Braveheart’s last stand
THE SCRAWL in this reporter’s notebook is the very definition of inauspicious.
‘E Kelly for K McG, 46’.
That was scribbled Sunday as the Cork-Waterford game still hung in the balance.
We had an eye on a winner in that game, on picking out fresh possibilities for both managers come the summer. League housekeeping.
We didn’t know that those few notes marked the departure of an immortal from the stage.
Ken McGrath’s retirement is different because, simply put, some players come weighted with extra significance.
They make their county’s supporters puff out their chests. Their names erupt like trump cards in pre-game conversations. They embody the place they come from, the way warriors used to be nominated to represent beleaguered cities in single combat against their enemies.
That was McGrath’s status as a Waterford hurler.
As a teenager he served a hard apprenticeship as a centre-forward against imposing number sixes like Seanie McMahon and Pat O’Neill, and came out the other end a hard-driving centre-back himself: brave, aggressive, skilful, and always capable of a flash of genius.
His status wasn’t solely a matter of hurling excellence. That was taken as read. It wasn’t a case of competitiveness, which was a basic ingredient. It was also a matter of attitude.
Chances are that you, like the rest of us, have a freeze-frame of McGrath in action, and God knows there are plenty of options on the highlight reel.
For this viewer, the choices include a spectacular point on a cold and bright league afternoon when McGrath, running diagonally towards the corner flag, flicked a ball coming against him into the air and pointed without handling.
Then there was the point blasted over from his own half in one of the greatest hurling games ever played, the cauldron that was the 2004 Munster final.
Or maybe the catch over his shoulder running backwards towards the Canal End in Croke Park in 2007.
All of those games were against Cork, by the way. When those counties lined up against each other over the last decade – the New Firm, as we liked to call it – the results were often spectacular and never less than entertaining.
Even last Sunday’s league clash was a good quality game which had to be delayed to accommodate a crowd in the region of six thousand: box office even in a recessionary March.
If you were one of those cursing as you sought parking space around the Park Hotel on Sunday, take some comfort: you didn’t know it then, but your journey meant you took in Ken McGrath’s last appearance in a Waterford jersey.
Even with the unfamiliar helmet, the silhouette was unmistakable: at a distance McGrath’s delicately cocked left wrist always marked him out as he jogged around the field, and it was the same last Sunday as he trotted ashore in the second-half.
The attitude we referred to above was evident on other days, though. The great days. The big tests.
In 2001 McGrath was tearing Tipperary apart in Páirc Uí Chaoimh when he tore ankle ligaments badly. He played on for another half hour.
Or 2002 when, on a wintry afternoon in Thurles, he came off the bench with a badly damaged shoulder but somehow smuggled the late winner over the bar against Cork.
Or 2004, when 14-man Waterford were trying to hold Cork at bay as the Munster final wound down.
The Leesiders’ final, desperate attack was killed by a soaring catch from McGrath. When he was upended coming out with the ball the game was as good as over, and he knew it, roaring into the sky.
McGrath’s departure adds another name to the list of recently departured greats. Dan Shanahan last autumn. Sean Óg Ó hAilpin before the season even began.
That doesn’t end the story. There’ll be other days. Great days.
But with a different cast, they’re just not the same days.
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