Nothing mattered in our lives only beating Dublin…we lost to Dublin once in 10 games. You were a Meath footballer. Your purpose on this planet was to stop Dublin. Hurt them. Kill them. Injure them. Do what you have to do.
Now two or three players need to be stopped, some way, somehow. They’ve either going to be outplayed or removed from the field. One or the other. That’s what we did in the 80s.
Liam Hayes (2021, Second Captains)
The Dublin-Meath rivalry used to be huge, but the reality is that during my senior intercounty career it didn’t really exist.
Dad got his collarbone broken in a collision with Liam Harnan during the 1986 Leinster final. The physicality of games between the counties during the 80s and 90s was often brutal.
But that was then. Now? It’s not even so much the lack of a rivalry, it’s more that for years games between the counties have lacked competitiveness.
Dean Rock (2024, Irish Times)
The rhetoric of ex-players shows the how much the Meath and Dublin rivalry has changed.
For Liam Hayes and the rest of Meath, the Dubs are a foe that must be beaten at all costs. They are to us what the British Empire was to Ireland for most of our history.
Hostis humani generis. Enemy of all mankind.
For them, we’re a footnote in their history books. A rebellion that was put down with ease and without mercy, with the leaders executed.
For 51 weeks of the year, I know the chances of a Meath win in the fixture is virtually impossible. But in the seven days before it something strange happens in my head. A series of what ifs, buts and maybes swirl around my head and the impossible becomes a possibility:
‘What if they have an off day?…Maybe we’ll play above ourselves…but what about when we bet them and won the Ladies final in 2021, nobody gave us a hope then…’
This builds throughout the week and by Thursday when news breaks that Brian Fenton’s suspension has been upheld then I’m deciding where the best places for celebratory bonfire will be on the way home.
But reality dawned slowly, then all at once.
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A turgid green puddle
On Saturday, Dublin named an ominous squad with Cluxton, Mannion, McCarthy and Fitzsimons suspiciously on the bench. That’s 19 All-Stars and 35 All Ireland titles in reserve.
By the time Sunday came, the weather had begun to mirror my outlook on the game. It began with an optimistic blue sky. We can do this.
But as throw-in neared, news that Shane Walsh- arguably our best player with the exception of Matthew Costello had broken his foot, and our regular goalie Sean Brennan was also out injured - black clouds loomed into view. We’re fucked.
Initially nothing seemed unusual about the 45 minute journey to Croke Park, until we got there and realised why it only took 45 minutes. In the past, the M3 was clogged as sea of green travelled to HQ. This time the sea was replaced by a turgid green puddle, with Meath jerseys hard to spot on Clonliffe Road, with the official attendance being given as 21,445, which was including two camogie league finals.
In the most obvious plot twist since the boat sank in James Cameron’s Titanic, Farrell recalled the cavalry to his starting XV with Mannion, Fitzsimons and the quadragenarian Cluxton all starting.
The fires of optimism were briefly reignited when we led by two with less than four minutes on the clock. But like all good things in this fixture it came to a swift end. Led by Mannion, Con O’Callaghan and the 11 steps of Sean Bugler, Dublin turned the screw, slowly and painfully, squeezing us of life, hope and at times, the will to live.
With a gap of five points at the break, to the untrained eye, the game was still a contest, but I had seen this film before. We battled hard, hurling ourselves in vain at the Dubs defence wall, before being picked apart and blitzed on the counter.
As the deficit grew, I sat jealously watching the Dublin seagulls swirl in the skies above, wishing that if I couldn’t have their freedom, that they would (metaphorically) at least stop shitting on us.
While there was a few green shoots of hope for the All Ireland series, especially in the performances of Jordan Morris, substitute Jack O’Connor added to the fact that we could have more than halved the 16 point margin of defeat if we cut out the sloppy mistakes, they were hard to see in the rubble afterwards.
This game could be a turning point for this team, and a valuable yet harsh lesson. Or it could just be another pointless mauling. Time will tell.
