Sport is the power that lifts the spirit
That was before the terrible news broke from Kilkenny. Two young mothers, Mary Lonergan and Vanessa McGarry, killed in a car-crash. Vanessa’s husband is James McGarry, All-Ireland goalkeeping winner.
Given the circumstances, there was no way the All-Ireland quarter-final between Kilkenny and Galway could go ahead; Croke Park made exactly the right call, postponed that game, along with the Tipperary/Wexford quarter-final, to Saturday.
How fast things can change, how fatefully, fearfully, frighteningly fast. Sunday should have been a day of celebration for Kilkenny, for hurling, thousands heading for Croke Park; instead, we were in Thomastown, the church packed beyond its considerable capacity.
No-one, not even the chief celebrant, tried to make any sense of what had happened, because there is no sense to it. We could only look on, grimly, as James made his way up to the front of the church, a protective arm around young Darragh, Vanessa’s son. Darragh’s head and arm were bandaged, obvious scars from the accident – but what of the scars we couldn’t see?
What do you say? A mumbled ‘sorry for your troubles’ was all I could manage, a handshake, then gone, just another of hundreds in the long line waiting their turn.
It’s at times like this, you hear, that sport is put in perspective. I agree, but my perspective is probably different to most. I believe, if anything, that death, when it strikes as suddenly and as tragically as this, makes sport more important rather than less, in the scheme of things.
Sport is the light in our lives, it is the balm that eases the pain, it is the power that lifts the spirit. There are those who can invest too much of their own spirit in the outcome of sport, in winning, but properly approached, sport is life’s elixir. There is family in sport, and that family was much in evidence in Thomastown on Sunday and was much in evidence since the news broke. Yours might have been just one mumbled sentence, a stock sentence, one supportive hand on a shoulder, but it’s one of thousands. And they all count.
Finished, we went into the clubhouse for one thirst-quencher (Club
Energise, since you ask), to be informed of another kind of drama – Pádraig Harrington was leading the British Open by one stroke, just one hole to play. Then came that drive, into the water; then the next shot, into water again. Superb up-and-down from there, but a six, two shots dropped, now one behind. Tragedy, people were saying, tragedy; if he loses now (and it looked at the time that he would) this would be a body-blow from which he would never recover.
Thankfully, Pádraig got a second chance, and took full advantage and it couldn’t happen to a nicer fella. But, tragedy, in light of what had happened in Kilkenny? Yes, I thought, yes — tragedy; there’s all kinds of tragedy, all levels of tragedy. The devastation of the loss suffered by James McGarry last Thursday morning, the devastation of the loss suffered by all the family of Vanessa and of Mary, is of the kind that sends a shiver down your spine in those fleeting moments when the thought of something similar happening in your own life crosses your mind. But I have seen too many losing dressing-rooms after big sporting days — All-Ireland finals for example – to deride the loss felt there, to demean the sense of devastation.
And I know what Pádraig Harrington would have been feeling if Sergio Garcia had made that putt at the last, if he had lost the Open.
Tragedy, albeit of a different colour.
Sport has its place in life, an important place. It is meaningful, solid; for many of us, it’s an integral part of life. Hopefully, it will play its part as James and Darragh come to terms with the loss of Vanessa. It will take time, the greatest healer of all, but it will happen.
Saturday, it begins. Let’s enjoy it for what it is.
diarmuid.oflynn@examiner.ie
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