By dint of youthful pace and chasing and hunger Cork had much more possession, more opportunities to use the ball, than Offaly. The figures of 31 crossings of the end line to 24, plus Cork’s seemingly infinite time and sweat expended in confusion and futility in front of the Offaly posts, plus more gridlock in midfield, probably support our estimate-that Cork had near enough twice as many opportunities to use the ball. So, Offaly can play hurling wisely and economically; Cork cannot.
Why? Because for more than a little while now, especially but not exclusively up front, Cork have been sliding, declining, into the soloing and handpassing methodology — the Cyril Farrell system. That thing is a truncation and a desecration — as who should ordain that Mozart be played with bodhrans and tin whistles, and all the soaring and transcendent expressions and potentialities be discarded.
Solo running is, in its place, a legitimate and pleasing skill, as Pat Delaney and Christy Ring and Tom Cheasty demonstrated to the satisfaction and delectation of millions.Last Sunday, Offaly’s solos were few, brief and to the point. Cork’s soloists were many and inexpert; and three of them, O’Connor and McCarthy and McGrath, seemed intent upon outdoing the great shitehawk of legend who, as you gentle and erudite reader well remember, flew and flew about in circles until he disappeared up his own fundament.
Again and again, Offaly hit the sliotar first time off the ground with stunning virtuosity — and profit. Cork did, 'tis true, essay the ground stroke but, sadly, apart from Alan Browne’s glorious effort which led to a point, neither frequently nor skilfully enough. Indeed, Seanie McGrath had a chance of a goal with a ground stroke, but because the requisite, instinctive, adjustment of his feet didn’t occur to him, who has more dazzling footwork than Gene Kelly in most other ways, Seanie. lifted and handled and lost.
Two months since, Joe Deane scored a tap-in against Limerick and his deed was’ greeted with global and orgasmic alleluias. That is a measure of how far standards — and expectations — have fallen: Joe, standing all unmarked on the edge of the square, scored a goal with the most elementary of overhead strokes, and the world went loopy. In 1954, Johnny Clifford, with John Doyle on him, scored a point from an angle 40 yards out, with a left-handed overhead stroke; two years earlier, against Tony Brennan, a master of overhead counter-play (i.e. spoiling), Liam Dowling scored two points with overhead strokes; in '61 against Waterford, Ring scored a fulminating overhead goal and another first time off the ground — and, quite as much as either of those gaisci, valued his third, in which he had to apply his elbows and backside to defenders in order to scramble the ball over the line. Time out of number, in his midfield days, Justin McCarthy, finding himself unmarked or loosely marked, still rejected handling and simply — but how sweetly! — doubled the high ball onward.
That is the background — or, rather, a tiny taste of it — to Joe’s tap-in. Yet, in scores of chats and arguments over the past five days, the problem of the failure of Cork’s forwards to let fly on at least some of that plethora of high balls remained curiously distant from the minds of all critics — bar the present one. Kevin Murray did make a couple of one-handed waves at the ball — feeble and perfunctory to the point of embarrassment.
So, it seems, Cork are incapable of playing hurling the Cork way — or, niore likely, they are no longer taught or encouraged to do so. While Offaly continue to win matches because, many years ago, a Corkman, Brother Denis, went amongst them and taught and cajoled generations of their youth to hurl the Cork way. 'Tis a quare ironic twist — and enjoyable if you’re from Offaly.
It is not just Brother Denis: when John Ryan first appeared in championship hurling he looked raw and clumsy; last Sunday, his point, and a few lesser deeds, provided evidence that someone had been applying generous measures of polish to him in the interim. Whereas, on.the Cork side, McCarthy and McCormack look as if they’ve not received a lick of a shammy since the day they were called up. Yet amongst Cork’s mentors are men who could make a ball talk and a hurley sing. Curiouser . . .
Perhaps, it is to do with emphasis. Nowadays, every other sentence we hear from coaches, especially concerning forwards, is about the imperative of “getting them to believe in themselves.” If that is what Nicholas English and Jimmy Barry Murphy are trying to do, they are promoting the most abominable heresy, and interviews with Senor Torquemada are called for. What the ladeens who ruined the Summer for JBM and English require is to have their wee minds most ruthlessly disassembled, all fads and obsessions and enslavements excised, and awareness of the full range of hurling’s skills and splendours engraved — with a blow torch. Generous helpings of legitimate aggression should be installed during this overhaul.
As for details: we know how that Brian Corcoran’s mind was on lower things; Pat Ryan as a free-taker was never other than unreliable; a few years ago, Corcoran was being brought up from corner-back to hit the midfield frees, now, when he’s positioned 40 yards nearer to them, he’s not wanted. And, did it occur to anyone to send him, Corcoran, up amongst the forwards?
Derek Barrett jumped into Sean O’ hAilpin and conceded a point; Diarmuid O’Sullivan did likewise with Corcoran; Pat Ryan and Alan Browne collided and injured each other. Bro Denis must have sighed, or scowled.[/quote]
thanks sid, that’s our man allright
[SIZE=6] The greatest winner ever scored
[/SIZE]
Kevin Cashman
June 23rd, 1996
[SIZE=6][/SIZE]
http://archive.irishnewsarchive.com/Olive/APA/INA/get/GetImage.ashx?kind=block&href=SIN%2F1996%2F06%2F23&id=Pc0310100&ext=.jpg
http://archive.irishnewsarchive.com/Olive/APA/INA/get/GetImage.ashx?kind=block&href=SIN%2F1996%2F06%2F23&id=Pc0310400&ext=.jpg
THE Banner did not lose it; they refused to win it. Never in the history of hurling conflict did so many conspire so ingeniously to allow so vincible an enemy to survive.
Forget about qualities of physique and skill, for a moment, and concentrate on matters mental: Limerick are staunch, and Limerick are not stupid. But whoever — if anyone — devised The Banner’s "tactics’ of the second half proceeded upon the opposite assumption: that assumption being that Limerick had not the fortitude or the wit to get back and defend in large numbers around and inside their own 21 yard line. But, Limerick had. And, so, The Banner’s every dozy, retarded, imbecile solo and handpass dissipation was easily intercepted — or swallowed up in bunching and mauling; none of which caused a flicker of concern to Joe Quaid.
Not just in that specific area, but all over the pitch, scrambling, mistake ridden hurling diminished the match. Yet it was, as Ger Loughnane remarked, a truly unique occasion; made so by excitement and tension and passion and sportsmanship (not whiter than white, but still terrific) and a pre-match atmosphere, in the ground and its environs; such as many of us had thought had gone with the days of the '50s when Limerick had a proper stadium.
That said, it must be re-emphasised that mistakes, not hurling virtuosity, determined the outcome. Consider the case of Eamonn Taaffe: even after Mike Houlihan had slowed him a bit, Taaffe had the legs of Mike Nash; The Banner’s midfielders and half forwards had merely to hit the blasted ball quickly in the general direction of Taaffe before a population explosion could happen inside or around that 21 of Limerick. But simplicity, and productivity, are against the principles of that quintet of Clare lads; so, they solo ran along pathways defined by the allure of the corner flag, and, like the great shitehawk of fable, the borders of their own colonic regions.
The end of the feeling of revisiting Dal gCais, and living in heroic times: the shock of those heroic times being terminated by so limited a team as Limerick. How did The Banner allow these traumas to befall us all? Failures of wit and concentration. In 1952, a dour Cork v Galway All Ireland semi-final, after being 0-2 to 0-2 at half time, was getting dourer by the minute when a half chance fell to one C Ring. He might have swung for a goal; but C Ring suspected that his pursuer was near enough to hook; so, with no swine at all, the ball was flicked — or, if you like, scooped — up and over the bar. Ten years later, at age 42, the performance was repeated in a grand league match against Limerick. In between, in the unforgettable finals of '54 and '56 against Wexford, sliotars were handpassed ’ over the bar from within spitting range of the goalkeeper: The Master knew the value of a point when a goal was too improbable, and the game was in the balance, and time remained for it to take turn upon turn.
Not so Ger O’Loughlm. He should never have started that solo; but, Sweet Loving Jesus! Sparrow must have known, when he reached the 14 yard line, that the immediate area was more crowded with Limerick defenders than an Aer Lingus junket flight with Cork county councillors. He was straight in front of the goal; to flick or scoop the sliotar upwards — without swinging and risking being hooked — and have it fall gently over the bar should have been the work of a moment. But Sparrow lacks C Ring’s afflatus; Sparrow handpassed in the genera! direction of a man who was manacled.
(By the way, to say. all of that is not to denigrate Ger O’Loughlin, who has been central to Clare’s progress since that marvellous, mystifying day in Ennis in May 1993. In point of fact, a, justly, more famous forward, John Fitzgibbon, a man intrigued and obsessed by the life and lore of The Master, made precisely the same mistake in the 1990 All Ireland final: having soloed to within eight or nine yards of the Galway goal, Fitzy tried to swing, and was duly hooked, when to apply the precepts of his idol, i.e. scoop or shovel the ball over the bar, was clearly the correct choice.)
Mistakes, mistakes. If somebody had forecast to you that, on a perfect day for free takers, Sean McMahon would drive three wide you’d have guffawed — but it happened, and was central to the result. If the same sceptic had forecast that David Fitzgerald would fail to control into his hand an innocuous wee shot, you’d have been mildly attentive. But, when your sceptic went on to envision Frank Lohan, from the ensuing scramble, topping a straightforward whip on a simple rolling ball — which Tony O’Brien or Peter Doolan would have landed seventy yards away — your language would have turned kaleidoscopic. But it happened— and, on top of that, Gary Kirby was unmarked as he took advantage.
TO enumerate mistakes, without seeking out every possible source of, or excuse for, them, is unjust. So: our standard sliotar, on days of extreme heat and glare such as Sunday last, is woefully behind the times, as this correspondent first pointed out a dozen years since. A sliotar dappled black and white; a sliotar coloured yellow or bright or dark orange, a la Wimbledon, would surely help — cast your mind back to the number of straightforward, unmarked fetches, and attempts at batting or blocking; which were fluffed by genuine top class hurlers, a week since.
And we could probably borrow, with some profit, from the cricketers’ extraordinary range of facial adornments. After all, they exert themselves far, far less than hurlers do; yet, their precautions against glare, and/or getting a drop of sweat in the eyes, far outstrip anything hurlers bother to think about.
Matters for mentors and managers.
Mere fans and enjoyers and chroniclers have the memory of That Point: Mackey has his stand; very shortly, Power shall have his monument; Carey has That Point. The greatest winner ever scored.
[quote=“Sidney, post: 873648, member: 183”][SIZE=6] The greatest winner ever scored
[/SIZE]
Kevin Cashman
June 23rd, 1996
[SIZE=6][/SIZE]
http://archive.irishnewsarchive.com/Olive/APA/INA/get/GetImage.ashx?kind=block&href=SIN%2F1996%2F06%2F23&id=Pc0310100&ext=.jpg
http://archive.irishnewsarchive.com/Olive/APA/INA/get/GetImage.ashx?kind=block&href=SIN%2F1996%2F06%2F23&id=Pc0310400&ext=.jpg
Mere fans and enjoyers and chroniclers have the memory of That Point: Mackey has his stand; very shortly, Power shall have his monument; Carey has That Point. The greatest winner ever scored.[/quote]
[quote=“Sidney, post: 873648, member: 183”][SIZE=6] The greatest winner ever scored
[/SIZE]
Kevin Cashman
June 23rd, 1996
http://archive.irishnewsarchive.com/Olive/APA/INA/get/GetImage.ashx?kind=block&href=SIN%2F1996%2F06%2F23&id=Pc0310100&ext=.jpg
http://archive.irishnewsarchive.com/Olive/APA/INA/get/GetImage.ashx?kind=block&href=SIN%2F1996%2F06%2F23&id=Pc0310400&ext=.jpg
THE Banner did not lose it; they refused to win it. Never in the history of hurling conflict did so many conspire so ingeniously to allow so vincible an enemy to survive.
Forget about qualities of physique and skill, for a moment, and concentrate on matters mental: Limerick are staunch, and Limerick are not stupid. But whoever — if anyone — devised The Banner’s "tactics’ of the second half proceeded upon the opposite assumption: that assumption being that Limerick had not the fortitude or the wit to get back and defend in large numbers around and inside their own 21 yard line. But, Limerick had. And, so, The Banner’s every dozy, retarded, imbecile solo and handpass dissipation was easily intercepted — or swallowed up in bunching and mauling; none of which caused a flicker of concern to Joe Quaid.
Not just in that specific area, but all over the pitch, scrambling, mistake ridden hurling diminished the match. Yet it was, as Ger Loughnane remarked, a truly unique occasion; made so by excitement and tension and passion and sportsmanship (not whiter than white, but still terrific) and a pre-match atmosphere, in the ground and its environs; such as many of us had thought had gone with the days of the '50s when Limerick had a proper stadium.
That said, it must be re-emphasised that mistakes, not hurling virtuosity, determined the outcome. Consider the case of Eamonn Taaffe: even after Mike Houlihan had slowed him a bit, Taaffe had the legs of Mike Nash; The Banner’s midfielders and half forwards had merely to hit the blasted ball quickly in the general direction of Taaffe before a population explosion could happen inside or around that 21 of Limerick. But simplicity, and productivity, are against the principles of that quintet of Clare lads; so, they solo ran along pathways defined by the allure of the corner flag, and, like the great shitehawk of fable, the borders of their own colonic regions.
The end of the feeling of revisiting Dal gCais, and living in heroic times: the shock of those heroic times being terminated by so limited a team as Limerick. How did The Banner allow these traumas to befall us all? Failures of wit and concentration. In 1952, a dour Cork v Galway All Ireland semi-final, after being 0-2 to 0-2 at half time, was getting dourer by the minute when a half chance fell to one C Ring. He might have swung for a goal; but C Ring suspected that his pursuer was near enough to hook; so, with no swine at all, the ball was flicked — or, if you like, scooped — up and over the bar. Ten years later, at age 42, the performance was repeated in a grand league match against Limerick. In between, in the unforgettable finals of '54 and '56 against Wexford, sliotars were handpassed ’ over the bar from within spitting range of the goalkeeper: The Master knew the value of a point when a goal was too improbable, and the game was in the balance, and time remained for it to take turn upon turn.
Not so Ger O’Loughlm. He should never have started that solo; but, Sweet Loving Jesus! Sparrow must have known, when he reached the 14 yard line, that the immediate area was more crowded with Limerick defenders than an Aer Lingus junket flight with Cork county councillors. He was straight in front of the goal; to flick or scoop the sliotar upwards — without swinging and risking being hooked — and have it fall gently over the bar should have been the work of a moment. But Sparrow lacks C Ring’s afflatus; Sparrow handpassed in the genera! direction of a man who was manacled.
(By the way, to say. all of that is not to denigrate Ger O’Loughlin, who has been central to Clare’s progress since that marvellous, mystifying day in Ennis in May 1993. In point of fact, a, justly, more famous forward, John Fitzgibbon, a man intrigued and obsessed by the life and lore of The Master, made precisely the same mistake in the 1990 All Ireland final: having soloed to within eight or nine yards of the Galway goal, Fitzy tried to swing, and was duly hooked, when to apply the precepts of his idol, i.e. scoop or shovel the ball over the bar, was clearly the correct choice.)
Mistakes, mistakes. If somebody had forecast to you that, on a perfect day for free takers, Sean McMahon would drive three wide you’d have guffawed — but it happened, and was central to the result. If the same sceptic had forecast that David Fitzgerald would fail to control into his hand an innocuous wee shot, you’d have been mildly attentive. But, when your sceptic went on to envision Frank Lohan, from the ensuing scramble, topping a straightforward whip on a simple rolling ball — which Tony O’Brien or Peter Doolan would have landed seventy yards away — your language would have turned kaleidoscopic. But it happened— and, on top of that, Gary Kirby was unmarked as he took advantage.
TO enumerate mistakes, without seeking out every possible source of, or excuse for, them, is unjust. So: our standard sliotar, on days of extreme heat and glare such as Sunday last, is woefully behind the times, as this correspondent first pointed out a dozen years since. A sliotar dappled black and white; a sliotar coloured yellow or bright or dark orange, a la Wimbledon, would surely help — cast your mind back to the number of straightforward, unmarked fetches, and attempts at batting or blocking; which were fluffed by genuine top class hurlers, a week since.
And we could probably borrow, with some profit, from the cricketers’ extraordinary range of facial adornments. After all, they exert themselves far, far less than hurlers do; yet, their precautions against glare, and/or getting a drop of sweat in the eyes, far outstrip anything hurlers bother to think about.
Matters for mentors and managers.
Mere fans and enjoyers and chroniclers have the memory of That Point: Mackey has his stand; very shortly, Power shall have his monument; Carey has That Point. The greatest winner ever scored.[/quote]
Kevin Cashman is an uncle of the great John Fitzgibbon.
1 Like
Hi Kieran
Or am I over-stating the coincidence 
2 Likes
In 2013 they became the first Mayo team since ’96 to be ahead at half-time. In 2016 they became the first Mayo team since ’96 to play in an All-Ireland final and not lose it. In the replay they held their opponents to a single goal, something no Mayo team had done in any of their previous five All-Irelands, and lost by just a single point. And yet yesterday they failed even better.
I actually laughed out loud reading that. Failed better than ever 
Colm o’rourke referenced a reason to split Dublin being to give more players a chance to play. Same point made here last week or two …
I may be wrong but I think he’s used that about Mayo himself before. He also had some term or analogy or whatever the correct word / phrase is that he took from ice hockey or skating - “smacking the ice” - to describe how they had to improve their skills under pressure and not be afraid to risk “smacking the ice” and looking foolish in taking the trickier option and delivering under severe pressure. I expect Kieran to return to this topic in an upcoming column.
For all Kieran’s sports science and psychology I still think Mayo need a couple of reliable scoring forwards and particularly one with real pace .
Did the GAA pick some novelty team a few years back of the greatest players to never win an All-Ireland?
If they picked it now, Lee Keegan would be captaining it and there would about five or six current Mayo players on it.
O’Rourke should be more concerned about Meath getting it’s shop in order.
Or the millions of euro he defaulted on
3 Likes
Hey why pick on him ? We all partied .
Kevin cashman.
Has anyone pulled together a collection of his articles?
Guillem Balague is the Spanish Duncan Castles.