'As the adrenalin seeps out of the players, the first half hour in the players' lounge is eerily quiet. It's a very strange place to be'
SOME time tomorrow between 1.30 and 2pm, the coaches ferrying the Kerry and Tyrone teams will finally snake their way through the rapidly multiplying crowds outside Croke Park.
Both will come to a smooth halt in the cavernous belly of the Hogan Stand, no more than five metres from each dressing room door, before unloading their prized cargo into what will be their last sanctuary before zero hour.
Awaiting them will be the usual Croke Park gift pack of shower gel, shampoo and the like. A fridge in the corner will be creaking with water and sports drinks. Club Energise? Perhaps not.
Anyway, teams are remarkably self-sufficient on match days. Most arrive with bars of chocolate or crates of fruit in tow, and Croke Park is rarely asked to lay on extras such as pizza slices or jelly snakes. Armagh even bring their own ice baths.
Immaculate when the teams enter, the changing rooms will be smothered in bags and bandages within minutes. It will soon resemble a hybrid battalion front line HQ and first aid station. For the next four hours, this is central command.
The time before the throw-in can be interminable for the most experienced of players, though the stroll out to the side of the pitch during the minor match is something of an ice-breaker.
For the rest of the time physios, masseurs and masseuses will be worked to the bone, soothing limbs and minds.
The vast warm-up rooms, carpeted with synthetic grass, will reverberate to the sounds of leather and palm smacking off size fives. Some players will talk incessantly. Others will pass the entire time without muttering a single word.
After wandering outside for the minor match, the players will return to the cocoon of their holding pen. Managers will reiterate plans of battle and perhaps give eloquent speeches before releasing his team onto the pitch, either to fly or to fail.
"It's all about keeping the routine as normal as possible because once players run out of that dressing room, down the tunnel and out in front of 82,000 people, the knees start knocking," says Croke Park stadium director Peter McKenna.
Preparation and attention to detail will be everywhere on the day. In fact, the game itself is virtually the only part of the day that the managers, McKenna, his staff of 2,000 or the 172 gardaí on duty can't schedule.
Just after 3pm, the stewards assigned to each dressing room will inform their charges that the time has come to form up and prepare to make their entrance. The knock.
At 3.05pm, Tyrone will race onto the pitch, announced in the now familiar tones of Jerry Grogan at pitchside. Two minutes later, Kerry will follow. Grogan runs through the player profiles at 3.11, at 3.15 the captains toss the coin and on it goes...
NOTHING is left to chance on a Sunday in Croke Park. For years, it was said that one dressing room in the old Wembley Stadium was luckier than the other on FA Cup final day. Some even said that the 'lucky' one was given to the side that came second in the alphabet. Those looking for such quirky omens ahead of this game would be disappointed. Croke Park prefers to deal in legends, not myths.
"The first team that qualifies gets the first dressing room on the left, the second team to qualify gets the one to the right down the corridor," McKenna explains. "There are no differences between the two. Both are of equal size and both have actually had more or less the same amount of winners and losers."
The only time of the day that McKenna can't guarantee will pass off without incident - apart from the match, hopefully - will be when Mick Monahan blows his whistle for the last time. Cue delirium and with it the ever-present risk of serious injury - or worse.
Defeated players are bypassed by the herd, winners are engulfed in a sea of arms. The scene is intoxicating but no less dangerous for that.
"If someone is hurt we will be forced to put fencing up around the pitch. There won't be any other option. It's a part of the day that always has us a little bit concerned."
Once back inside the dressing room, a scrum of another sort will develop as the media fights its way through the bedlam for their pound of flesh and, when all is said and re-said, the teams will retire to the players' lounge for some much-needed peace and quiet.
"It's an odd period of time really, that hour after the game," says McKenna. "Players have their own way of coming down from a game, just like they have their own way of preparing for them. I suppose it's because all the adrenalin is seeping out of them, but for the first half hour the players' lounge is almost eerily quiet. It's a very strange place to be and then eventually the chit-chat begins."
All season, teams will have entered the lounge to face bowls of fresh pasta and skinless chicken. The odd player may have risked the odd beer from the free bar.
Tomorrow, with the shackles of the season (hopefully) behind them, the menu will offer fried prawns, hors d'oeuvres, salmon, paté and curry chicken sandwiches. The free bar can expect to be a tad busier too.
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