Sean Óg’s cynicism deserted him for a time late yesterday evening. The gruff man fell into a priestly silence as he listened to Marty Morrissey’s stirring callout to the diaspora just before throw-in in yesterday’s All-Ireland final. Were he capable of it, one could imagine a solitary tear rolling down his cheek.
And there was nothing wrong with the game either. Tipperary in full cry meet with Sean Óg’s approval. The final ten minutes, when they rifled over a hail of points, was like one long conga dance. By the end of game, their cake was slathered in icing.
That’s hurling boy. There’s not enough of it during the summer. They’re talking about expanding the football championship, giving us seven or eight more games. Pushing the hurling final into August and scheduling it for before the football semi-finals. Nonsense. It’s more hurling matches we need! Not more football.
2-29 is a mighty score to rack up. It’s a lesson to all those teams who play with 13 defenders and two auld utility forwards who track back. Tipp had their best marksman in close to goal and he made hay. Angled ball in, no messing, up into the paw, turn around and whip it over the bar.
Could Cody not have sat an extra defender in front of Callanan to prevent Joey Holden from being so isolated on him? Galway did that in the semi-final and Callanan got no ball at all.
At this point, Sean Og grew quite irate at the suggestion that we were implying we knew better than Brian Cody. We pleaded that we weren’t but were just offering up alternative suggestions. But Sean Óg was deaf to our protestations. He downed his drink, bid the barman a goodbye and left the pub without a word to us. Bemused for a minute, we legged it out of the pub afterwards looking for him.
We found him sat on a stool in the Palace Bar. How he managed to procure a stool with such speed was a mystery to us because the place was absolutely jammed.
Brian Cody has won countless All-Irelands as a manager. And ye jokers are second guessing him. Well, ye can do that without me. I won’t be indulging in any of that craic.
Ye media lads just don't like Cody because he doesn't go along with all the bullshit. He stops ye dead in your tracks when ye trot out your cutesy theories. He doesn't play the game. The man has forgotten more about hurling than those dictaphone bearing saps will ever know (we were surprised that Sean Óg had a word like "sap" in his locker too). And don't we know you're going to be dancing on his head tomorrow. Saying he's past it and a dinosaur and all that.
We told Sean Óg that we were sure this wouldn't happen. It was ironic to hear Sean Óg calling out the tabloids in advance for a kneejerk response, particularly one as unlikely as that. But he is nothing if not a tenacious defender of the few sacred cows he has. He absolutely refused to entertain the idea that Brian Cody might have missed a trick in the full back line.
It was then that Sean Óg's mood darkened as we were introduced to the most lamentable byproduct of big Tipp win in hurling and football.
"TIPP, TIPP, TIPP, TIPP, TIPP, TIPP....."
On and on it went as the pub appeared to be going for a world record attempt. The longest ever 'TIPP, TIPP, TIPP' chant. Sean Óg's face was contorted in irritation. He whipped around to flash the crowd a look of contempt. His disapproval registered with precisely no one in a Tipp jersey. He turned around and stared daggers at his pint.
The sight of Michael Lowry giving the thumbs up for the cameras and that bloody chant. That's the downside of today's result, that's what we have to deal with for the remainder of the day now. We can pray now that we don't have to listen to that for the whole evening.
And lo, did Sean Óg's legendary cynicism return. All it took was that Tipp chant.
His negative juices now beginning to flow, he turned to the matter of the captain's speech. Particularly, Brendan Maher's declaration that Tipperary had endured six long years since their last taste of glory, a gap which Sean Óg, like many people, thought unworthy of his sympathy.
Did you hear Brendan Maher's speech from the Hogan Stand. "We've waited six long years", he said. Fair play now. It's not exactly Anthony Daly is it? They've lost a few. I won't be getting teary eyed for Tipp on account of them ending a famine or anything.
It's mad how Kilkenny's dominance has done this. A testament to the majesty of Brian Cody whose reputation you were trying to trample on earlier (we tried to raise a protest but Sean Óg ploughed on). Tipperary winning an All-Ireland used to be a humdrum event. Now, it's a heartwarming novelty apparently. A blow for the little guy.
We shouldn't be a bit surprised in Brian Cody and Kilkenny come back ten times stronger next year. The empire usually finds a way to strike back boy. When Tipp hurled them out of it in 2010, everyone thought they'd retreat into the shadows and Tipp would win what they wanted for a few hours. It didn't happen.
I wouldn't be surprised if down in Langton's if they booked John Mulhall for the night after the 2017 All-Ireland final to give another rendition of his famous song. (collapses laughing).
This was Sean Óg's cue to sound off about one of his many modern bugbears, this one being one of the more widely shared. Namely, the music played out over the tannoy at the end of big games in Croke Park.
Music means little to Sean Óg anyway. It makes no impression on him, good, bad or indifferent. A Mozart symphony hits him with the same emotional force as the sound of clanging machinery outside.
It's a wonder they didn't play that in Croke Park yesterday over the tannoy. They play everything else. How did sportsmen ever cope when they didn't have musical accompaniment non-stop? Authentic crowd noise isn't good enough anymore.
You need some oul' maudlin ballad or, worse still, a cheesy pop song drowning it all out. These blokes or women in charge of the tannoy in Croker feel like they have to be doing something obviously. They're not justifying their existence otherwise.
Fair play to them, though. It's a wonder they didn't end up playing the Rose of Mooncoin out of habit. Sure, we all held our breath then.
(*Sean Óg O Kneejerk was in conversation with Conor Neville)
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