Slaughtneil’s Fairy-tale gets a different ending
You know it’s a big day at the Athletic Grounds in Armagh when the supermarket at the top of the road needs two stewards to stop match patrons blocking out their car park. Provincial in name and nature, the club championships in GAA have a different look and feel to County fixtures.
It’s with no big hurrah or pre-match shenanigans as Slaughtneil’s coach pulls into the car park. It seems almost casual, when just one hour and twenty minutes before the sliotar will be thrown in, the players hop off the bus as they attempt to put the finishing touch on one of the most historic club seasons in GAA history. Seven of the starting fifteen today started against St Vincent’s two weeks ago in Newry, as the club secured its first berth in the All-Ireland Club finals. It’s an audacious attempt at history that will take some topping, regardless of today’s result.
When Slaughtneil run out to find the bench for the press photos, it seems like they have brought the Under 21’s and the minors as well. There are perhaps thirty players in the shot and fellas are still streaming out from the tunnel when the photographers down the cameras and head back to the side-line. It’s another day out for a parish that is running out of ways to keep up with its teams.
As one member tells me, “This club is costing me a bloody fortune”.
Fans are still streaming in, however the vast majority have travelled north, not south. Cuala’s contingent has brought a youthful vivacity to their fixtures in the Dublin and Leinster Championships. They march into the Athletic Grounds in a huge noisy throng. Bare chested some, body painted other. A couple of lads are in very daring skin tight red outfits. A striking red and white bobble hat adorns almost every Cuala fan’s head and turns the stand into something like a page from a ‘Where’s Wally’ book. The bodhráns, chants and horns give the game almost the feel of a McRory Cup final. An Elvis Presley tune gets a treatment: “I can’t help… falling in love with … Cuala!!… Cuala!!!” The Icelandic thunderclap also gets an outing, and the energy is bursting out of this group.
Club games particularly at this time of year take on the look of a soccer fixture, with a clear segregation between the camps. The club is a representation of the community, and the closeness of the bond is shown in this circling of the wagons. The separation at today’s game has been well co-ordinated in that respect and a Cuala member has been positioned to point late arrivals down to the Dublin half of the stand.
It’s on this same wet field that Slaughtneil recorded their historic Ulster title against another team in red and white. That day saw the Derry men make one of their signature fast starts, and led 2–3 to no score with ten minutes played. They start well again, but it’s clear from the outset that this will be different. The hurlers had used their football fitness levels and tackling tactics to great effect through their run to Ulster. Today, they are being bullied out of the contest by a side that has flair and force.
Despite the loss of key defender Paul Schutte, Cuala are in imperious form and Slaughtneil are in danger of being blown off the park. An early goal and a run of points from David Treacy establish a formidable lead. McKaigue and Co are battling, perhaps too hard. Their tackling seems panicked and they concede frees easily. Their hurried clearances are hoovered up by Cuala’s sweeper, and the Dublin boys seem intent on making their own history, to hell with Slaughtneil’s double dream.
At half time, captain Chrissy McKaigue pauses outside the entrance to the changing rooms. Heads sweaty and bowed, his teammates gather around him. The proverbial writing is on the wall, the scoreboard and the faces of the Derry men. Cuala bounce off the field in the knowledge that a double digit lead separates the teams; while Slaughtneil are realising that the separation is also in class.
After the interval at the Ulster final, the Slaughtneil camogie team lined the tunnel to give their hurlers one last transfusion of energy. This team now seems saturated with emotion and the body language speaks to a squad that has been on a roller coaster for too long. A Cassidy wins the half time draw, provoking a cheer from the Slaughtneil faithful, quieted since the opening third.
After the break, the stadium PA hasn’t had time to announce the half time sub when Cuala strike for goal again. It’s a deflating score that wipes out any optimism that might have been instilled by the Slaughtneil backroom team. A valiant defence is mounted by Brendan Rodgers, who is having the type of game that Chrissy McKaigue had in the Ulster final. Winning ball, driving forward, refusing to lie down. A Sé McGuigan goal with three minutes left reduces the margin to nine points, but as if it was on tap, Cuala wipe the score out with a Niall Carty goal and the Maroon flags are lowered once again.
The fairy-tale is not ended, but just a slightly different denouement will be written. Slaughtneil’s scarcely believable year has been like a Choose Your Own Adventure book, with each chapter becoming more and more epic. There is disappointment in the air, but fans and players could be forgiven for being even a small bit relieved that there is just one more match to play.
Beaten but not defeated, the squad retreats to the dressing rooms. With the Derry supporters mostly on their way back to the car park it is up to the Cuala crowd still gathered to welcome their own team off the field, to give a genuine and stirring ovation to the Derry men. The respect and appreciation is palpable for a team that have acquitted themselves with honour in this extraordinary quest. In the aftermath there is a sense of loss and anti-climax, as we lament being robbed of the chance of witnessing something never seen before.
Twenty minutes after the game is over the Cuala lads are still on the pitch. Post-match warm down completed, they chat with family and friends, interview with journalists, and 25 puck about sessions play out. It’s like the pitch has become the club hall. The fires are lit in Drumarg Villas, the estate right behind the pitch, as the embers cool on a game that never quite got up to temperature.
Another twenty minutes later, a massively frustrated steward makes a final plea for patrons to leave the field. Post-match interviews still continue and the TV cabin on the far side is almost completely dismantled. The Dubs head back to prepare for Saint Patrick’s Day. One supporter muses on his way down the steps “We were never in any danger today”.
In their Ulster final victory, Slaughtneil were energised by a wave of emotion in the wake of Thomas Cassidy’s passing just a few days previous. He was the living embodiment of the Slaughtneil ethos, and the seeds he had sown were now bearing fruit. A great forest in the Oak Leaf County, now maturing on this day in the Orchard. On Friday of that week, Éanna and Seán Cassidy laid their father to rest. They dried their tears, and hours later reported for training to honour the legacy he helped create. That spirit and purpose is missing today, an energy source exhausted by the extreme demands placed on a panel fighting wars on two fronts.
Slaughtneil are still making history however, as for the first time, a team will progress to the All-Ireland decider, despite having lost the Semi-Final. They just won’t need their hurls.
