Eimear Ryan: The moments I savoured even more after rewatching the All-Ireland final
Dessie Hutchinson of Waterford is tackled by Limerick players, from left, Darragh O'Donovan, Declan Hannon, Barry Nash and Seán Finn during the All-Ireland SHC final. Picture: Brendan Moran/Sportsfile
Something about the festive season lends itself to returning to the old classics. It’s not a time for challenging ourselves or starting the latest overhyped Netflix series; it’s a time for rewatching, for wallowing in the familiar. We want nostalgia, comfort, and most of all, something we can put on the background and not have to worry that we’ll miss crucial plot points while the chaos of Christmas unfolds around us.
In this household – and, I suspect, in most households – the and duologies are must-watches at Christmas. (Are there other movies in these franchises beyond the first two? Perhaps. Do I acknowledge them? I do not.) is essential, as much for the magical Christmassy background music of John Williams’s score as for the entertaining plot. (What does it say about me that I empathise with the bandits – or more specifically, feel their pain – more and more with each passing year? Let’s not dwell on that too much.)
Over the Christmas break, I also took the time to rewatch the All-Ireland hurling final. It had only been two weeks since the game took place but felt like much longer somehow. At the time, I’d found the final somewhat anticlimactic – which wasn’t really due to the quality of the game itself but my own frame of mind. In a way, I was still reeling from the thrilling semi-finals that preceded it, and from the riveting camogie final the night before. It was like sensory overload; you barely had time to draw your breath. I’m still not sure how the players got through the compressed championship of 2020 – I was overwhelmed just watching it.
During the first lockdown, when all matches were on hold indefinitely and classics of championships past were broadcast on the airwaves as a stopgap, I was struck by the number of commentators who said that they didn’t enjoy watching old matches. It’s no fun watching when you know the outcome, goes the argument – it takes all the tension out of it.
However, I’m one of those people who doesn’t mind spoilers. For me, it’s not so much about what happens, it’s how and why. Part of the joy of rewatching, in movies as in sports, is that you notice more details, more depth, more light and shade with every watch. Moreover, we can appreciate the big moments all the more when we know they’re coming.
Yes, we know that John McClane is going to explode a plane using only his lighter (spoiler alert), just as we know that Stephen O’Keeffe is going to pull off that outrageous double-save; knowing this in advance doesn’t lessen the impact.
In fact, I’d argue that the anticipation makes it all the more enjoyable to watch the second time around. Here are some moments I savoured even more the second time around:
It began with Seamus Flanagan’s first point in the third minute: 30 yards out, over at the Cusack Stand, running away from goal. The type of shot that, as a young player, you are told not to take – recycle it out, give it to the player in the better position. In the 10th minute, Aaron Gillane struck over a carbon copy. Then, Flanagan replicated the score early in the second half, this time off his left side.
When Limerick forwards get the ball in improbable positions they don’t just think ‘I’ll have a pop’ – they are practising this. Not only have they been empowered to go for these opportunities, there’s an expectation that these half-chances should be converted. It would make you want to head to the pitch and work on your back-to-the-goals game immediately.
After being knocked to the ground with the force of Kyle Hayes’s shot, and reacting with lightning quickness to Cian Lynch’s solid connection on the double, Stephen O’Keeffe still had to get to his feet to fish a final half-blocked shot from the air. Here’s hoping O’Keeffe comes back from a well-deserved year out fresher and more determined than ever.
Watching Tadhg de Búrca’s ACL go in slow motion was wince-enducing; watching the consternation on his face as he realised he was gone was almost unbearable. Waterford will take comfort from Iarlaith Daly’s excellent performance, but your heart would go out to de Búrca. What a season he’s had; what a horribly unlucky way to bow out.
Redemption from what, exactly? I’m not even sure, but the way we collectively talk about Austin Gleeson implies that he has to atone for something. He has a gift, we argue – why isn’t he using it in the ‘right’ way, or more consistently, or in the way we want him to? As if his talents were handed to him and not, in fact, something he’s honed, over several years and thousands of hours of hard work.
Austin is always the narrative. If he is in the thick of the action, we talk about him; if he’s not in the thick of the action, the question becomes ‘where’s Austin?’ We project onto him, we analyse him at length, we talk about what he’s not doing as much as what he is doing. We want him to exceed our expectations even as we hold him to an impossible standard. He scored four points from play, a stupendous sideline, and made many important interventions throughout the game. But he didn’t single-handedly win the match for Waterford, and for that, we can’t quite forgive him.
It happens to all the great players. A decent Joe Canning or TJ Reid performance is barely remarked upon, treated as a baseline. I would argue, though, that while Gleeson has the ability of a Canning or a Reid, he doesn’t have the same ice-cold temperament. He’s more of a maverick – a bit unpredictable, which can be a huge benefit as a player. Eamon O’Shea got the best out of Lar Corbett, another maverick, by leaning in to his difference; by simply letting Lar be Lar.
The same could work for Gleeson. Even Joe lost two All-Irelands before winning one. Who’s to say it won’t work out the same way for Austin?
