While Inniskeen is more commonly known as the birthplace of the ploughman poet Patrick Kavanagh, on Saturday night it was the scene for the latest instalment of the GAA’s ploughman rivalry, i.e. Meath v Louth.
While games between the two sides are far from poetic (although their latest league clash gave memorable moments both on and off the field), given the venue of the clash, Kavanagh’s poem ‘Epic’, which tells the tale of two warring neighbours springs to mind.
I have lived in important places, times
When great events were decided: who owned
That half a rood of rock, a no-man's land
Surrounded by our pitchfork-armed claims.'
Louth v Meath games have indeed been a series of ‘great events’ over the last decade and a half with the 2010 Leinster final bringing any tension between the two to breaking point. This includes Cian Ward’s four goal and three point tour de force in Breffini Park in 2011, Louth relegating Meath to Division 3 in 2012, as well as several other pitched battles, with nothing at stake apart from the footballing equivalent of a ‘rood of rock’ i.e. local bragging rights and occasionally preserving their divisional status.
However, in Meath, there was a sense of foreboding in the lead-up to this game. A feeling that we were walking into an ambush but could do nothing to prevent it, a feeling that a relatively decent last 12 months of a Tailteann Cup win and a sufficient league campaign was built on foundations of sand. Long story short the feeling was right. Meath brought a banana to a gunfight and it wasn’t sand in the foundations, it was feathers.
Owing to Saturday’s sporting schedule being devised by a drunken chimp and the finals of the respective Champions and FA Cups, taking place at the same time, and both finishing too late to allow a travelling Meath supporter to see the end, I was forced to listen to the closing stages of Leinster’s agonising loss on the car radio, which was punctuated with breathless reports from Wembley.
Sitting in a 2km long tailback on the way to the stadium I made found myself in conversation with the almighty, and asked him through his divine mercy to balance the book from following the Leinster loss and intervene to give us a win. However, when news emerged that Man Utd had won the FA Cup , I knew we were condemned. The universe would have to rebalance itself following such a result. We were f***ed.
Outside the ground, I spied a bottle of Louth Lager (Harp) strewn beside a Garda van. A sign of what was to come. If they could drink so openly in the presence of the law, what would they do to us?
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A Wee County battering for the Royals
25 May 2024; Craig Lennon of Louth celebrates after scoring his side's third goal during the GAA Football All-Ireland Senior Championship Round 1 match between Louth and Meath at Grattan Park in Inniskeen, Monaghan. Photo by Daire Brennan/Sportsfile
With Louth fans outnumbering us by at least five to one inside the grounds was like a red sea, except Meath were the ones who were easily parted. Despite a bright start with an early Matthew Costello point, who incredibly was playing despite the tragic death of his father earlier that day, it wasn’t long before the wheels fell off. With a quarter of an hour we were one point up. 10 minutes and three calamitous Louth goals later we were 8 down. Game over.
With Louth scoring at will and stifling our attacks with ease, Meath were the perfect combination for a bad boxer: a powder puff punch and a glass jaw, but worse than that we seemed to lack any sort of a fight plan, coughing up possession from stale lateral attacks, and allowing Louth to create scoring opportunities despite seemingly outnumbering them in defence.
By half-time for many Meath supporters, it wasn’t a question of ‘how can we make a comeback?’ rather ‘how long should we stay?’, as the thoughts of sitting in traffic watching happy Louth faces was too much for even the most ardent Royaler to bear.
On the field of play, both sides appeared to get the memo as despite it being a glorious evening for football, the 38 minutes of football yielded 4 and 5 points respectively, meaning the steady stream of Meath supporters who headed home early via the Carrickmacross road (which will be henceforth known as the trail of tears) missed very little. One slightly hipsterish fan was even overheard saying 'we'd be better off at the f***ing Patrick Kavanagh museum'.
As the sun shone low in the evening sky it was hard not to feel a pang of empathy for the Meath team, which has legends on the sideline and plenty of potential on the field. With the prospect of Kerry coming to Navan on Sunday, things are likely to get worse before getting better, the closing stanza of Kavanagh’s Shancoduff comes to mind.
The sleety winds fondle the rushy beards of Shancoduff
While the cattle-drovers sheltering in the Featherna Bush
Look up and say: "Who owns them hungry hills
That the water-hen and snipe must have forsaken?
A poet? Then by heavens he must be poor."
I hear, and is my heart not badly shaken?'
Read more entries from our tortured Meath fan here.
