Maurice Brosnan: Clare brought war, but Limerick the ones still on the battlefield

BATTLE: Diarmaid Byrnes of Limerick consoles David McInerney of Clare after the GAA Hurling All-Ireland Senior Championship semi-final match between Clare and Limerick at Croke Park in Dublin. Photo by John Sheridan/Sportsfile

RESTLESS. Moving with purpose. Scanning. Stumbling. Pacing. The battle demanded everything from every stakeholder. Sunday's All-Ireland hurling semi-final was an epic game and occasion, yet there remained enough space for neurosis as well as genius.

A 56,891-strong crowd is a curious thing. The noise during the pre-match parade and with every dramatic lurch was deafening. There were still empty seats. One such section was beneath the big screen at the top of the Davin Stand.

That is where anxious supporters stood. You don’t typically see attendees standing there, obviously. Perhaps "stood" is not the accurate word anyway.

These were the sort of people who stride with manic energy in front of television sets when at home. Why change a lifetime habit in Croke Park? In the bleachers, they walked with twitchy anxiety. The physicality, the inaccuracy, the brutality, the penalty controversy, all of it conspired to ensure they couldn’t sit still.

It took an awesome ordeal to reduce them to this state. It took every ounce for Limerick to navigate their way to a sixth All-Ireland final in nine years. They will now face the same opponent and the same manager who they ignited this remarkable run against.

The Munster champions led at the start for ten minutes. They hit the front again precisely as the clock ticked into the red, Aidan O’Connor wheeling away with both arms saluting the Hill. Shane O’Brien had to race after him to issue a reminder: the job is not finished. You have done wonderfully. Do more.

Meanwhile, the aisle strollers covered every inch of the emotional spectrum. Some of them danced, some of them collapsed back into their chairs, some of them froze, unable to comprehend the scale of what had just transpired.

It was not a perfect semi-final. There were poor wides. The teams finished with a conversion rate of 57% and 58%. Thomas Walsh’s decision not to issue Nickie Quaid a black card has exposed a flawed rule as totally inadequate for its intended purpose. But all of that pales in comparison to what was given across the day. This was the game of the year. Hands down.

There was a moment 22 minutes into this gripping encounter when it became clear this was more than just a spirited start. Clare were here to conquer.

At that point, they were already two points up. Sean Finn tried to rise a ball under the Hogan Stand and was hit by a determined Shane O’Donnell. It’s not just that the hit was ferocious (which it was), it is that it was calculated as well. Go ball-headed for it and you’ll catch a rising corner-back square to concede a free. O’Donnell did the calculations, dropped into a squat position and met Finn as he came to the same level.

Now Limerick were scrambling. The ball squirmed away to the other wing, where Kyle Hayes lined up to shoot. At the last second, he tried to dummy back, but Darragh Lohan had descended by then. Again, it was a quick-witted flick. Hayes panicked, latched onto his opponent’s hurley and conceded the free.

There is an important point here. Yes, Clare brought war. They brought brainpower as well. That gave them cause to truly believe.

Many expected John Conlon to feature but no one saw him lining out in midfield. Tony Kelly started on the edge of the square and did wreck, scoring four points in the opening half hour. Conor Cleary went right to the line with his smothering of Gearoid Hegarty.

Ultimately, he had to be taken off and the wing-forward thundered into the game after that. It was a Man of the Match display wrought from puckout battling and breaking ball rather than scores. He did not have a single shot at the posts.

At that early point, John Kiely’s side were struggling to match their opponents' level. Finn hit a ball up and over the sideline early on when he should have gone back to goalkeeper Nickie Quaid. Dan Morrissey tried to do exactly that a minute later and ended up sailing the ball two metres too high. It skittered over the line on the other side.

Do not let the goal distract from what it required for them to carve their way through. Limerick did it in degrees. Every single possession mattered. It was laced into every play. They started the second half with two uncharacteristic wides and a curious Shane O’Brien turnover, with Aaron Gillane in space behind him screaming for the ball. Gillane was hooked off for the second successive game as they toiled to claw back.

The roar that erupted with 42 minutes played defied the attendance. It was primal. What preceded it was a savage passage, Conlon with an immense strip of Darragh O’Donovan, before Will O’Donoghue exacted it on Sean Rynne at the other end. Finally, Byrnes planted his feet and split the posts.

In the end, Clare’s tank was spent. They scored just four times in the second half and only one of them came from play. As several legends prepared to bid farewell, all the county asked of them was to not go gently. They deserve immense credit for the ferocity of their resistance. As do Limerick for unwavering fidelity to the plan.

There is a lesson in that doggedness for a devastated Cork outfit. A long winter will interrogate whether Saturday’s collapse stemmed from a tactical or psychological deficit. The reality of elite sport is that it is a toxic cocktail of both.

Galway came with a rigid system and pure faith that they would perform. Scoring three unanswered points before half-time was integral to sticking to that. It meant they weren’t tempted to panic, considering a change of approach or changes on the fly for underperforming stars like Daithi Burke and Conor Whelan.

Tactically, Cork played right into their hands and that exposed psychological scars to the fore thereafter. How Limerick kept hurling was a credit to their system. It steered them through.

This was a weekend that demonstrated precisely why we obsess about this game, exposing what it can do to you and still reminding us that it is still simply that, a game.

As the final whistle sounded Sunday, there was a prostration all over the field. Yellow and blue bodies collapsed. One of the last men to vacate the Clare bench and make his way back onto the pitch was 37-year-old Conlon. Until his withdrawal on the 48th minute, he was magnificent. It is a testament to him that O’Donovan was taken off first.

The veteran, moving gingerly, walked around the debris. Opponents, team-mates, the line of officials, he shook hands with them all. Soon his young daughter appeared by his side.

She toddled along until she spotted a gaggle of children in the goal. Quaid was unwinding with his gang. The Conlons drifted across, the fathers talking while the kids pucked about.

Eventually, it was time to leave. Remnants of the Clare team had gathered on the halfway line and a stalwart made to join them. Not everyone was so keen. He had to scoop up his daughter and herd her towards the other end. A member of the Limerick backroom team crossed his path so he set her down and engaged in another debrief.

Like a flash, she took off steered by a noble ambition. Determined to play some more.