A continuation of battles long ago

Kevin Cashman reports on the epic Munster hurling semi-final between Cork and Limerick.

How this game would have adorned Munster final day! But because it was only a semi-final it is in danger of being forgotten, like many another fine semi-final. And all the rejoicing in the splendour of the occasion and the quality of the hurling is tempered with sadness at the departure of Limerick.

But then Limerick were singing in the pubs of Ballintemple at six o'clock on Sunday evening. They know that the tradition - and the legend - were enhanced quite as much by them as by their conquerors over those 140 enthralling minutes.

It was the typicality of the hurling, the way in which it seemed to be not so much a reminder or a revival, but rather a continuation of battles long ago, that was so spellbinding. Raw courage and will to win were shared equally. So a moment of inspiration such as springs only from genius was fated to decide it. And Jimmy Barry Murphy is a Corkman.

The hurling was better the first day. The teams concentrated on keeping the ball moving and the play open, and there were passages of unforgettable first time hurling. Of course this standard was not maintained throughout; each team went through a distinct trough, and Limerick, as their rally gathered momentum found room for picking and carrying. On Sunday both teams seemed largely intent on avoiding such risks as attend the first time whip, and the rigour of the tackling that ensued upon their handling deterred them not a whit. Indeed the players relished the kind of macho confrontation that the game evolved into. And the glory of it all was that there were only a very few moments of dirt.

Limerick's tacticians have much to rue. The team was quite obviously instructed to feed Joe McKenna - and never got it right. Balls were regularly over hit and drifted wide, or hit too weakly and O'Grady's superior pace told in the race out to them. And on a significant few of these occasions points might at least have been essayed. None of which should be allowed to diminish O'Grady's credit: he played a fine game and showed a real depth of steadiness, anticipation and, twice at least, almost arrogant cuteness.

It is a rare thing for Cork to be facing into a Munster final with a team that hasn't even a semblance of being settled. Six players - Cunningham, Brian Murphy, O'Grady, Bertie Murphy, Tim Crowley and JBM are holding down secure and probably their best positions. The others are kept switching about like cannoning snooker balls. The selectors have, in very large measure, brought their troubles upon themselves. Discarding Blake was simply recklessness. The eleventh hour effort to make an intercounty centre forward out of a rather ordinary club midfielder was an act of faith - and little else. It means that Mulcahy, who had shown terrific form in the Under 21 championships and is clearly the best prospect available, will probably fill the position for the later stages of the championship without the 'blooding' which the Limerick matches would have given him so superbly.
 
Pat Horgan has proven, yet again, that the half back line is the place where he plays best. Indeed he has gone further. He has proven that it is the only place where he will bother to play at all, So with McCurtain contending for his natural No 7 spot, that luckless pair John Buck• ley and Francie Collins vying for the other wing position, and the selectors continuing reluctance to play Tom Cashman at left wing forward where his accuracy would greatly augment the team's scoring potential, we may have seen the last of John Crowley as a centre back, And Blake is still the best No 4 they have.
Kevin Hennessy and Eamonn O'Donoghue had satisfactory games on Sunday; and whatever about Sean O 'Leary's injuries - and they seem never-ending - the old heart beats as mightily as ever. And there's always Jimmy.

But Cork's greatest strength this year is likely to be of the spirit. They have lived through a barrage of so called criticism that bordered on scurrility. Scribblers amateur and professional imputed cowardice to half the team without themselves having the courage to name names. All of this because of a perfectly understandable lapse the first day against Limerick and, of course, the fiasco of last September.

Now, who ever heard of Cork playing to full capacity on their first championship outing? And as for that famous fiasco, a good starting point for one of the many books that are certain to be written about it might be the fact that Cork shot fifteen wides in each of their two previous games and this grew to nineteen in the final. Which tells something about the preparation of the team. And it is to that very subject that a deal more of the, still rabid, theorising and "analysis" would be better directed.

Some of the whining that went on was tantamount to appealing for dirty play. That players and mentors rejected such speciosity, and came up with a display that was heartwarming in its unity of spirit and adhesion to purpose, is to their eternal credit. And the thought that in doing so they preserved the splendid cleanness of their own senior club competitions is a reward in itself.

Which is more than can be said for Waterford. Through the first half of their game with Tipp they perpetrated a succession of malevolent strokes and tackles which was clearly designed to intimidate and slow down Tipp's green young players. They succeeded in the cases of Nicholas English and Bobby Ryan. Tipp's only forward and second best defender.

No blame attaches to the referee. This stuff will go on happening until the day when a penalty shot can be awarded against dirty offenders no matter where on the pitch they transgress.

But Tipp have no real excuses. They just slung it away. Their mentors cracked. A fine centre field and half back line was absolutely pouring ball forward: and the most vapid, anodyne, purposeless, hurlingless forwards that ever besmirched a blue and gold jersey were footling and frittering away their chances and the lives of their supporters. And the selectors changed the backs. And then left an injured man on the field long enough for Waterford to channel their saving goal through him.

The Tipp forwards struck seven or eight ground balls during the brief period when they seemed actually aware that their job was to get scores. In the remainder of the game, when they reverted to their beloved ring-a-ring-arosy they struck one or two.

The best that may be said of Waterford is that they occasionally achieved mediocrity. Their goals were all gifts, and the only real penetration and creativity amongst their forwards resides in Jim Greene. The full back line will probably be their bulwark against Cork, for all three - assuming Galvin to be fit - are solid defensive hurlers. Curley in the half line is reliable and Ryan sometimes brilliant; but McGrath between them is in sad decline, as is Mossy Walsh in front of him.

But Waterford have one good thing going for them: a sense of thoroughgoing realism that was daftly absent last year. That and their zeal for redemption should help make a fair match of it - if they keep it clean.

Would the Cork County Board please, please stop fouling up their great occasions with that uniquely otiose officiousness of theirs which moves them to print tickets at even the rumour of a match. Last Sunday patrons who arrived early were frequently allocated the very worst seats. It all depends on which turnstile you happen to go to. So, naturally and rightly many people simply ignored the ticket fatuity and sat where they chose. Which, of course, irritated some latecomers with tickets fcir the choicest seats and the few amadauns amongst the stewards who set out to enforce the absurd and unenforceable.

It was and is all so unnecessary and brought the only touch of rancour to a lovely occasion. And the hurlers soon dispelled that.

Goodbye, Limerick. It's never the same without you.