Colin Sheridan: The montage makers are the true heroes of All-Ireland final day

Mayo fans celebrate as Tommy Conroy puts over another point in the first half of extra-time against Dublin. Picture: INPHO/James Crombie

The vices occlude the virtues. As Mayo sunk the dagger through the gap in Dublin’s heretofore impenetrable armour the Saturday before last, the montage makers in Montrose quickly went to work. The file footage of gormless but ultimately tragic Mayo fans who stupidly dared to dream was dispensed with (‘We will save that for the final,’ they cleverly thought), an homage to five-in-a-row champs Dublin hastily cobbled together.

Our national broadcaster can be accused of many things, but shirking a good montage challenge has never been one of them. The emergence of the ubiquitous Dermot Kennedy to score it all has only enhanced their efficacy.

In the aftermath of Mayo’s shock win over the Dubs, both farragos would’ve required little tweaking. Mayo have long been a montage maker’s dream. Croke Park grass being cut, slow-mo fist pumps, supporters on the verge of heart attacks, rain falling on a smiling Lee Keegan, Aidan O’Shea actually walking in slow motion, in slow motion. The montage roughly follows the character arc of the team itself; innocent hope evolving into wide-eyed wonder, all bookended by inevitable heartbreak, captured in a perfect four-minute clip.

Mayo supporters will never need their lives to flash before their eyes in their dying moments, all they need is access to an RTÉ montage; it’s all there, from the cradle to the grave.

The Dublin iteration has long directed itself. Croke Park grass again being cut, Clucko kicking into the Hill, Diarmuid Connolly wearing a tank top in slow-mo, Con O’Callaghan being brilliant in slow-mo, Brian Fenton fetching in slow-mo, and finally, always finally, Clucko lifting Sam. In slow-mo.

Last weekend, that was the only edit required. Substitute in James McCarthy walking dejectedly off the field shaking his head — in slow-mo — and you have your masterpiece.

Dziga Vertov, a Soviet avant-gardist and father of the montage, not only used the form to organise the reality in his films but also to convey ideological meanings. What would he make of these pre and post-All-Ireland final offerings? Would he approve of the overuse of Coldplay?

He described his process thus: “From one person I take the hands, the strongest and most dexterous; from another I take the legs, the swiftest and shapeliest; from the third, the most beautiful and expressive head — and through montage I create a new, perfect man.”

Vertov peaked in the 1920s, but it was clear he was talking about Dublin even then. His canvas was a cold Moscow flat. A piano. A distressed mistress. A snowstorm in Gorky Park. A far cry from a lingering shot of Cork’s Patrick Hogan working his alchemy in a tight space, all shot in — you’ve guessed it — slow-mo.

What would Vertov do with the Dubs? The challenge in their case was perhaps differentiating one year from the next. One victory from the last. Six consecutive seasons of smiling faces. No juxtaposition. Little nuance. Maybe RTÉ should’ve thrown in a shot of the Ballymun Towers collapsing.

Hurling, long a more aesthetically pleasing endeavour than football, was undoubtedly conceived with the montage in mind. How bitter must Setanta have felt that there was no genius multimedia graduate to lay a Mogwai track over his slaying of the chief Chulainn’s dog way back? And what of royalties? How rich would John Fenton be if he received 25 cents on every showing of the pull heard around the world? Sliotars plucked from navy blue skies, ash on ash, timber breaking, hooks, saves, sideline cuts.

Yesterday, as old rivals Limerick and Cork faced off, the montage makers gave their usual tour de force. There is no final so bland it can’t be improved by a makeover and a decent tune. No classic too grand it can’t be elevated by a subtle fine-tuning and a filter. You could actually just snooze the Sunday lunch off on the couch and wait for the montage just before the Angelus and you’d be all set. Your hurling itch scratched for another year. Sporting greatness presented in high definition and a four-minute medley of magic.

They should broaden their canvas, the montage makers. As relationships end, why not offer a service where the breaker-upper could offer the broken-up-with a neat little collage of the good times to soften the blow. Yes, I may be ripping your beating heart from your chest, but here’s some high-def clips of us walking Silver Strand all scored by Beyonce’s ‘Halo’.

Art never stays still, so it will be interesting to see what new breed of montage maker emerges. What brave soul will get edgy, take it underground, make a collage of VAR stoppages, Hawkeye reviews, Lions vs South Africa scrum resets?

Who will have the balls to put out a 10-minute mosaic of umpires leaning against goalposts, with a soundtrack from Julie Feeney? We have nearly exhausted the art form in its current incarnation. We have scaled Montage Everest. Is there no second Troy for us to edit? Will Mayo winning an All-Ireland be the montage that ends all other montages?

That is a question for another day. What is certain is, the montage maker’s time is now. Like, right now.

As French President Emmanuel Macron comes to town next week, it was announced he will visit President Michael D Higgins at Áras an Uachtaráin, where a meeting with a number of prominent writers and thinkers will take place. It is imperative that we include the montage makers in this creative cabal. To ignore them is to ignore climate change. To dismiss their work as folly is to reject a vaccine for our ignorant minds. There is no sow’s ear they cannot make a purse from. No turd they cannot polish.

Without them, we would have to live in real time. With them, we can be giants, etc.