Kilkenny fear factor melts away in a boiling cauldron
I wasn’t in Wexford Park on Saturday evening. We were waking Mickey McNamara, a great Clarecastle GAA and greyhound man, who we buried yesterday morning. I would love to have been there to sample the partisan and electric atmosphere but you still got that sense off the TV that it was a boiling cauldron of ferocity and intensity.
Over the last three weeks, everyone raved about the quality of the Cork-Tipperary match but Saturday night’s game appealed to me a lot more. The tribal intensity, the thunderous tackling, the intrigue of the match-ups, the absolute ferocity of how both teams stood in the middle of the ring and just kept swinging, landing haymakers and uppercuts with every alternate punch.
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