European crusade comes to an end for Irish warriors
They were discussing their weaponry. To prove his point the Crusader raised his huge broadsword and easily cut a thick timber stool in half with a single blow. The Saracen then removed the lace scarf from around his neck, threw it into the air, and effortlessly sliced it into two floating halves in midair. Skill and force come in many forms.
The mighty Imanol was central to the smashing of Munster’s brave crusade into the European mainland for this season. His helmet was at the centre of all the brutal action that mattered. By the time he was called ashore Munster were already dead and gone, outgunned and outplayed in what for them was a sub-par display.
Credit Mick O’Driscoll with an honest appraisal: “The best 15 players on the pitch were from Biarritz”. Given the earlier dismissal of Connacht and Leinster it was altogether a sobering weekend for the Irish provinces.
But give all three due credit for still being in the hunt for silverware at this stage of the season.
That in itself is a major achievement. Now the crusade is over at that level, time for a rest, and the endgame of the Magners League has yet to come. The steam has gone out of things though, let’s be honest.
After the (skilful) mullocking and bullocking involved in rugby, the broadsword approach to a contact code, there was something much more like the subtle slicing of a lace scarf in midair about the exquisitely contested clash between Cork and Galway in the league final in Semple Stadium.
There was maybe some controversy about the late starting time for the decider but, in truth, the sporting nation, after all that had gone before, needed this exhibition of all the silken skills of hurling.
And it was a magnificently thrilling thing from start to finish. We had a huge sporting weekend across the whole scale of codes but is there anything in the world as spectacular and thrilling as a hurling final at this level? I don’t think so.
The commitment and courage and skills and fitness of the Tribesmen and the Leesiders was brilliant. The battle sharpened the reality that the championship is rapidly approaching and all the thrills attached. It is so close now that some of the bruises sustained on Sunday will still be visible come the first round. Yes the Tribesmen won it well in the end but this was the kind of fascinating exhibition that the outcome was only a part of the spectacle and the relish.
Myself, for what it was worth, would have given the man of the match award to the Galway keeper Colm Callanan. He was magnificent throughout and there is something psychologically critical for a team to have the last man in defence in such unbeatable form. It is a major plus. On the day the award went to his fullback Shane Kavanagh and that is proof of just how well the Galway defence performed throughout. But that was only a part of the wealth of visuals which this game produced.
That dummy sold by Damien Hayes to none other than Seán Óg was as sweet as a Wexford strawberry. The strike that produced the goal a fraction of a second later was like the swing of that Saracen’s glittering scimitar. It was a beautiful cameo of all that is best in our best code of all.
Cork were well beaten in the end but, remarkably, this being hurling, there was no sense that they were out of it until the last puck. They contributed handsomely to a remarkable occasion.
John McIntyre was delighted at the team’s second cup of the season and the Tribesmen will not fear the opening round of the Leinster Championship looming up so soon. Cork, it would seem, have a bit of work to do.
Staying with Galway, but this time with the footballers, put to the pin of their collars to subdue New York in the first round of the Connacht championship, and there is a lesson to be learned from that game. Our economic difficulties have refreshed the so-called diaspora to the extent that London and New York, filled with new blood, are not pushovers any more. By all accounts, too, the masked Imanol would have been at home in the full blooded exchanges in Gaelic Park before the great Páraic Joyce imposed his deadly accuracy and presence on the scene to prevent a huge upset.
And, finally, no stroke pulled sweetly in Semple Stadium was sweeter than those produced by Rory McIlroy on his way to glory in Quail Hollow when he came into his glory at last. The silk scarf of victory floated high after what was not a bad weekend at all in the end.....
* Contact: cormac66@hotmail.com
