Colin Sheridan: Who could have ever guessed that there’d be days like this
Limerick’s Graeme Mulcahy and Seamus Flanagan celebrate. Picture: INPHO/James Crombie
Sporting famines mean different things to different counties. Two years ago, Limerick were Waterford; starved of Liam MacCarthy success since 1973, and with many false dawns endured, they stumbled over the line against Galway, and the relief poured forth as the Cranberries scored their redemption.
For a sports-mad city and a hurling mad county, 45 years is worthy of the famine label, whatever the discipline.
What few could have accurately predicted was what Limerick would become; they came into yesterdays final having won back to back Munster championships and were National League champions.
They were unbeaten for the 2020 season, which began for them almost 12 months ago. Save for a slip against the team they most resemble, Kilkenny, in last year's All-Ireland semi-final, yesterday’s final would likely have been a tilt at a three-in-a-row. For a team that seemed too green to be serious three seasons ago, even before throw-in yesterday, they had come a long way.
To be considered great, the RTÉ panel ruminated, surely another All-Ireland was required? Few more qualified to answer that conundrum than Anthony Daly, Donál Óg and King Henry, who between them have enough Celtic crosses to open a smelting plant. All three agreed Limerick were already doing great things, and would likely continue doing them, but yes, two All-Irelands is certainly better than one. You couldn’t help feel Waterford collectively groan at their television screens; 'we will take just one, thanks very much'.
Observing due diligence, the lads did everything to make the case for the Déise, highlighting the renaissance of Austin Gleeson and the soccer smarts of Dessie Hutchinson.
The GAA loves nothing more than a converted Association Football man, and former Brighton and Hove Albion man Hutchinson is perfect fodder, his highlight reel being full of the three things most beloved in the convert; speed over five yards, a low centre of gravity and vision. He represented the streetwise traits that Waterford needed to prosper. If Limerick were slick, Waterford were crafty. The case was made, alas when the panel were canvassed for their predictions, all of this was assuredly put aside; it was Limerick for Dalo, Limerick for Donál Óg and Limerick for Henry. For the sake of balance, RTÉ should have drafted in magician Keith Barry.
Loving a good montage, the Sunday Game crew gave us a fitting preamble to the game, scored by Dermot Kennedy singing Van Morrison's , which was fitting in a self-aware kinda way, given if Van the Man was in charge, there’d be no masks, 82,000 people in Croke Park and bonfires lit from Jones’s Road to Rosslare.
To counter any subliminal messaging, Marty Morrisey, perhaps after a NPHET briefing, was keen to remind us while Liam MacCarthy would not be going to either Limerick or Waterford by game's end, only in the figurative sense.
The opening minute of the game resembled one of those absurd cheese-rolling festivals in Wales where everybody chases a heavy round of Double Gloucester down a hill. It was mayhem, the sliotar refusing to stick to hand or hurl. It was the last messy act of the afternoon, the sequence lasting only 43 seconds, ending in a score for Limerick’s Tom Morrissey.
Thereafter, Limerick played some Pep Guardiola inspired hurling, passes hit so crisply to hand you could hear the slap of leather on palm. Already five up, Waterford keeper Stephen O’Keeffe made a double save worthy of a Matrix spin-off, his alley cat reflexes denying Kyle Hayes and Cian Lynch in quick succession. Limerick purred along undeterred. Even so, the only led by four at the water break, which we all know is nothing in hurling.
If Austin Gleeson has any regrets from previous final experiences, he won’t have any after this. So often when Waterford needed something, anything, to stay in touch, it was he who stepped up, even taking a painful stray hurl for his trouble. Marty was dismissive, Michael Duignan at least offering sympathy borne out of personal experience. No mention of it being a free to Waterford, though.
Somehow, Waterford were only three down at half time - less than nothing in hurling - and keen to remember Waterford coming back from seven against Kilkenny, the holy trinity of pundits gave Waterford hope, reluctantly. Anthony Daly should’ve gone down to the Waterford dressing room, as he nearly had me convinced from my couch.
Limerick, however, were not for turning. A three-point lead was seven within five minutes of the restart. Gearoid Hegarty was having a game for the ages, and even with the flair, they tackled like some souped-up version of an early edition Armagh football team. Even when Waterford tried something new; long or short, it was as if Limerick had two players more; sweeping, knocking blocking and hooking. This was Dublin footballer levels of dream slaying.
By the second water break, Limerick were eight points to the good, with 24 points on the board, 19 of them from play to Waterfords four. As Austin Gleeson dropped deeper, Waterford's dream seemed further and further away.
When the end came, the joy on Limerick faces was no less evident for an empty stadium, neither was Waterford's pain diluted by having no one physically there to share it.
As Declan Hannon raised Liam MacCarthy, his charges embraced as if the famine ended all over again. Most fitting, he chose his platform to salute frontline workers, and urged calm across the Treaty. It was a poignant end to a day that seemed profoundly unlikely four months ago. Van the Man was wrong, none of our mama’s could've ever known that there’d be days like this.
