I had the good fortune to witness the Dublin-Mayo match yesterday from Section 332 of the Lower Hogan, about 10 rows up from the sideline, just behind the Kildare minors. I was amongst all the great and the good of Irish society: the auld lad who wears that funny Dublin GAA suit, your man from the Hardy Bucks, TV and podcasting's Eoin McDevitt were just three of the people I spotted.
As the parade worked its way around the pitch, I settled in to my perch to watch an enjoyable and sporting game of football . Unfortunately it didn't transpire that way. The first half was muck. Mayo were terrible. But maybe because I was seated alone, I was distracted from the spectacle by the unending volleys of venom spewed by the fans around me. I've heard vitriol from GAA fans before but the intensity of the rage that people were releasing caught me off guard. It came from all corners. From the throw-in, the thirty Kildare fans around me, both men and women, were focused solely on angrily critiquing the performance of Joe McQuillan. None of what they said could be printed in a family-friendly website like Balls.ie
A sizeable Dublin supporter seated beside me, at the sound of the Kildare accents and their less-than-flattering thoughts on Diarmuid Connolly, then provided his own viewpoint on Kildare people and their likelihood of their footballers ever reaching the All-Ireland semifinal. None of this could be printed a family-friendly website like Balls.ie.
As the game wore on, the Dublin supporter was equally dismissive and foul-mouthed when loudly discussing the merits of Mayo footballers, Mayo people and indeed the west of Ireland in general. A sizeable Mayo man sitting in front of us, listened closely and occasionally commented to himself about the Dublin supporters and his friends.
Quite like the game itself, there was a brewing fury in the stands. The Dublin fans spoke loudest perhaps because they lead the game. But they grew quieter during those tense final ten minutes. Finally came O'Connor's penalty. The second it hit the back of the net, the sizeable Mayo man turned around and stuck his middle finger in the face of the sizeable Dublin man.
"Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you," shouted the Mayo man. "I've been listening to your shite all day. I'm fuckin' sick of it. Fuck you."
This was a provocative gesture. The Dublin man didn't take too kindly to it and clenched his sizeable fist and put it towards the Mayo man's face as if he might strike.
"I'll fuckin' shut you up," he said.
And for what felt like a really long second or two, with Croker at an incredible din with the goal having been scored, they held their pose - one guy with his middle finger up, the other with his fist ready to pop. It seemed like it might all kick off, but it didn't. McQuillan threw the ball in, which distracted us. Moran scored, Connolly got involved with that scrap. Cluxton missed the free.
And then it was over, and all that rage and emotion had been pushed out. It's sometimes said that sport provides a civilised release for the furies that once drove man to war. For all we venerate the GAA, it's rarely commented upon that the games like yesterday offer an outlet for rowdy and almost primal passions.
The sizeable Dublin guys left at the sound of the fulltime whistle.
