One magical evening with the moondancer

AS night settled on that famous hurling ground which saw many a hero dance, glide, swing, slide and groove, anticipation grew in the hot summer air.

The multitudes had come in their thousands for a gathering worthy of a messiah, for a great maker of music, dancer of dance, swinger of swing.

A look around the stadium revealed a spectrum of age on that balmy night: children, parents, grandchildren and grandparents, even the family dog in one instance.

From dimples to wrinkles, suits to short pants, walking sticks to cradle-shakers... even the father who had made the journey to this pitch many times before to cheer on his hurling heroes in the heat of Munster battle was entranced by the spectacle.

Yes, a star of a different calibre was unleashed on Cork on that lazy summer night – a superstar, possibly the only superstar on the world stage.

The time was getting close . A young voice cried, “I can’t see, I can’t see”. No one wanted to miss anything, not a thing, even if it was nothing. We had come too far. As the vast crowd hushed, a voice from behind the curtain demanded attention.

Lights out, and 40,000 pairs of eyes pierced the dark for signs of a legend.

Lights on, and there it was – a silhouetted figure, arm raised outward, balancing a hat on tilted head, foot raised to tip-toe stance.

The King of Pop was among us. For three hours we were treated to a swirl of hip-shaking, knee-jerking, hand-jiving moondance glory, the greatest spectacle on earth.

Our messiah did not leave us down, revealing all that was good, magical and right with the world.

Tired but happy, having danced every step, swung every swing, slid every slide, mooned every dance and sung every word in harmony with him, I heard an old Tipperary hurling fan mutter: “For once I’m leaving this place a happy man.”

Farewell Michael Jackson, All-Star.

John Mannix

Leaselands

Mallow

Co Cork