Nickie Quaid: The dressing room after winning an All-Ireland... Ecstasy. Joy. Pure happiness. Inner satisfaction. Love
READY FOR ROAD: Recalling the build-up to this year’s All-Ireland final, Limerick goalkeeper Nickie Quaid says he was glad the Premier League is back as keeping an eye on his Fantasy Football team on Saturday was a nice distraction ahead of Sunday’s showdown with Cork. Picture: Piaras Ó Mídheach/Sportsfile
Sunday — 8.45am
My father is buried in a graveyard in Effin just 200 yards from where I now live.
I was only nine when he died from injuries sustained in a fall at work in Charleville, just over the border in Cork. I keep his memorial card in my gearbag. Everything else I remember about my father, I keep in my heart.
He is always there, especially on match days. Immediately after I leave home on match day, before driving to meet the rest of the group, I visit Dad’s grave. He is buried at the back of the graveyard. I normally spend five minutes there, talking to him, saying my prayers, usually a couple of Hail Marys, asking him to help me through the day, to hopefully help us get over the line later that afternoon.
I never ask my Dad for anything different. It’s the same chat I have in my head with him before every game, league or championship or club. I never get upset. The same thoughts and feelings flow through my mind and body every time I stand there before a match. I thank him for all the help he has given me throughout my career. My last words are always an expressed hope that I’ll be back later in the week talking to my father again with a smile on my face. I normally have the place all to myself but there was another man there this morning. I think he was a gravedigger. I don’t think he knew who I was or why I was there. “It’s going to be a nice day anyway,” he said to me as I was walking out the gate.
“Hopefully,” I replied.
Saturday
I developed a routine before the Clare game last October which I’ve rigorously stuck to ever since on the day before a Championship game. There is a restaurant in Kildorrery in north Cork called Thatch and Thyme about 15 minutes from where we live, where Orla collects the same takeaway lunch for myself — soup and coronation chicken on brown soda bread with a side order of mash potatoes.
The routine has just changed slightly this year since our son, Dáithí, was born in January. Orla heads to Kildorrery around 12pm, I look after Dáithí and put him down for his nap, before Orla and I have our food then together around 1pm.
The rest of the day can normally drag so I was glad the Premier League was back, and I could keep an eye on my Fantasy Football team. It was a fiesta — Liverpool and Burnley, followed by Man City and Watford.
Later in the afternoon, the three of us always go for the same walk with our dog Molly. We head down this small, discreet windy road near our house, towards the railway tracks, where I know I won’t really meet anyone.
You rarely meet a car, but we met two on the way back, both of whom stopped to wish me all the best. I just accepted the well wishes and kept going, not stopping to engage with the occupants who were probably mad to chat.
Some people may think I’m a little big impolite the week of a big game but that’s probably just the selfishness that can often define an inter-county player, where you do everything possible not to let anything upset your focus. I try not to go anywhere.
I won’t go to the shop unless I have to. If I do, and I have Dáithí with me, I use him as an excuse. “If I stop to talk, he’ll wake up,” I’d say, “so I’ll keep going.”
Whatever it takes.
Saturday is a funny kind of day in that I’m trying to strike that ideal balance between switching off and still turning on. I’m so paranoid about sliotars that I spend a couple of weeks before a big game storing good sliotars away like a squirrel would set aside their best nuts.
If I see a good sliotar I like at training, one of the Cummins sliotars we and most of the teams use, I earmark it for game-day.
After the stroll, I went to my stash of sliotars, popped the best of them into a bag before placing that sack of gold in my gear-bag. Then on match day, I hand that bag to the umpires and they will feed those sliotars to me for puckouts.
Even though it’s an All-Ireland final, I still wear the same gear I’ve worn throughout the summer, apart from the jersey.
On Thursday night, I set aside the socks I wore against Waterford. I don’t put the gear in the bag early in the week, but I have everything in place and ready to go.
Then I played this hand-eye coordination game which I bought around 18 months ago. You operate it from a board the size of a small coffee table with a small stand, which is fitted out with 30 different coloured lights, and which you hook up to your laptop. Once the lights flash up, you press them as quickly as you can to sharpen that hand-eye coordination.
There are different levels which I worked my way through for about 20 minutes. I just find it gives me confidence and reassurance that I’ve polished my reactions less than 24 hours before I’ve got to use them.
By the time I was finished, Orla had dinner ready. I’m never too fussed about what I eat the evening before a game. I wolfed down a plate of bacon and cabbage and potatoes — the most basic Irish dinner of all but loaded with protein.
For the rest of the evening, I watched two shows on Netflix from a series which I’ve been glued to lately — For Life. It’s a legal drama loosely based on the life of Isaac Wright, where a prisoner becomes a lawyer and fights to overturn his life sentence for a crime he didn’t commit.
At 10pm, I went upstairs to bed. I’ve always tried to go to bed early. That has been harder since Dáithí arrived, but I’ve tried to maintain my routine on match-weeks as much as possible.
By 10.15, I was stuck into the book I’ve been reading lately called Atomic Habits.
Recommended by Caroline Currid, it’s a comprehensive guide by James Clear on how to change your habits and get 1% better every day.
I would have always been an avid reader before going to bed but the arrival of Dáithí pared back that indulgence. He was in the room with us up until the last month and I didn’t want to disturb him by turning on the lamp. Still, I read more than ever on the week of a game because I find it relaxing and a great way to switch my brain off from hurling thoughts.
In the past, I often found myself trying to play the game in my head when I went to bed and it took me ages to fall asleep. On Saturday night, James Clear’s advice and musings was the ideal sedative — I was flat out by 10.30.
Sunday 6.15am
Dáithí always wakes a couple of times a night but I had a free pass from Orla to rest on if I heard him. I slept straight through until 6.15am until I heard Orla getting up with the small man. He had just woken up, but Orla was getting Dáithí ready to pick up her mother in Mitchelstown before heading to Dublin.
I fell straight back to sleep for another hour before getting up at 7.15am. I had my tracksuit laid out, which I stepped into after a shower. Then I had the same breakfast I have every day of the week — a bowl of porridge, two poached eggs, a pint of water, and a cup of coffee.
Orla was already gone by that stage; she wanted to get to Dublin early to make sure Dáithí had his nap and was well settled in her arms by the time the game began.
I live beside my two brothers — Tommy and Jack. For all of the previous games, the lads and my nephews would call over before I’d leave but they were already gone to Dublin too by that stage. Tommy and his son, Thomas — my godson — had called in on Saturday evening to pass on their best wishes.
Before I left, I got my hurleys out of the garage, and pucked the ball off the wall with my good hurley for about two minutes to make sure that my eye is in and my touch is sharp. I always leave the hurley down the day before a game. After those 20-25 strikes against the garage wall, I usually don’t puck a ball again until I get out on the field.
That’s always my last act before leaving the house. We had to be in Limerick to get the train for 9.40 so I made sure I was driving out the gate at 8.45, especially when I had to call to the graveyard first.
As soon as I meet the lads at the train station, everything feels right. Comfortable. Relaxed. I sat in beside Declan Hannon. We chatted about anything and everything. I’m so comfortable in everyone’s company that it wouldn’t matter who I sit beside. That’s a tight group.
I like listening to music, but I never do so when going to matches. I prefer the chat. The talk around our table was dominated by our Fantasy Football teams, and how well or poorly we’d all fared the previous day in our mini-league. The lads sitting across from us were playing Connect 4. Other lads were playing scrabble. A handful of sharks were trying to make a small killing on cards.
We got a cup of soup along the way. Coffee was available for anyone who wanted a shot of caffeine. When we arrived in Heuston Station at 12pm, we got on a bus and got a Garda escort straight to St Aidan’s CBS in Collins Avenue, Whitehall. With hotels closed last year, we used the school as a base before the All-Ireland semi-final and final and John Kiely saw no reason to alter the routine this year. I don’t know what the link is with the school but, with John a secondary school principal, I’m sure that’s where the connection lay.
We landed at 12.25pm and were in the canteen — with these big, long benches for seats — at 12.30pm for our pre-match meal, chicken and pasta, breads, banana breads, yoghurts, coffee. Some lads then go for strappings or rubs. The rest of us headed into the large sports hall. Some lads were pucking around. A few more were throwing a ball around.
Mikey Kiely, our S&C coach, normally calls us for mobilisation and activation exercises to get lads moving before we have our pre-match meeting in one of the classrooms with John and Paul Kinnerk. After that, it’s onto the bus and straight for Croke Park.
I sit in the same spot every time, the back left corner, just one seat up from the back row. The seat beside me was always filled by Tom Condon but we haven’t found someone brave enough to take that spot since Tom left. The back seats are always taken up by Declan Hannon, Graeme Mulcahy, and Cian Lynch.
Aaron Gillane is always in front of me. Darragh O’Donovan and Diarmuid Byrnes are across from him. Lads are always in the same seats every time.
Making that journey into Croke Park last year was strange because there was nobody around. This time was different, nice different, if you know what I mean. Lads were clearly taking it all in. Other lads had headphones on, oblivious to it all. But there was loads of slagging and joking going on. The mood felt right.
When I got into the dressing room, I just sat wherever Ger O’Connell had hung my jersey. No-one is particular about where they want to sit. I’m just always beside Seán Finn because he’s next in line to the number 1 jersey.
The first thing I always do is organise my bag with Ger. I take out my own sliotar bag and fire that sack in alongside my hurleys. I put in a towel, an adhesive hand spray in case its wet, zip up the bag and then hand it over to Timmy Houlihan, our goalkeeping coach.
I always dread the rain. When I was out on the pitch beforehand chatting to Seán Finn and Caroline, I didn’t like the look of the black clouds gathering overhead.
“It’s dark enough,” I said. “Yeah, there are probably showers coming,” said Caroline. “But Nickie loves the rain anway Seán!”
“There won’t be any rain Caroline,” I replied. “If I tell myself enough times there won’t be any rain, it will stay away.”
You do anything to convince yourself that what you want to happen, actually will happen.
I started to tog out when I went back in. I never bring a foam roller with me, but I usually borrow one off Diarmuid or Gearóid. I rolled out my back, did some activation band-work, put on my boots and went into the warm-up area. I went back inside and had a quick chat with a few of the lads before we had a short meeting with the defenders. Before we knew it, it was time to go. John and Declan spoke briefly. Then it was out of the darkness and into an orb of light and a wall of noise.
Our pre-match routine with Timmy was shortened because of the parade. Do I enjoy the parade? Being honest, I just dislocate myself from the experience as best I can. I run through certain scenarios in my head. The roar is brilliant. You can see the crowd as you get close to the sideline, but I just stare straight ahead at the middle of Declan’s shoulder blades. I try not to look anywhere else. I don’t want any distractions.
Sunday, 3.33pm
At the start of the game, my legs felt like jelly. I’m not sure if it was the parade, especially when I wasn’t used to it, but I didn’t feel as stable as I normally would at the start of a big match. I’m not using that as an excuse, but the second Shane Kingston’s shot went over my head and into the net I thought: ‘Jesus, I should have saved that’.
It was a brilliant goal, but it was straight at me and I felt I should have got the hurley up quicker.
After the ball hit the net, it rolled straight back to my feet. I picked it up and tried to reset. As soon as I looked up, Peter Casey was on his own in the middle of the field. I remember thinking :‘There must be a Cork player close to him’. When I looked again, there wasn’t. So, I was able to ping the puckout straight to Peter, who planted his feet and put the ball straight over the bar. After being disappointed with the concession of the goal, that score probably settled me down. The ball was over the bar before the Cork fans had stopped cheering their goal.
We settled quickly. The lads were flying. The scores flowed. Getting three goals in the first half, especially when two was the most we’d scored in any game up to that point, was a massive boost. We knew we were in control at half-time, but we weren’t getting carried away. Kinnerk spoke about certain areas which we needed to clean up; Cork got a couple of scores where they found too much space for his liking. The same messages were reinforced. The score didn’t matter. We needed to go out and win the second half, push on and try and get the best out of ourselves.
And we did.
Sunday, 5.02pm
As soon as the final whistle went, I jumped into a huge bear-hug with the full-back line and another posse of players. Barry Hennessy, our sub keeper, Jason Gillane, the third-choice keeper and Timmy wrapped ourselves up in a massive embrace. You’re on such a high that you’re almost going around not knowing what to do with yourself.
As we were celebrating in that first minute after the final whistle, I noticed Alan Cadogan down on his haunches close to us. He was clearly devastated. It’s not nice for us to be jumping around while he was so low, so I exchanged a few quiet words with Alan. It’s hard to know what to say in that moment but you just try to be sincere.
When the two squads gathered in two separate groups, I made it my business to commiserate with as many of the Cork players and management as I possibly could. They were very gracious in defeat.
Before Declan raised the Liam MacCarthy Cup, I looked for Orla and Dáithí.
Having Dáithí there was a special moment that I had longed for. I had pictured that image in my head but I had suppressed the thought so that it wouldn’t upset my focus.
Being able to walk around the field with my son in my arms is a memory, a magical memory, I’ll always be able to cherish. I could have never dreamt that something so brilliant would happen to me.
It also makes all the sacrifice that bit more worthwhile. It’s a form of justification too for the huge effort you put in, and what you miss out on along the way to try and make days like Sunday happen. Because inter-county hurling can be a very selfish business. I teach in Patrickswell and I’m normally gone from home before 8.30am.
On the nights we train, it’s not worth my while to go home after school finishes so I’m not back until after 10.30pm. That’s a lot of time for Orla to be at home on her own with a young baby. It’s a lot of time too for me to be away from them both. You want to make sure that you’re training hard and getting the most out of yourself but there are still times when you need to be home more, that you feel you should be around more often for your wife and son.
Walking around the field with Dáithí in my arms, having those photographs and memories of us together, is the best way of compensating for what I may have missed out with him over the past eight months.
Along the way around Croke Park, I met my mother, which was another special moment.
I also met my two uncles, aunt, cousin, and a multitude of friends.
When I spotted my brother Tommy over at the Cusack Stand side, I lifted my godson Thomas over the barrier and brought him around the field with us.
My other nephew Michael was also there but he’s only nine months old. We got a picture taken with Thomas, Dáithí, and myself around the cup. I even managed to get in a few pucks with Thomas.
Thomas was born in January 2018. He is named after my father. He was only eight months old when we won our first All-Ireland. I remember at the time thinking that maybe it took another Thomas to come along for it to happen for Limerick.
Those little links probably don’t mean a whole lot. But in my head, they do.
The dressing room was everything you want it to be after winning an All-Ireland. Ecstasy. Deep fulfilment. Joy. Pure happiness. Inner satisfaction. Love.
It’s just that perfect fusion of all of those feelings. The music was blaring. Lads were jumping around like lunatics. The only time the music was turned down was when Kieran Kingston came in to congratulate us. Kieran was really impressive. He spoke so well. He was very gracious, very complimentary. It was a very difficult thing for Kieran to do after such a devastating defeat, but I couldn’t speak highly enough of what he said to us, and how much those words meant to the whole group.
We didn’t shower or tog in until about two hours after the final whistle. We had our food together in the dressing room. After getting the bus to the train station, all the players and management were in the same carriage on the way home. It was just a continuation of the magic.
The mood and ambiance was hopping like the rhythm of the music. Seamus Flanagan was the DJ for the whole trip. Cian normally looks after the pre-match music, but Seamus took over that responsibility with such enthusiasm that he was banging out the tunes like Calvin Harris.
When we arrived in Colbert Station around 10.30pm, Kevin Griffin had another bus there for us to take us all back to the Woodlands Hotel in Adare.
It was an informal enough gathering. We didn’t have any suits. Everyone was just in their tracksuits and casual gear. The partners and families were there to meet us but the numbers were in line with Covid protocols and the event took place in the outdoor setting the Woodlands had set up for us.
Monday
Orla went home on Sunday night because her sister had come to our house to babysit Dáithí and Orla wanted to be there when he woke in the morning. Graeme Mulcahy ended up staying with me because he didn’t want to go into his room and wake his partner Laura and their new baby, Róise.
We were both awake around 7.30am. We hadn’t got much sleep but the adrenaline was still pumping through my body like a narcotic. The two of us were just happily chatting together in the room. It was that unique kind of conversation when you smile your way through each sentence, fully secure in the knowledge that everything about the day in front of you is only going to get better with each passing minute.
After Graeme left to meet up with Laura and Róise, I had a shower before packing up my stuff. I messaged into the WhatsApp group to see if anyone was heading down for breakfast. By the time I got downstairs, six of the lads were already tucking into food.
The match was being shown on the TV in the background. Every now and again, I’d glance up at the big screen, but not too often because the craic was deadly. Just pure happiness. Elation. The time just flew. Hours seemed to pass like minutes. Before we left the Woodlands, we hatched a plan to go to a pub in Effin I’m involved in with my brother Jack and two other lads, Mike and Pa.
We were in Davy’s bar for around 3pm. When the bus returned to bring the lads back to Limerick at around 8pm, I stayed on. I had a few drinks with the local lads in a quiet corner and was home in bed by 11.30pm.
It was a long day but I wanted to be fresh for the following morning to help Orla and spend some quality time with Dáithí before heading off to meet the lads again in Limerick city on Tuesday.
Being Tommy Quaid’s son, my father’s name gets brought up a lot, especially on days like these. He has always inspired me. I honestly don’t think too much about the Quaid legacy now that I’m still playing but a lot of people say that winning an All-Ireland medal as a Limerick goalkeeper was almost my destiny.
My grandfather Jack wore the number 1 shirt for the county.
My father, who played in the 1980 All-Ireland final defeat to Galway, featured in 37 consecutive Championship matches over 17 years. My cousin, Joe, replaced my Dad after the 1993 season, suffering All-Ireland final defeats in 1994 and 1996.
It’s lovely to have that past family connection to Limerick but those family threads are deeply interwoven throughout this group. Seán Finn, Gearóid Hegarty, Bary Nash, Seamus Flanagan — all their fathers played too. Cian is a nephew of Ciáran Carey.
We’re all just so privileged to have won what so many great Limerick players in the past didn’t achieve.
I always hoped I would win an All-Ireland with Limerick, but I never dreamed of days like these, of winning three All-Ireland medals in four years. How could I?
There were some dark and barren days along the way when even the thought of winning one All-Ireland seemed like a distant fantasy, far away on the other side of the abyss.
A lot of people have done great work but huge credit for our current success has to go to Joe McKenna and a group of innovative thinkers who set up the underage academy over 10 years ago, people who had the vision to till the ground to provide such a bountiful harvest.
We hope there will be more great harvests to reap but one of the real strengths of this team is that we never dwell too much on the past. Our aim is to make ourselves better today than what we were yesterday. More is never enough.
For now, though, we bask in the warm afterglow of success, satisfaction, and fulfilment, and want to cherish and embrace unique moments for the brilliant experiences they are.
Sunday was more than just a nice day. It was a great day. Every day since has been special. These are the days of our lives.
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