Only Donegal’s opponents suffer hangovers now

The wildest colts can make the best horses — Plutarch (46-120 AD)

WITH the exception of Tyrone and Kerry, I always believed during the last decade that Donegal was the best team a footballer could have played for. As Tyrone and Kerry shared the ownership of Sam, all the other counties were relegated to the role of envious bystanders.

Yet, everyone kept training their guts out. They were lifting weights, wearing wristbands and sweating their backsides off in Portugal. But come the end of September, it was the same old story. A Kerry or Tyrone captain would be climbing the steps of the Hogan Stand. Donegal were different. While Donegal’s players succumbed to the same fate as everyone else, at least they managed to have a good time.

Their reputation as revellers started in 2002 when they produced a dazzling performance in the All-Ireland quarter-final against Dublin. It was a thrilling game which ended in a draw.

Donegal were fantastic. The players thought so too, and believed that they were entitled to reward themselves. Legend has it that only 13 players boarded the coach which returned to Donegal. The missing players stayed in Dublin and partied.

And Donegal’s footballers knew how to party. The player who could restrict his celebrations to a one-night bender was admired for his monk-like asceticism. There were occasions when a good league win would prompt a three-day epic.

Various managers were appointed and all of them tried to convert the changing room. But it was like selling lamb chops to vegetarians. The Donegal players were having none of it, and their resistance was truly heroic.

The challenge facing those poor managers was underlined on repeated occasions. A player once turned up for one of Brian McEniff’s famous sea swims reeking of booze. He was sent home mostly out of the fear that he might drown.

Now one of the team’s main generals, it’s hard to believe that Kevin Cassidy was thrown off the panel after a league game against Westmeath. Cassidy’s explanation for breaching a drinking ban was that he’d “only taken a few pints”. Only in Donegal would this have been deemed a reasonable defence.

While Donegal’s footballers drank and sang and danced, everyone else in the county was utterly miserable.

They lost three Ulster finals, in 2002, 04 and 06, and an All-Ireland semi-final in 2003. As the supporters suffered, the county board threatened to tear itself apart. A massive row broke out nearly every time a manager departed and every time a new one was appointed.

For a long time, the only people in Donegal who were having any craic were the footballers. The supporters, the county board and the growing list of broken managers were all in despair.

Then Jim McGuinness entered the scene and everything changed. Of course, there is a certain irony to the fact that the man who has removed the fun and frolics from Donegal football was once no stranger to a half-pint shandy himself.

Yet, Jim has transformed the culture and mindset of his players. Under McGuinness, Donegal now conduct themselves with the grim-faced determination of the Armagh side that was so often their nemesis.

It must also be conceded that Jim has extracted much of the flamboyance from Donegal’s play. Watching Donegal has become a fairly joyless experience.

Their 12-man defence smothers the opposition and drains the life force from a game.

Jim McGuinness has taken Jose Mourinho’s tactics and applied them on a bigger pitch. By defending in huge numbers, Donegal suck the opposition into their half of the pitch. This creates an acre of space for their counter-attacks. It is extremely effective.

Tyrone have been the biggest casualties of Donegal’s cunning plan.

While individual mistakes contributed to Dermot Molloy’s winning goal, the key problem stemmed from Tyrone’s lack of defensive cover.

Once Tyrone’s attack broke down, their full-back line was left completely isolated. The cover normally provided by midfielders and half-forwards wasn’t there.

In contrast, Donegal full-back Neil McGee enjoys the protection of a Queen Bee. He is always surrounded by a colony of willing workers.

As the championship progresses, it has become increasingly obvious that the team that beats Donegal will have to play them at their own game.

It will be the ultimate staring contest.

Picture the scene: Donegal defending with a dozen men, and their opponents doing the same.

It will be like watching Cliff Thorburn play Cliff Thorburn.

However — and this point needs to be stressed — Donegal are entitled to play the game whatever way they please. It’s up to their opponents to either outwit or outmanoeuvre them.

Donegal’s supporters certainly need no reminding of how it feels to be beaten by smarter, sharper, slicker opponents.

Anyone who witnessed the outpouring of joy in Clones would not begrudge them their victory.

The euphoric scenes which followed Sunday’s Ulster final provided yet further proof that the people of Donegal know how to party.

And for the first time in many years, the footballers aren’t celebrating by themselves. The county’s ‘wildest colts’ have finally come good.

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