The making of All-Ireland winner Richie McCarthy
The other day I found myself trying to explain the sport of hurling to an English friend who had never seen it, writes .
In describing the pace of the game, the strength, stamina and ferocity it required, my conclusion was this: “It’s a tough man’s game, so it’s not one for the likes of me.”
However, the same cannot be said for the little brother who has towered over me for the last 15 years. Last Sunday, I joined the roaring crowds at Croke Park to watch Richie McCarthy and the magnificent Limerick team lift the Liam MacCarthy Cup. To say I’m proud is an understatement.
It always felt like great things were destined for Richie. When he was only three months old, he was already on solids, such was his huge appetite. According to my mother, cabbage and bacon was a particular favourite.
Being eight years older than him, I expected to have the upper hand in most sports. But no. It was hard to compete against someone who slept with his hurley.
My mother always struggled to get him to do his homework. However, no hurling training session was ever missed for his beloved club Blackrock. He would return from training, fall into bed and the homework would have to wait for another day. Richie lives and breathes hurling. He would play all day if he could.
I experienced many emotions at Croke Park last Sunday because I know the sacrifices Richie has made over the years to play hurling at the highest level. When he was 22, he badly broke his left ankle playing for Blackrock and was left in agony for over an hour waiting for the ambulance to arrive, his ankle pointing at a sickening angle. My mother asked the doctor whether he would ever play again.
“We’ll see,” was the cautious response.
Richie eventually had two pins inserted in his ankle and was out for over six months. But his sheer determination got him gradually playing again and it wasn’t long before he was back to his best. I’ve lost count of all the injuries he’s had over the years. There always seemed to be an endless string of cut fingers, bruises, sprains, aches and pains.
It’s a physically demanding sport, and he discovered early on that the status of an inter-county hurler makes you a target at club level – lots of players want to knock you off your pedestal.
I also felt relief at Croke Park because I know how hard my family has worked to get him where he is. Dad drove him everywhere as a junior player and stood in the stands supporting him in all weather.
Henry is always the first person to arrive at the matches and has no qualms about ignoring us all for the duration of the game: he sits on his own so that he can fully concentrate. My mother washed a continuous stream of muddy socks, shorts and jerseys and to this day she is still doing it. On the morning of the All Ireland, Ann had Richie’s porridge ready as is always the case before a big match.
My sisters, too, play a key supportive role. Indeed, we all shed tears on Sunday, none more than Aine, who cried for the entire match, even when Limerick were nine points up.
Jennifer, a beauty therapist, has a different style of support. She tells the story of how, when giving Richie a massage before a big match earlier in his career, he made the mistake of expressing his doubts, saying: “I’m not good enough for Limerick. I’m just a club player.”
Jennifer, having what one would diplomatically describe as an assertive personality, tore into him, telling him that if he didn’t believe in himself he would achieve nothing. Richie never used defeatist language in front of her again.
Another key supporter is his girlfriend Ruth. Before every big match, Richie goes to Ruth’s house at a farm in Emly, Co Tipperary. He helps out on the farm, feeding the calves but has so far resisted the calls to help milk the cows. Being on the farm is like a refuge for Richie, he can get away from everything and start to get his head in gear for the big match.
Before the All-Ireland, the advice from the sports psychologist was to change nothing in your pre-match routine. So off Richie headed to the farm to gather his thoughts.
This week has been all about glory for Limerick but there has been much pain for Richie over the years.
Sport can be cruel and the losses in Limerick’s championship semi-finals of 2013 and 2014 still haunt Richie, as did losing the Fitzgibbon Cup in injury time when he was playing for Waterford Institute of Technology. He may have his own chant ‘Oh Richie McCarthy’ to the tune of ‘Seven Nation Army’ by the White Stripes, but plenty of people have criticised him over the years, claiming he lacks pace, is overweight, or just isn’t good enough to play for Limerick.
Like every winner, Richie turned the criticism to his advantage, using it to prove people wrong. I am sure the All-Star he won in 2013 came from the rage of wanting to prove himself against his critics.
Richie and the Limerick players visited my parents’ pub in Kilfinane with the Liam MacCarthy Cup this week.
On the front of the building is a plaque dedicated to our cousin, Tommy McCarthy, who won two All-Irelands for Limerick in the 1930s. Earlier this year, Tommy’s grandson visited us from his home in the US for the first time and he showed us Tommy’s All-Ireland medal.
He said he hoped it would bring us luck.
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