No Glamour, Just Glory

Sport is sensationalised at a sickening rate these days. Moderate achievements of brand name sportsmen are glamorised beyond belief to sell enough papers, advertisements and all the rest. It can be difficult to dredge through the bumper headlines and find true acts of heroism. This weekend Irish sport had two nail biting finales to devour. One took place in Co. Louth where Amateur golfer Shane Lowry won The Irish Open in rain drenched dramatic circumstances. The other took place in the Province of Luxembourg, which is actually in Belgium, and took three periods of extra time to separate Den Haag and Belgium in Round 2 of the European Hurling Championship.

As mentioned in the previous blog, Dominic, Eoin, Michael & Rochey were missing from the squad that travel to Paris. Conchur de Barra, still in cast, was there to train the ladies but added to the absentee list. We suffered another blow on Friday night when Captain Kevin Keary, racing from the European elections campaign train in Cork, missed his flight from Shannon. It’s a great testament to the work done in the last 18 months that we were still able to assemble a squad and travel with some amount of hope.

Arlon. That was the venue for the Luxembourg tournament. Indeed it lies in the Province of Luxembourg but within the boundaries of Belgium. An omen? Ya have to grab everything ya can. I travelled with Crusher, Adrian and Emmett. Whilst Emmett drove and cursed his ingrown toenail, I spun the tunes. We arrived in just under two hours and in time to see the girls’ first game. The lads competition first involved a round robin with games against Den Haag, Luxembourg and Paris with the top two going through to the final and the others contesting 3/4 playoff.

We faced Den Haag first and expected this to be the toughest of games. Disaster struck early, when in typical fashion, Crusher arrived into a flurry of men to steal the ball. Bodies flew everywhere but it was Crusher who lay, in visible pain, clutching his knee on the ground. There was a long stop in play before he was carried from the pitch and off to hospital. Early indications suggest ligament or tendon damage. He will know more today but we wish our diminutive warrior a speedy recovery. We were rattled and the 1-7 to 1-0 scoreline at half-time reflected this. In the second half, Martin adjusted our formation, moving me back to defence, Dec to midfield and captain Aylward to the edge of the square. We fought our way back to 1-7 to 1-4 and pushed for a goal late on but it was not to be as our opponents struck for the insurance point. We had played better in the second half but we needed more punch up front.

The heads were down after the game but all was not lost. It was still in our hands with two victories likely to secure a final place. This had to be the minimum goal for the day. Went faced up hosts Luxembourg next. I'd got a couple of new hurleys lately and was striking the ball well. The goalies had looked vulnerable in the opening games and I asked Martin if we got a free within reasonable distance, should we try and raise the green flag. He gave me the nod and in the opening minutes Hartey earned a free 30 yards out and slightly to the right. A goal early can knock the stuffing out of teams so I went for it and was happy to see it creep in the bottom corner. Soon after, we won a free deep in our own half. I went for the point but it dipped under the crossbar in slipped through the keeper’s hands into the back of the net. Hartey, repositioned in the forward line was wrecking havoc. Pierce and Eoghan held sway at midfield and by half-time we had breathing space.

On the resumption of play, we continued in the same manner. Conor launched a couple of monstrous points from way back and the contest looked like petering out. However, it quickly became very physical as a Lux player clipped the ball away from his marker before receiving the brunt of his pull. It went unpunished but whilst it was probably a free, it certainly wasn't intentional. To worsen the blow, we went up the other end and won a scoreable free. Temperatures rose and play was held up for a few minutes as the player was treated and the rest jostled and argued!!

Revenge was in the air and Declan was on the wrong end of a suspicious pull on a high ball. He left the pitch clutching his arm. We weathered the storm and the final score read something like 3-12 to 1-1 but did not represent the heat of the second half battle. It took more out of us than the scoreline would suggest and we took a welcome break before facing off against Paris in the final group game. Martin rejigged again for this game to try and freshen things up. Muiritis and Yann acquitted themselves for well in this encounter and Adrian was solid in goal. We won the game playing straight forward hurling by keeping the ball moving. Other results meant we had another crack off Den Haag in the final.

You have to play in one of these tournaments to fully appreciate the difficulty they pose. Group games only last 25 minutes but the 11-a-side game is fast and zaps the energy. The stop start nature of the day leads to breaks between games that cause the body to cease. Come the final, you are nearly guaranteed to have lost men along the way and Saturday was no different. Myself and Emmett portrayed all the signs of this as we sat in the boot of his Corolla Verso. We had a few visitors as we passed the nurofen around. Dec sat out the Paris game because of the hand injury but was ready for one last tilt at it. My back problems were building all day and had spread to the hips and hamstrings. Emmett, had his usual catalogue of bruises. The final was to be two 15 minute halves and even with the pains and aches we were ready.

Hurling is as unique a legal sport as you will find. Men go into battle equipped with their hurleys and with only a helmut for protection. The acts of bravery occur with such regularity that they are taken for granted. Every hurler needs a warrior streak to run through them if they are to be successful, no matter what the level. Crusher has this in abundance and he was in my mind before the game. The line about 'We'll win this for person X' is belted out far too much and is a line without substance in my opinion. I did feel Crusher could be our source of our inspiration so I reminded the lads of how the man plays the game and asked them to bring his heart out onto the pitch with them.

Martin, the ultimate warrior, who has stood the test of time better than most, had found the right balance to the team as the day went on. For the final he manned the square, fronted up Conor and Willie. Myself and Dec filled the half back slots whilst it was a Cork/Kilkenny combo in the middle of the field with Eoghan and Pierce. Jarrett and Emmett had the half forward slots with Aidan and Adrian close to goal.

From the first whistle, it was obvious we were in for a monumental contest and it was to be clear the game was to be defined by three key battles. Despite starting in the half back line I spent most of the contest planted at the edge of our square on man marking duty. Conor A had a similar assignment which dragged him to the half back line. Around the middle of the field, our ferocious competitor Eoghan Kelly would need to neutralise the marauding play of Simpson.

The specific events are difficult to recall. An early goal and point from them was pecked back when Adrian goaled. We took advantage and led by a point at the interval. Maybe 1-2 to 1-1. We extended the lead to 1-6 to 1-3 with Emmett and Pierce to the fore, before Den Haag rallied with a succession of points. Such was the flurry of second half activity, it was difficult to keep track of the score. Tension was at breaking point in the closing stages with bodies flying into very challenge. It was taking its toll on all as cramp gripped many bodies, even Den Haag keeper!! When referee Tony Bass blew a halt to proceedings, there was a pause. The minds of the men were so weary and the closing stages so frantic, all had lost track of the score. A draw. It was a bitter pill, especially as I had had a clear score waved wide at the end of the first half, with the ref perfectly in line with the flight of the ball.

Extra-time. Two periods of 5 minutes. Both teams regrouped for water and to stretch aching limbs. The first half was deadlocked when my man raced through. As he headed for goal, Conor and Dec pursued from behind. I came from the side, waiting for him to throw the ball up so I could flick it away. As soon as he did, I made sure of my task and knowing the chance was lost, he went to ground. I was livid. For me there was no contact from any of us and we had hunted him down fairly. The ref disagreed and awarded a penalty. Myself, Conor and Martin manned the line. I think you have to be half mad to stand in front of a penalty. The two lads next to me can certainly tick that box and such was my fury at the decision, I shared the trait for that moment at least. The penalty taker, who had been their key man all day, must have seen the madness in our eyes as he made minimal contact with the strike and was forced to hit a ground shot which we saved and cleared. Conor later told me there was no way that penalty was going to go in and he was willing to sacrifice the crown jewels to keep it out.

Second half of extra-time. We probably had the slight edge in the three battles mentioned earlier. It was too close to call though. With the scores still deadlocked I won a ball on the left wing. There were the bones of 80 yards between me and he goal but there was so much traffic in front of me that it was hard to find a man so I went for it. I struck it well and the accuracy was good. There is a point in the flight of the ball when your attention switches to the opposing goalie and the forwards. If the forwards and defenders stop, the chances are you have the distance. If the goalie stays on his line and rests his hurley on the crossbar you can be sure it’s good. It was.

With maybe a minute or two remaining and given the low scoring nature of the final, there was a fair chance it would be the winner. How naive. Moments later a puck out came through to me and my man. It was rolling nicely and he got it into the hand fast and put the head down for goal. I blocked his path with my hurley but in doing so pushed him back a yard, enough to allow him shoot for a point and evade my block. That was one of the final acts of extra time. What next? Another period of five minutes. We were calm, our fitness was showing but with only five minutes to play, the slightest of slips could cost you.

Even when lads, on both sides, could slip their men, the accuracy was fading as emery levels were well below the waterline. In the dying stages, Den Haag hit the post from a narrow ankle for a point. We cleared our lines but again, moments later, they hit it again. This time it spilled out perfectly in front of the goal. Quick reactions meant our defence grabbed control of the ball and launched a clearance in the direction of Jarrett. With parents visiting for the weekend, he provided the moment that would finally separate two evenly match teams as his effort crept over the bar and inside the post! It seemed like all the tension which had proceeded that moment, accumulated and crammed itself into the remaining forty seconds. When the ref blew the final whistle we were nearly too shattered to celebrate. After such a battle you must also show respect to your opponents. We went toe to toe through normal time and three periods of extra-time and to lose must have been soul destroying.

Surveying the wreckage after such a day would make the mind boggle. Bloodied bodies lay scattered on the surface with sore and swollen limbs all round. Such a tight game brings out the raw ingredients which make hurling great. The mindless commitment to win the ball, the bravery to block opposing players down, the relentless chasing and harassment of lost causes. It doesn't matter what standard you play at, those ingredients will always come to the fore when you have two passionate and evenly matched teams squaring up. There was a moment in the second half of normal time when Simpson picked up the ball twenty yards out and wound up. Its hard to explain to people what goes through your head but I literally ran straight at him, not really caring what I blocked him with as long as I blocked him. In another instant, Emmett was fighting for possession over on the wing. For a moment it seemed his body stopped functioning in line with his thoughts and he couldn't get his hurley in the position to whip so he just put his foot in the mixer, gritted his teeth and bore the pain.

We were buzzing on the way back. We had a CD with Irish music blaring and we were doing our best to get the words wrong. At one point Adrian, who is Canadian questioned why when we were on such a high, we were listening to such depressing music. An ironic point that may warrant another blog to delve into the depths of the Irish psyche. Conor told me afterwards that their journey home mirrored ours as they stretched their lungs too. We are 2/2 now in our quest to become European champions. Next, we have our home tournament in Brussels. If we can inflict defeat to our opponents on home soil it may well knock the resilience from their challenge. We will most likely have to do it without Conchur or Crusher. The rest will return. We won against the odds at the weekend but had to go to the bottom of the pit to do so. The returning lads will need to bring that quality to ensure we don't lose our edge.