Pub hurlers know it all, but any team of the century has only five certainties
TP O'Mahony
IT STARTED with a muscular exchange of views over the GAA’s “backdoor” arrangement, whereby the beaten hurling finalists in Munster and Leinster automatically go through to a quarter final draw for the All Ireland title.
Thus we now have the prospect of seeing Tipperary - beaten in Munster by Cork - taking on Galway, and Offaly - beaten in Leinster by Kilkenny - meeting Derry.
The Tipp Galway game is the one that excites the most interest. And while Galway are always something of an unknown quantity, my money is on Tipperary. Despite that setback in Thurles, they are shaping up very well, and they now know that, given all the chances they created, they have the measure of Cork. Maybe.
The quarter in the pub paused for a breather at this stage. We were running out of puff and there were cries for the water bottle. Another round was ordered, and the hurleys and the sliothar were put aside - temporarily.
The jury is still out on the backdoor system. Hurling purists cling adamantly to the view that when it comes to the championship it has to be knock out stuff, and there should be no second chance.
This isn’t a small issue like the economy or headage payments - people care passionately. It’s sport, after all. More than that, it’s that most glorious of sports which we call hurling.
When the level in the pint glasses dipped below a certain level, battle was rejoined. This time on another front. And I made the grievous mistake of forgetting Field Marshal Rommel’s advice: Never do battle on two fronts at once.
Too late, the ball was thrown in. Like a fool, I rushed in when wiser counsels should have prevailed. Still, there was my publication to defend. Umbrage had been taken at the choice of players for the greatest Munster team ever.
If we had nominated a woman for Pope, we’d have taken less flak. From the outset, of course, it was clear that any 15 chosen as the “greatest ever” would get noses out of joint. And I soon found that there was nothing to be gained by pointing out that our team had been picked by a distinguished panel.
“They wouldn’t know a decent hurler if they spent the next 50 years in Semple Stadium,” came the swift reply.
For those of you who may have forgotten, let me remind you of 15 chosen by the Irish Examiner’s panel: Tony Reddan (Tipperary), John Doyle (Tipperary), Brian Lohan (Clare), Denis Murphy (Cork), Jimmy Finn (Tipperary), John Keane (Waterford), Jackie Power (Limerick), Jack Lynch (Cork), Phil Grimes (Waterford), Jimmy Doyle (Tipperary), Mick Mackey (Limerick), Christy Ring (Cork), Jimmy Smyth (Clare), Ray Cummins (Cork), and Paddy Barry (Cork).
An old hurler said that the greatest disappointment would be felt in Tipperary. “Why?” I said. “After all, they have four players, just one less than Cork.”
“There’s fierce pride in Tipperary. Ring used to say that in order to beat Tipp you had to hate them!” Strong stuff. But that’s hurling for you. So who should have been included?
Before my friend could reply, I beat him to it by saying that I would have picked Mick Roche of Tipperary at centre back in place of John Keane. One disadvantage - I saw Roche in action, and he was a sweet hurler; I never saw Keane. The same is true of Jackie Power of Limerick, the only other one of the 15 I didn’t see play.
We agreed that with the exception of the five certainties - the two Doyles, Ring, Mackey and Lynch - you could, would and will get an argument over all the other places.
Our conversation reminded me of a train journey I made in 1984; I was on my way to the centenary All Ireland Final in Thurles between Cork and Offaly. Two old men were sitting in front of me. To mark the occasion, one of our Sunday papers had carried a national poll of its readers to pick the Team of the Century. Looking at that list of names last night, I saw that it contained no less than eight of the players included in our best ever Munster team - Reddan, Finn, the two Doyles, Keane, Lynch, Ring and Mackey. Not bad. And four of those are from Tipperary.
I wouldn’t argue with that. In fact, I got myself into real hot water when I ventured the opinion that two Cork players - Denis Murphy and Paddy Barry - wouldn’t be on my best ever Munster team. And I’d pick Gerald McCarthy at centre field instead of Phil Grimes.
As I was leaving the pub, one name was thrown after me: “What about Jimmy Barry Murphy?” Maybe on the football team, I replied, but not on the hurling side.
Sure, there’s no end to it. In the end, it’s subjective; it’s all down to personal preference.
As Tony Leen, our sports editor, remarked when I talked about the mixed reaction to our greatest ever team in an earlier conversation: “Sure, aren’t they talking about us?” Yes, they are. And three cheers for that.
If there is such a thing as a theology of sport - and I believe there is - then there is one view of championship hurling that we can all agree on. It is a game which bears the stamp of the divine, such is its incomparable beauty and quintessential grace. Hurling, as Jack Lynch once said, is truly a game for the gods.
Speaking of Jack, let me retell a story he once told me himself. In the twilight of his inter county career, when he was a TD, he played corner forward for Cork against Tipperary. It was on a day when Tony Reddan, who suffered from a speech impediment, was having an inspired game in goal.
Halfway through the second half, with the Cork forwards frustrated Willie John Daly, who was half forward for Cork, ran into Lynch. “Will you get into the square and do something about Reddan - he’s breaking our hearts.”
Lynch nodded. “Right. Next time you get a ball out around the middle of field, lob a high one into the square and I’ll take care of Reddan.”
Four or five minutes later Daly got possession and floated a high one into the Tipp square.
Reddan was standing under the dropping ball, waiting to grab it, when Lynch came charging in from the left. The Tipp keeper saw him coming from the corner of his eye, grabbed the ball, neatly side stepped the charging Lynch, and cleared the ball out the field.
Lynch missed the tackle and finished up in the back of the net. As he was picking himself up, Reddan, angry, turned to him. “F f k you Lynch,” he shouted. “The next f f -g time you try that there’ll be an early f f g by election in Cork!”
© Irish Examiner, 2000