Finding dignity and glory in the shadows of Croker
Dublin have beaten Kerry and Croke Park is ‘Alive Alive O’.
Amid the cacophony, there is time to sit and survey the scenes.
On the pitch below, there is a Dublin celebration of two halves. Most of the sky blue jerseys have raced towards Hill 16. Meanwhile, at the Canal End, Stephen Cluxton, the player who kicked the winning point, stands sentry.
A lone figure, he appears completely removed from the euphoria.
Colm Cooper, who has just been denied the honour of captaining his county to victory, is the first player to greet Cluxton. ‘The Gooch’ offers Cluxton an outstretched hand.
Tomás Ó Sé is the next man to congratulate the Dublin goalkeeper. Ó Sé has the match ball. He walks down the centre of the pitch, pats Cluxton on the back and presents him with the white leather memento. Cluxton accepts the gift but he is clearly not given to sentiment or souvenirs. Seconds later he casually kicks the ball away.
And as his team-mates celebrate on the Hogan Stand, Cluxton is the first to race towards the sanctuary of the changing room. We, too, descend into the bowels of the stadium.
After the riot of noise, the tunnel under the Hogan Stand is quiet and calm. Eerily so.
It used to be more chaotic. Back in the day, we would be ushered into the winner’s changing room. Interviews were conducted as players stood on benches towelling themselves dry and dousing the air with deodorant.
Nowadays, we stand in the tunnel, and we wait, and we wait. No one goes in and no one comes out.
But there is movement elsewhere. A figure in a tracksuit emerges from Kerry’s quarters. I recognise the young boy by the player’s side. He was on the pitch with his father earlier. It is Tomás Ó Sé and his son. Tomás is wearing a baseball cap and his making a beeline for the exits. The peak is pulled tightly over his forehead, casting a dark shadow over his eyes. He has the look of a man who is seeking darkness. He wants to get out.
But there will be no easy escape from this one.
Four points up and six minutes from the carnival.
Ó Sé’s mind will run those closing minutes on a never-ending loop. Then the yellow door opens and out steps Dublin manager Pat Gilroy. He is extraordinarily composed. Nothing about him provides any indication that he played any part in the spectacle we have just witnessed. Mobile phone in hand, Gilroy makes a call. Then he holds a brief meeting with three gardaí. They talk for a few minutes. Gilroy, the manager, has resumed his duties.
By this stage, more people have made their way into the underbelly of HQ. There is a group of men in dark suits. Their blazers carry the motif of the New York Fire Department. They hover for a while before moving off.
A throng of Dublin fans arrive, several in wheelchairs. They assume their positions directly opposite the yellow door. They are not moving anywhere.
Three glossy black sedans pull up. They have darkened windows. State cars. The registration plates date them as 2007 models. Just before the crash. No new motors since then.
President Mary McAleese walks into our bunker and is escorted back to Phoenix Park.
Word has now filtered from the Kerry press conference that Jack O’Connor refused to take the bait when asked to comment on the referee’s performance. Of the two minutes of added time that were signalled, half of that allocation was spent on Stephen Cluxton’s free-kick.
To be exact, when Kevin McManamon was fouled, the clock read: 70 minutes 51 seconds. When Cluxton struck, 71 minutes and 56 seconds had elapsed — a delay of one minute and five seconds which referee Joe McQuillan declined to add on.
McQuillan blew the final whistle when Kerry had the ball, thereby denying them the chance of one last attack.
Was Jack annoyed? Of course, he is. He will be fuming. The anger will burn in his belly like hot coals. But, to his credit, O’Connor refused to be drawn on the topic. A keen exponent of winning the ‘Kerry way’, Jack is learning how to lose the Kerry way. Both traditions reflect honourably on his county.
Dublin captain Bryan Cullen is all too well acquainted with losing the Dublin way. Now, he must cope with victory. Cullen is the first Dublin player to emerge from the changing room. He is still wearing his jersey, and the Sam Maguire Cup is glued to his hands. He has commitments to fulfil. But just as he makes his way out, Pat Gilroy’s head pops out from behind the door.
“Brian. You’re needed up here,” says Gilroy in the manner of a man who is accustomed to being obeyed. The Dublin players have to meet the team’s sponsors. But Cullen is unperturbed. “I have to go over here,” he says, nodding in the direction of the Dublin supporters who are waiting for him and Sam. Gilroy looks across the thoroughfare and quickly agrees. “That’s okay,” he says.
The sponsors will have to wait.
Cullen shakes hands and poses for photographs as the citizens of Dublin reacquaint themselves with the Sam Maguire Cup. Their smiles illuminating our underground cavern. Two teams. One prize. Yet, by the manner in which Dublin and Kerry won and lost, both camps have managed to cover themselves in a little glory.
* Contact: p.heaney@irishnews.com
