Arrogant Tipperary... Seriously?

A THURLES man told me last week he knew three different lads from around the town who are going out with former Miss Irelands. A relatively unscientific metric, sure, but more proof, as if any were needed, that confidence is currently coursing through Tipp veins.

At least one of these lads wouldn’t hurl spuds to hens, but Tipp’s rising hurling tide has floated all boats. And when young Davison and the rest get wind of Lar’s new bar, we’ll doubtless have to recompile these statistics.

Yes, Tipp is so hot right now. So it was a little bit surprising then to see a small enough crowd gathered last Tuesday night for the meeting of the two best teams in the country.

At least that’s what some locals were calling it. When the Tipperary County Board was granted permission to select players from senior clubs in the intermediate championship, this challenge between the senior and intermediate panels essentially became Tipp A v Tipp B.

Of course the wild claims for the fixture were mainly aimed in Kilkenny’s direction, specifically at the long-held media notion that the hardest challenges Cody’s men faced came from their own understudies at Nowlan Park.

But you could tell the odd fella — Miss Ireland left at home for the evening, probably — half meant it all the same. And when the development squad rattled in two early goals and made much of the first-half running, it only intensified the feel-good factor rippling around the Clonoulty-Rossmore grounds.

Tipp followers have endured fleeting moments of introspection this spring as Declan Ryan’s new management team bedded their charges into a gruelling training schedule. But the clinical dismantling of Galway in Salthill last Sunday has reawakened supporters’ natural giddiness — a state curmudgeons in neighbouring lands often seem to mistake for arrogance.

It was impossible not to be swept up by the power, pace and interplay. When John O’Brien iced a piercing passing movement with a perceptive flick to set up Shane Bourke’s first, he was creating a goal only marginally better than his own pick and swivel earlier in the day.

National Hurling coordinator Paudie Butler purred with delight at the performance of his county men. “Morale will be high. It’s a lovely thing to see when everyone is working for each other, working hard off the ball. They had so many options on the ball, it was brilliant for each individual forward.

“Declan has been saying they have been training very hard and very well. It all came together there very quickly.”

Bourke’s 3-4 in Pearse Stadium firmly announced his own candidacy for an already overstocked forward line and when the JK Brackens youngster batted to the net again on Tuesday night, the small roar of acknowledgment from the Clonoulty hill soon gave way to murmured speculation about whose place he’d take in the Stadium in May.

One controversialist even offered Eoin Kelly’s name into the mix, although he had the good grace to quickly bless himself.

Confidence then. But if that precious commodity comes easily to Tipp folk, it tends to be sealed and packed with a free portion of nagging worry. Many of the county’s fiercest disappointments have arrived when spirits have first soared. Munster final ‘90, All-Ireland semi ‘93, Munster final ‘96. Munster final 2000.

Last May isn’t forgotten either.

Butler immediately wipes complacency off the menu. “I do think the confidence is even higher now. The last management team did savage work in building up that belief in the team.

“But I don’t think overconfidence is going to be a factor with only one All-Ireland. There are lads from last year’s team recovering from injury and there’ll be wicked competition for a place.”

Retaining a title is the stiffest test. In 1993, after his Manchester United players clinched a first championship under his care, Alex Ferguson wrote three names down and put them in an envelope. These were men he feared could not take the next mental step.

As Tipp A pulled away in the second half on Tuesday night, you could look around at the two Mahers and Gearóid Ryan in their civvies, watch Noel McGrath and Seamus Callinan training away on the lower pitch and see no sign at all of Lar Corbett or Eoin Kelly.

When the back-up cast can push the envelope themselves, you suspect overconfidence won’t be a problem.

Gunners get just desserts

LATE in the first half of Arsenal’s feeble draw with Blackburn last Saturday evening, Andrey Arshavin seemed to be troubled by an unprecedented pang of conscience. This personal crisis persuaded him to stick out his tongue to form as determined a grimace as he could muster and pump his little arms and legs in a frantic 60-yard gallop to deny Jermaine Jones a crossing opportunity.

Everybody noticed. Jones looked positively alarmed, the match commentators registered amazement and the Emirates faithful erupted (ok, hummed) in recognition of the Russian’s unlikely industry.

Visibly chuffed, if red of cheek, Arshavin silently announced his retirement from the match.

Midway through the first half of Manchester United’s impressive Champions League win at Stamford Bridge on Wednesday night, a poor United corner saw Wayne Rooney gallop 60 yards to deny Yury Zhirkov a crossing opportunity. The task didn’t appear to cause him any great distress and nobody really noticed. A few minutes later Rooney struck the winner.

Do we really need to await the results of another weekend’s games before electing the new Premier League champions — the side that simply wants that honour more?

Rough diamond Rooney so removed from real world

THERE are those among us who would pity and excuse a certain footballer for becoming so aggravated by his accumulation of a hat-trick of goals that he felt moved to roundly abuse a billion people via an intruding camera lens.

These tolerant souls ought to have tuned in this week to Setanta Sports’ coverage of the Goody’s Fast Pain Relief 500 — the latest round in the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series and perhaps the most aptly-sponsored event in world sport. Chances are all but the most dedicated petrol-head would have given way to dizziness by lap 222, but anyone who persevered would witness true grace in the glare of the media spotlight.

For it was on that circuit that the throttle on Martin Truex Jr’s Toyota stuck, sending him crashing into a wall at 100mph and igniting the kind of fireball you suspect these fellas see when they wake up sweating in the dead of night.

Miraculously, Truex was soon stumbling from the wreckage to check on the welfare of Kasey Kahne, whose Toyota he had also taken out. Then there was just time for a quick detour to the care centre before a firing squad of microphones prodded his pale face, wanting answers.

“What was it like when you saw that wall coming and you knew you were gonna hit a ton?”

There was perhaps a fleeting moment when Martin flicked through his mental lexicon of obscenities, before steering impressively to safety.

“It was ‘oh man this is gonna hurt’. But thanks to NASCAR and all the guys who built the safety barriers in these race tracks. Ten years ago I wouldn’t be standing here. I just hate that we took Kasey out.”

And then on he went to the next set of mics, his life probably still flashing before his eyes, to tell it all again.

Wayne’s world is a different world.