The Tipperary beast ravages you like a demented brute

Michael Breen is a symbol of Tipperary’s new hardness, writes Anthony Daly.

I watched the first half of yesterday’s Munster senior final in a haze. I spent about 15 minutes wondering what had happened to us, Limerick, in the minor final that we lost by 17 points. By half-time, the rest of the Limerick minor management and players left the Gaelic Grounds to get food. I turned around and noticed myself sitting alone amongst six rows of empty seats. It summed up my afternoon. At least I know exactly how Derek McGrath felt.

A few minutes later, John Sheedy, Liam’s brother, and Liam Cahill, the Tipp minor manager, came back and sat down beside me for a chat. “Jeez, we didn’t see that coming, Dalo, no more than you did,” John said to me. We didn’t. I’m sure Derek and the Waterford players didn’t either but the Tipperary beast is the type of animal that when it smells blood and senses the kill, they ravage you like a demented brute.