‘There was lots of instances where, if I got caught, my knee was gone. You had to be cute in the sense that you had to pull out of certain 50/50 challenges, without being a coward. You had to play it by ear.’
This time, he got to his feet and finished the game with four points.
Kerry did enough to beat Clare by eleven points, but only the sight of John Egan whirling around the attack like a dervish evoked memories of the team at their best. They could save that for Cork.
* * *
Munster finals had become a familiar routine for Jack O’Shea. If the games were on in Killarney he would load the family up and set off from Leixlip on Friday evening to enjoy the weekend at home in Cahirsiveen. If Kerry were playing in Cork, he would travel with Micheál Ó Muircheartaigh on Sunday morning and make his way back later that night. In all his years travelling with Kerry, he had never known the journey to be darkened by defeat. Winning Munster titles had become an annual ritual for the public. For the players, the greatest challenge was surviving O’Dwyer’s build-up. None more so than Jacko.
His corralling together of the heavies early in the year reflected Mick O’Dwyer’s taste for a challenge. He loved to see bellies and flabby thighs that needed tightening. It gave him something to work on in the spring, something to beat the boys up about. Jacko’s return from Dublin was another. Two weeks before any championship game, Jacko would take a week in Kerry for training. Extra sessions were packed into the week to mark his arrival.
First, O’Dwyer would start riling Jacko about the training in Dublin with Ó Muircheartaigh. A spark of slagging would quickly ignite into a flaming bushfire. ‘He’d say he was hearing things back: Ye’re not working as hard,’ says O’Shea. ‘Then the boys would be slagging you: Lucky fuckers up in Dublin. He’s killing us down here.’
Jacko’s first night at home always filled him with dread. It was the night when O’Dwyer would test him. ‘One night we did wire-to-wires. I touched the wire and came back. “You go again now, Jacko,” he says, and he put another fella with me straight away. I came back. “We’ll have one more,” he says. Three in a row, and he put Ogie with me for the last one. I hit the wire on the far side and when I was turning round my head started to spin. Coming back across around the middle of the field, I could feel nothing. I had a total lack of oxygen. Dwyer wasn’t happy unless he saw you sick or struggling.’
In 1982 O’Dwyer had no worries about Jacko. He never missed league or challenge games, and his form hadn’t dipped all year. South Kerry’s victory in the county championship seemed to spur him and John Egan on to new levels of excellence. If Kerry were to claim five in a row, South Kerry would be at the centre of the story.
The Friday before Cork were to play Kerry in Killarney, Jacko finished his plumbing work early and collected his wife Mary and their children, Kieran and Linda. The children slept soundly in the back seat and the journey passed quietly as far as Mountrath. He asked Mary if she had the tickets for the game that had been sent up by Kerry County Board. She rustled about in her bag. They weren’t in the car. No panic, they had time. They headed back home to Leixlip. Mary got out in Kildare town and Jacko drove on, the children still sleeping soundly in the back seat.
He collected the tickets and set off again, cutting through the bends in the Curragh towards Kildare town. As he left Leixlip, the first rain he had seen for a fortnight began to fall. The road was greasy. Linda had woken up and was getting restless. She was looking for her mother. ‘We’re nearly there, pet,’ said Jacko, ‘nearly there.’
He journeyed on through the Curragh. As he rounded a bend, the wheels locked up and the car skidded on. Another car was coming in the opposite direction. Jacko threw his arm across and held Linda in the passenger seat, throwing his other arm through the gaps in the steering wheel to hold it in place. The cars collided and juddered to a halt.
Jacko looked around. Kieran was crying, but he was okay. So was Linda. His own neck was aching, but he was all right. The other driver was fine, but Jacko’s car was in pieces. He made contact with Mary in Kildare town, then he rang Ó Muircheartaigh. He was okay, he told him; he could travel Sunday morning.
Minor faultlines caused by injuries traversed the rest of the team as well, but they would manage. Spillane had broken down again in training but Sean Walsh would strap up to play Cork. Even without Jimmy Deenihan, Kerry looked solid in defence. But O’Dwyer was worried. Deenihan’s absence had unbalanced the defence. Cork’s Dinny Allen could cause Tim Kennelly problems on hard ground, and Deenihan’s replacement, Ger O’Keeffe, had played a lot of his best football on the half-back line. After the league final, O’Dwyer had repeated his old mantra that if any team was ready to beat Kerry, it was Cork. Even after routing them in the league final, he feared it might happen this time. O’Dwyer rarely switched his teams round to handle the opposition. For Cork in a Munster final, he would.
Kennelly was back in the corner as the game began. O’Keeffe was at centre-back on Allen. The change worked, but Kerry were labouring everywhere else. Jacko was subdued, leaving Sean Walsh to fight a savage battle against Mick Burns and Dom Creedon.
Kennelly didn’t survive the game. Neither did Ogie Moran or Jacko. Mikey Sheehy was brought to centre-forward and Eoin Liston to centrefield in an effort to trigger something, but only two Kerry forwards managed to score all afternoon.
Cork were revelling in the scrap and with seven minutes left they led by a point, 0-9 to 0-8. On the line, Kerry mentors and officials were braced for the worst. Having edged a mighty hour against Dinny Allen, Ger O’Keeffe wrung the last drops of stamina from himself and set off upfield. He was brought down within shooting distance, close enough for Sheehy to tap the ball over the bar.
For the final minutes, Kerry pinned Cork back, but shot three bad wides. Finally, John Egan took control. He won a ball close to goal, and spotted Ger Power. A quick one–two prised open some space as Cork frantically funnelled players back. Mikey Sheehy popped up to take a pass and found Power in front of goal. He kicked for the winning point, but the ball screwed badly off his foot and drifted left of the posts.
The final whistle blew. Draw. Kerry were shattered. Cork were inconsolable. A county board official hopped a ball with Power about his miss as he left the field. ‘Ye’ll make a few bob here yet,’ replied Power.
While the players cooled their tempers and their legs, the battle for supremacy spilled over into the committee rooms. There was a replay date to fight for.
The following Friday the Munster Council convened for a meeting that left blood on the floor. The Council had four Sundays to choose from before an All-Ireland semi-final against the Ulster champions on 15 August, but each of them was loaded with problems. Cork wanted to draw Kerry into battle quickly again, and proposed the following Sunday in Killarney, 18 July, but Kerry dodged their advance, insisting it was too close to the drawn game. It wouldn’t allow sufficient time to print tickets, trim the grass on the banks around Fitzgerald Stadium, and allow the media to promote the game. With the Siamsa Cois Laoi Festival scheduled for 25 July in Páirc Uí Chaoimh, Waterford delegate Tom Cunningham suggested Saturday, 24 July, but that was quickly dismissed.
When Kerry suggested 1 August, Cork resisted. Cork’s Christy Ryan would be in Canada that weekend. The reason prompted a furious response from Kerry delegate Dave Geaney. Ryan, said Geaney, would be on the pitch if the game was fixed for 1 August. Cork secretary Frank Murphy responded that Mick O’Dwyer himself had said that a month’s break would be ideal for Kerry. The atmosphere had turned sour. A proposal to play the game the following Sunday was rejected, leaving Murphy to suddenly suggest a Friday night fixture on 16 July.
The meeting dragged on past midnight. There were calls for Croke Park to intervene but the meeting broke up with neither side in the mood to flinch. Then, Cork capitulated. The following Wednesday night, the Munster Council issued a statement announcing that the game would take place on 1 August in Killarney if both counties agreed. Cork c
onceded. Having lost the boardroom battle, Cork were now in danger of losing the war.
With Pairc Uí Chaoimh occupied by the stage built for the Siamsa Cois Laoi festival, the team hit the road, training at five different venues. In comparison, Kerry’s camp in Killarney was buzzing with the usual business of the summer. Interest in the game was growing. Calls came from Northern Ireland to Kerry County Board looking for tickets. For a few short days, the Munster championship was brimming with life again.
Kerry were ready to dampen that dust down. The Thursday night before the replay, O’Dwyer convened a trial game. It was murderous stuff, but players were blooming with good form. Pat Spillane played ten minutes and managed to kick two stunning points from the right wing. After a summer with the Under-21s, Tom Spillane dominated Jack O’Shea. It was enough to get him into the team at centre-forward, with Ogie Moran moving to the wing and Tommy Doyle switching to wing-back. Ger O’Keeffe had excelled at centre-back, but Tim Kennelly needed to start there. Either way, O’Keeffe’s form was so good now he could do a job wherever he was put. Confidence was high. ‘If we can beat Cork,’ said selector Joe Keohane, ‘we will win the All-Ireland. This is my fifth year saying that, and so far I’ve been right four times.’
It was another boiling day as they took the field in Killarney in front of over 34,000, and as the game began, Cork were worrying Kerry again. Charlie Nelligan was forced to make two superb saves from Ephie Fitzgerald and Declan Barron. Dinny Allen missed a penalty and Tadhg Reilly fluffed another goal chance. John O’Keeffe was gone with an injury after twenty-three minutes and Kerry were rattled.
Then, as the heat increased, Cork started to burn up. Sean Walsh was continuing a storming summer and Ogie Moran was looking comfortable on the wing. Ger O’Keeffe continued his run of form while Tim Kennelly was reborn at centre-back. By half-time, Kerry led 1-10 to 0-4 and steam was billowing from beneath Cork’s bonnet. Midway through the second half they had blown up. By then, Tom Spillane had properly announced himself in the grand way Spillanes liked to. He embellished his day with four points, and with minutes left, intercepted a pass to begin a move that ended with Mikey Sheehy deftly chipping the ball over goalkeeper Michael Creedon into the net. By then the crowd were drifting away. Kerry won by 2-18 to 0-12 and all the good Cork had done over the year was lost in the wreckage of a 12-point defeat.
‘It was a Kerry team that simply was not prepared to lose,’ said the Kerryman, ‘a Kerry team with the killer instinct as strong as ever.’ After the game Ogie, Eoin Liston and Sean Walsh supped their pints in Killarney among the Kerry supporters, warmed by the evening sun and the satisfaction of sending Cork home beaten. All around them the talk wasn’t of five-in-a-row any more, but six-in-a-row.
With Cork out of their hair, there seemed to be nothing for Kerry to fear. They trained six days out of thirteen before the All-Ireland semi-final against Armagh and headed for Dublin that Saturday morning. The small crowd that travelled from Kerry confirmed the quiet belief that the Ulster teams were incapable of competing with them, but in comparison to other summers, the year had already borne its share of frights and scrapes.
Only 17,523 turned up at Croke Park but the opening minutes brought them to the edge of their seats. Inside twelve seconds Kerry’s full-back line had been torn apart and Charlie Nelligan was forced into a save from John Corvan. Fran McMahon rattled a shot off the crossbar before half-time. Brian McAlinden saved a penalty from Mikey Sheehy. Joe Kernan was bustling away against Tim Kennelly, and the noise from the disparate pockets of Armagh supporters echoed around the ground.
A goal from Mikey Sheehy appeared to restore order after fifteen minutes, but instead Kernan punched a cross past Nelligan minutes later. Armagh were only trailing by a point, 1-5 to 1-4. With their defence in ribbons and Armagh making progress at centrefield, Kerry suddenly straightened up and kicked for home. Five unanswered points put Armagh away, and in the stand Eugene McGee was reminded of Offaly’s experience in the 1980 semi-final. For all their endeavour, Armagh still had much to learn.
The second half descended into a rout. Ger Power and Ogie Moran burned the flanks up with their pace, while Egan maintained his glorious form. His goal finished Armagh, and as the game wound down, Pat Spillane jogged on for Ogie. They won 3-15 to 1-11, but O’Dwyer and his selectors could see problems. The full-back line had been stretched, and this talk of five-in-a-row was about to start blaring in their ears wherever they went. As Mikey Sheehy left Croke Park that evening, a group of Armagh supporters approached him for autographs. One little girl held out a scrap of paper. ‘Can I get your jersey from you after the final?’ she asked. Sheehy thought for a second. If Kerry won, he knew the jersey would be worth something, not financially but emotionally. In itself, the sweat-soaked jersey would represent his lifetime of football, but he had never placed too much stock in mementoes, and he wasn’t going to start now.
‘Of course you can,’ he replied.
They had a date and a meeting point. Two weeks later, the Rose of Tralee competition took the county’s attention and Kerry disappeared behind the gates to their sanctuary in Fitzgerald Stadium. There, as the evenings grew colder and September weather started creeping in, they could start thinking about history.
* * *
That August, Johnny Mooney returned from San Francisco with a face as red as a beetroot and looking sleek, but as Offaly prepared to play Galway in the All-Ireland semi-final a few days later, there was nowhere to put him. Richie Connor had returned from injury and Seamus Darby was flying in training. The Sean Lowry experiment had been an unqualified success and with Connor available, McGee had options.
He had thought about Richie Connor as a centre-forward from the beginning of the year, but had rarely used him there. Such a fundamental alteration threatened the entire structure of the team without a proper replacement. Richie had the size and the brains to match Kennelly. For now, McGee slotted him in at centrefield, with Padraic Dunne at wing-forward and Gerry Carroll in the centre. Even if it didn’t work, Galway, McGee reckoned, wouldn’t get near them.
Then his plans started to fray at the edges. Seamus Darby tore a hamstring before the game and spent the weeks before the semi-final in physio Amy Johnson’s waiting room in Dublin alongside Jimmy Deenihan. Darby’s injury was Mooney’s chance at starting. He hadn’t done much training with Offaly, but, after a year away, he could see a difference in the team. Their passing was quicker, sharper and much more accurate. Their training games were now played at a lightning pace. There was an edge to their attitude, too. After a year psyching himself up to perform when he came home, Mooney fell effortlessly into the groove.
‘I came in with a very clear head. I knew I was going to play well in that semi-final. There was nothing dragging out of me at all, I only had to play football. I was carrying no baggage.’
By now McGee’s attitude almost unconsciously dictated the mood of the players, and his belief that Galway would be dismissed had seeped across. The night before the game, he spoke to them with less fervour than usual. The training had been scaled back to slow Offaly just enough to get past Galway and give them a chance to peak again for the final, but it was a gamble that almost cleaned them out. With ten minutes left, Galway were ahead by a point. McGee started Johnny Mooney at corner-forward and only a consummate performance was keeping Offaly alive.
It was vintage Mooney. He won everything in the air and his kicking was razor sharp. The pace of the game didn’t trouble him. As Offaly leaned on his shoulders all afternoon, he had no trouble bearing the weight. At one point Offaly had trailed by five, but a glorious crossfield pass from Mooney put Brendan Lowry through for a goal.
Elsewhere, Offaly were threatening to buckle under the pressure. McGee had moved Richie Connor to centre-forward, but on the sideline, John Dowling had the piece of paperwork completed to withdraw him. With eight minutes left, Connor launched a shot from near the sideline over the bar. Offaly were ahead for the first time. Connor had saved himself
.
‘All we had to do was keep playing,’ says Padraic Dunne. ‘I never even thought once that Galway were going to beat us. I went over to the dugout with about ten minutes to go to get a drink of water and someone says: “Would you ever get back out there!” And I says: “We have them beat.” It was extraordinary. We had Galway beaten and that was it. I never dreamed they could beat us.’
The game ended with Galway missing frees and Offaly hanging on by their fingernails. They won by a point. The final whistle brought no reaction. No emotion. ‘It just felt like destiny,’ says Mooney.
He finished the week as the Irish Independent’s Sportstar of the Week, and being home and playing for Offaly felt good. That night Jimmy Deenihan’s old coach, Dave Weldrick, analysed both All-Ireland semi-finals for ‘The Sunday Game’ and produced a series of clips to highlight the gap between Kerry and Offaly. It helped pitch the public mood, and maddened the players in Offaly. The following Tuesday, McGee took them back to Clonin Hill and ran them into the ground. Sprint after sprint to exhaustion. More crushing piggyback rides. Laps piled up on laps.
McGee watched the players for a reaction, but they never flinched. He watched Martin Furlong as the old man bounded to the top of the hill. Their Calvary had almost killed them in the spring, but now they had conquered even that. One mountain left to climb.
12 SIREN SONGS
The Scór club in Our Lady’s Psychiatric Hospital in Cork city was a feisty, cheery collection of singers, storytellers and dancers. Three girls made a fine-sounding ballad group, and people liked to hang out on the fringes with them. On the evenings they weren’t in competition, they would sing songs in the pubs around the city. They had won All-Irelands and drawn recognition everywhere they went. They were the Scór club’s shining jewel, but one evening in 1979 they hit a problem.
Kings of September Page 13
