Donegal On The Mend?

The last time we caught up with the men from God's own county, things looked bleak. If the drab and lucky win over Armagh had raised questions, then the hammering by Tyrone had answered them: Donegal were springtime wonders, the most pertinent example of a league competition whose leading lights had faded to black by summer.

Donegal were dead men walking, their existence in the Championship a mere technicality of the qualifier system. They were the last-round, punchdrunk fighter, waiting for either the bell or a fist to put them out of their misery.

Some sages even thought Leitrim would inflict the fatal blow, and pointed 'smart' money Shannon-side ahead of the sides' round one qualifier meeting. Even when Donegal pulled through that one, those who know about these things rested easier with Westmeath in the next round than the fallen-giants of the north-west.

So Donegal went from the status of Sam Maguire Maybes to hopeless qualifier pond-life in, literally, a matter of weeks.

Not that the GAA's chattering classes weren't within their rights to take this view. This sheer descent of esteem reflects the feeling many have about Donegal: like an ex-convict in your employ, you take their rehabilitation at face value, but a couple of misplaced handpasses later and they've made off with the takings.

Truly Donegal's defeat to Tyrone was abject viewing. Those of us who watched it through the gaps in our fingers consoled ourselves by using the other hand to throw garlands at Tyrone. But Tyrone's performances either side of that game - a stodgy and narrow win over Fermanagh, and a business-like, but hardly earth-shattering defeat of Monaghan in the Ulster final - don't help alleviate concerns over the troubles of Tyrconnell.

The direct play which had served Donegal well in the league vanished shortly after their 8th minute goal, to be replaced with the futile funk of the pass-the-buck football that represents Donegal at their worst. Tyrone's half-backs attacked from deep at will, brushing aside the overrun Donegal backs, and midfield (an area in which it is normally felt Tyrone can be got at) was ceded totally. It was as bad as it looked.

But, despite receiving the last rites, a spell in the field hospital of the qualifiers has, it seems, rightly rejuvenated Brian McIver's side. They had the stomach to repel a feisty Leitrim side, and then went down to Mullingar and demolished a confident Westmeath, the 5 point win being, reportedly, a 10 pointer in real terms.

No better test of their health than this Monaghan team, then, who have been one of the coming sides for several seasons now. Having more than held their own against Tyrone and having two weeks recovery time, they should not be experiencing any post-provincial final depression, the curse of many a side at this juncture.

Let's see if Donegal's bandages will hold.

They're Back!

Quite clearly, they haven't gone away, you know.

The biennial spectacle of Tyrone's footballers in full, voracious flow continues. Whatever it is that they do during those even years when they virtually disappear, they should market it to burned-out executives as the perfect rejuvenation therapy. Maybe they signed some sort of pact with the devil, which, along with having to give the Dark Lord's son a regular game at right corner-back, means their particular brand of footballing devastation can only be deployed every second year.

Whatever, they're back now and that's that. Deal with it.

Mickey Harte's responses to post-match questions used that formula that the Tyrone manager swears by: for howsoever fantastic my team are, I will be proportionally humble. "We have to be very careful here, because we weren't a great team coming into this game so we're no world beaters now," Harte protested, codding no-one.

Now, in the all-time list of abject Donegal performances in the Ulster Championship, yesterday's effort will jostle its way among the many other contenders near the top. All the same, this particular Clones cyclone blew Tír Conaill away to such an extent that the county's supporters' scornful words should have stopped in their throats, to be replaced with acknowledgements of the their opponents' incontestable class.

That Donegal are a team who are operating to some arcane alternative calendar which fooled them into thinking that you must play your best football in February is only a side-issue.

Tyrone's relentless support running, intelligent movement and fierce competition for possession were the matters that should have engaged football's chattering classes in the aftermath of yesterday's game. The performance of Brian Dooher alone will send shudders around the nation.

That they threw in a scatter of horrendous wides is of little consolation to prospective victims, given that one Stephen O'Neill joined in for the final twenty-odd minutes, blowing off the cobwebs with two points.

******

Events in Clones and the return of the Red Hand will engage the GAA's great minds and strategists, but Thurles was the place to be for less sober-minded pursuits. The residents of the Tipperary town can't have seen a weekend like it since the days of Féile. Even the Stunning and the Saw Doctors put together couldn't have generated the decibel levels and general high-octane excitement of two games that provided yet another reminder of the unique magic of Munster Championship hurling.

Quite what to expect when Limerick and Tipperary do it all over again on Saturday is impossible to know. On the face of it Limerick have simply trailed Tipp like a particularly enthusiastic puppy: every time Tipp have tried to shoo them away, Limerick have scampered happily back to their heel. Will Tipp finally rid themselves of the troublesome mutt, or will Limerick eventually bite them on the bum?

If that metaphor is too fluffy to fit the slash and gurn of Munster hurling, then happily Cork and Waterford's canine likenesses tend more towards brawling pit-bulls. Waterford got their third win over Cork this year, and will be hoping that the habit remains unbreakable.

But the loss of the suspended Cusack, ó hAilpín and O'Sullivan for such a game would have felt for Cork like one of those anxiety dreams where you go into a job interview with no trousers on. Add in a sense of grievance over the suspensions that the Rebels can place neatly on their shoulders alongside the chips that reside there already, and Waterford's mood this morning will be a cautious sort of elation.

******

Cautious elation is rarely the prevailing mood of Dublin supporters when they are cheering their team home to victory against Meath. But most will be aware that pulling away from a doughty Meath side late on is not quite the push-start for the Dubs summer juggernaut. However, the amount of criticism that Dublin get when things go poorly dictates that, in the interests of fairness, if not human decency, they should get some credit for the win.

They did manage - just about - to avert another backslide from a winning position, which they'll hope represents the end of that particular pesky foible.

And there were a few more of those long-sought answers to longer-extant questions. Ross McConnell has improved exponentially in the full-back role for one thing. Mark Vaughan is a very Dublin type of darling, but he kicked frees satisfactorily, and, more importantly, showed a lot of character in that period where Dublin's familiar fade began to reappear. Importantly, he never provided any other message to his team-mates than "give me the ball", an enthusiasm which eventually lit the touchpaper for the Dubs win.

An Offaly team at leisure while Dublin have been at war await on Sunday, so caution is justified - not that it will last that long, mind you.

Definitely Not 'Grand Slam Weekend' Ok?

One of the most familiar complaints of we compliant, huddled masses as we are force-fed our Premiership staple is not so much the content, but rather the packaging. Does the world's most exciting league need to be wrapped in so many sparkly labels telling us so? This weekend's instalment of the GAA Championships provides an interesting case study in the value of the organic, wholefood approach to sports marketing.

Essentially, had the sharp-suited gents in the Sky Sports marketing department got hold of the Championship weekend ahead, there would not be an event short of the Second Coming itself (no, not Price Naseem's return to the ring, the actual one) subject to so much drooling anticipation.

As it is, the mouthwatering program on Saturday and Sunday stands by itself and, soberly noted in the GAA fixture list and the RTE television schedules, looks none the less exciting for not being called 'Weekend of the Titans' or somesuch.

Hell, the GAA even languidly muttered "bovvered?" at the prospect of the Dublin v Meath replay not being on the telly, until the unsatisfactory fudge was reached of having it run against the just as eagerly anticipated Cork v Waterford battle on either side of RTE's channel portfolio. It's an unfortunate circumstance, as one imagines the neutral public will veer towards the low-brow entertainment at Croke Park rather than the high art on display in Thurles (and with my purist kudos now secured, I will secretly don my Beer Helmet and join them).

The weekend's main features divide into two distinct categories: on one hand, both codes see proven recent champions (Cork, Tyrone) take on hungry and in-form contenders (Waterford, Donegal); on the other, two stonking drawn games throw up replays between teams whose bitter local rivalries guarantees zest, but whose ultimate All-Ireland credentials are questionable at best (Limerick v Tipperary, Dublin v Meath).

There's no harm in expending a little hot air at this time of the year on the timeless battle of Leinster's big two, there being space in the early Championship rounds for a bit of hype. The press have passed the time between the drawn game and the announcement of the teams with the traditional tireless deployment of the word "bonanza" in relation to the ringing of the GAA's tills ahead of Sunday's replay. I saw the word so many times I thought Lorne Greene and Michael Landon had been called in to shore up Dublin's troublesome full-back line.

Meath won a lot of friends in that first game, which is an unusual thing to say about teams from that county. Their brand of old-fashioned, give-it-long football was so refreshingly retro that I half expected The Sunday Game to be followed by an episode of Murphy's Micro Quizm. They have firepower as well, which will be augmented by the return of their NFL top scorer Brian Farrell. If they eliminate their poor starts to each half they could spell the demise of another sad, sullen Dublin team.

Cork and Waterford's duels in recent years have been some of the most transfixing in GAA, from the 2003 Munster final, through the classic 2004 version to the damp but thrilling denouement to last year's All-Ireland semi. There has been little between them in that time, and as much epic heroism as any Norse saga. The momentum is with Waterford and a look of steel that won them the league final tips the edge in their direction.

Conversely with Limerick and Tipperary, although the Shannonsiders finished in bravura fashion last weekend, Tipp retain a smidgeon of extra class, evident in the fact that their scores seemed easier crafted than Limerick's, whose effort expended in getting the draw could leave them flat tomorrow evening.

Finally (apologies to Sligo, Roscommon, Louth and Wexford, but you know how it is, pressures of space etc.) to the second test of Donegal's credentials, Tyrone. Armagh were negotiated in a manner about as unconvincing as a performance could be and still be a victory.

Which, for Donegal, could turn out to be a very good thing. Had they breezed past the Orchard county in rip-roaring style, they would have already been subconsciously booking Dublin hotel rooms for September. Now, with a very grave reminder of their own fallibility fresh in their minds, they can apply themselves studiously to a weary-looking Tyrone, a team that, for all their greater achievements, do not petrify Donegal like Armagh do.

And there you have it: a weekend heaving with the promise of pulsating drama, and not a hairy-handed host nor a gravelly-voiced Scotsman in sight.

Same Old Story Has Happy Ending For Donegal

These alternative endings are the way of the future. What with interactive digital technology and all, soon you'll be able to choose whether you want to see Matt Damon or Tobey Maguire or whoever outwit the evil mastermind and ride off with the expensively upholstered lady into the sunset, or whether you'd prefer him to plummet off a cliff to a gruesome death on some spikes.

Yes, the modern world, sheesh. There I was, watching an old re-run yesterday afternoon - you know, the one where a snarling Armagh grab Donegal by the throat and put them up against a wall, so that their little legs are dangling helplessly and they flail impotently - when, quite unexpectedly (I must have pressed a button on my Super-Digi-BluRay remote control by accident while reaching for another Tesco Finest triple choc-chip cookie) the alternative ending came on.

Suddenly one of Donegal's little thrashing legs connected plum with Armagh's voluminous goolies, and the beast went crashing to the ground, allowing Donegal to ride off with the expensively upholstered lady into the sunset.

Vorsprung durch Technik indeed!

Imagine if we had this technology before now? Gordon Hamilton scores for Ireland in the 1991 World Cup quarter-final, Michael Lynagh has the chance to win it for Australia...oooh knock-on, scrum Ireland, peep-peep-peep, Ireland into semis.

Wim Kieft's header spins toward the bottom corner to send Ireland out of Euro 88....oooh Bonner saves, McGrath clears, peep-peep-peep, Ireland into semis.

Geoff Hurst with the shot....off the crossbar....is it in?....oooh Russian linesman waves away English appeals, goal-kick, up the other end, Beckenbauer, on the Kopf, 3-2, peep-peep-peep, they think it's all over, it is now.

Technology can't assuage feelings of guilt of course, as consumers of internet pornography will testify in the moments after download, and yesterday's surprising turn of events might have induced a small amount of embarassment in Donegal folk at the purloining of the win from a deserving Armagh.

I say might, but not likely. The oppressed tend to feel little sympathy for the expelled subjugator. I'm sure as the Germans withdrew from Paris in 1944, the locals weren't wondering if they hadn't, perhaps, been a little hard on them.

The trajectory of yesterday's Ulster Championship match - up until the alternative ending - was so familiar as to seem almost choreographed. The two teams duke it out physically for a bit; Armagh frustrate Donegal's easily frustrated forwards; Armagh snatch a goal, topped off with a few points; Armagh dig in, catenaccio-style, allowing Donegal's response to founder on the thick, reinforced walls of their defence; Donegal are driven demented by the futility of it all and fall on their own sword, usually resulting in a couple of red cards.

So many times over the last decade have these two played out these roles that yesterday was almost reassuring in its inevitability. Some things don't change, eh? In this Super-Digi-BluRay world, some things are enduring.

Hey, even though Brendan Devenney's hopeful balloon slipped through Paul Hearty's grasp, as Kevin Cassidy lurked like a malevolent spirit in the corner of his eye, thereby providing Donegal with the win, does that mean that something new happened yesterday? Have Armagh not proven that they remain forceful competitors and sage match-players? Did Donegal not re-arouse the belief that they can be got at, broken up and scattered away?

Or was yesterday's shock denouement the sign that - as they demonstrated throughout the League - an indefatigable spirit is suddenly alive in Donegal when it counts, in the Championship.
Just because you change the ending, does the story remain the same?

Donegal: Sober Or Be Judged

Sunday evening, in the Abbey Hotel, Donegal Town. The Donegal senior football team, the elation of their victory in that afternoon's National League final still evident in giddy banter, are gathered with team management, friends and loved ones.

"Right lads, what yiz havin'?" pipes up a county board member, his shirt untucked and his face a battleground between happiness and fatigue.

"Club Orange for me," shouts Kevin Cassidy; "Just a pinta blackcurrant Seamus," adds Neil Gallagher, the captain. "Me 'n' all - blackcurrant," agrees ace marksman Colm McFadden.

"Jeez a cup of tae would hit the spot," posits old-hand Adrian Sweeney, to nods from fellow veterans Brendan Devenney and Brian Roper, "Aye drop of tea, Seamus; milk, no sugar, good man."

"Britvic 55"; "Cidona, please"; "Apple juice"; "Eh, Ballygowan please"; "Coke, Seamus".

Eyes turn to Eamonn McGee, the big Gweedoreman, whose languid, raking point from distance had put Donegal two clear in injury time. "Pint of Heineken please!"

Suddenly all is deadly silent. McGee's teammates stare at him viciously; supporters gathered at the bar turn their heads in the direction of the last order. A fat man telling a profane joke stops in his foul-mouthed tracks.

"Jeez only messin' lads - my usual Seamus: Miwadi orange!"

**********************

Reading the coverage of Donegal's participation in the National League Final often felt like leafing through a brewing industry trade journal. At other times, it seemed like extracts from a Shane McGowan biography had found their way into the sports pages. I haven't heared of such censorious scrutiny of young men's drinking habits since my time staggering home from school discos, munching Polo mints, attempting to evade parental sentry guards.

One can imagine the in-jokes and references to the matter in the Donegal camp at this stage; presumably the experience of having the sober gentlemen of the press documenting your alcoholic excesses provides a fertile ground for ironic humour.

Of course, if it's irony you're after, most of us are a bit guilty of playing the thin-lipped Presbyterian in our attitude to our amateur sporting heroes, while worshipping Dionysus on our own spare time.

In the days after the announcement of the GPA/GAA Joint Grants proposal, it seems only more likely that the idea of GAA players' off-pitch lives being subject to the same loose discipline as our own down-time will become even less plausible than it currently is. Until now, we have allowed ourselves to pour righteous indignation on county players with tendencies toward the occasional boozy bender because of our expectation of a return on an investment that was intangible: the emotional support of a county, the bolstering local pride an suchlike.

Now, with taxpayers money set to trickle into the pocketbooks of county stars, players who refuel unwisely will need more than a packet of Polo mints to escape the wrath of the cold eyed Mammies of public opinion.

******************

Here's hoping that the Donegal players had more than Miwadi to celebrate on Sunday evening; their achievement was a real and worthy one, deserving of being toasted and sufficient to circumvent any suggestion that League honours merit little acknowledgment.

Emerging as the only unbeaten team in all four divisions, reeling off a list of the vanquished that included Kerry, Tyrone, Mayo (twice), Dublin, Cork, Fermanagh and Kildare, Donegal's form so early in the year was almost unbelieveably free of the sort of teething troubles and preparatory problems that the League is supposed to be there to sort out.

Also pleasing was the cool-headed determination that they deployed to win so many of those games, especially the final. As injury time commenced in Croke Park on Sunday, there was a palpable sense of desire evident among the Donegal players, an indignant vow that, actually, this is our competition, thank you very much.

Maintaining that belief and feeling of superiority through the summer will be crucial - particularly with their bete noires, Armagh, awaiting on May 27th. For what is the decision to abandon focus and resolve and turn to the celebratory realm of booze but an acknowledgement of contentment at what has already been achieved, a self-reward at a goal attained.

If Donegal can switch the drive that they brought to their League campaign and direct it towards the Championship, they will be a force to be reckoned with.

And no-one will begrudge them a shandy afterwards.

NFL Finalists Aim to Chop the Long Grass

Here's a little game for you. Over the next few months, as the GAA championships get under way, count the number of times you hear or read the expression 'waiting in the long grass'. As in, "it was great to beat Kerry today but we know Waterford are waiting in the long grass," or, "despite their good league campaign, Monaghan came up against a Cavan team who had been waiting in the long grass."

I'm not sure exactly where it derives from; is it an agricultural thing, or something to do with shooting ducks? Or does it go back to the War of Independence, when our bould Volunteers picked off Black and Tans under the concealment of rushy knolls?

Wherever it comes from, it underlines the importance of the element of surprise in the GAA championships. In contrast to the long, expositional league system by which most professional sports identify their champions, the Championships are decided on a handful of tumultuous, telling occasions, few enough that guile and subterfuge are often strategically deployed.

Mayo and Donegal will be well aware of the phenomenon this weekend.

The National League finals, positioned as they are on the cusp of The Serious Business, are a peculiar affair. GAA director-general Liam Mulvihill pointed out at the beginning of this league campaign the curiousness of the fact that "most competitions start with a whimper and go out with a bang but it's very often the opposite in the National Leagues."

The principal reason for this is that, after stellar league campaigns, the two combatants in Sunday's final find themselves in a place where no county wishes to be: standing buck naked in the middle of the road, without a blade of grass to protect their modesty.

Not that they baulk at the promise of silverware (a win on Sunday would be Donegal's first trophy of any sort since the All-Ireland in 1992, and Mayo can never be so sated as to pass up national honours) and, one presumes, neither side will skimp on effort.

But there they will be, two Championship contenders, parading around in the open, while their rivals are regrouping for the big push in the secrecy of their barracks. Donegal, perhaps slightly more so than Mayo, have reason to blush at their exposure; widely regarded as the most impressive team in the National League, lifting the trophy on Sunday would see the conferred with that most worthless of honours: the best team in the land in April.

For all that recent seasons have promoted the idea that National League success is the father of All-Ireland glory (three of the last four years have have seen League/Championship doubles in football, the exception - 2005 - witnessing NFL winners Armagh fail narrowly in epic struggle with eventual All-Ireland champions Tyrone) a side like Donegal does not yet have the sturdy legs to survive the pace of being front-runner.

But what's an oft-derided, psychologically suspect team to do? All both Sunday's combatants can address years of underachievement with is the repeated winning of matches. If the summer storms blow their respective houses down every year, what can Mayo or Donegal do but build them back up again, stronger and stronger again until, one calm September morning, they might wake up with their roofs still intact?

And anyway, this whole idea of 'the long grass' is not without its flaws. While some teams practice guerilla warfare expertly, very often the hidden enemy attacks with pea-shooters. It's a twist on the old notion that it is better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt. And the status of league champions will confer fear of no-one on Mayo or Donegal come the summer.

Still. Did you see something moving there? Where? Over there, in the long grass.....

Donegal Top of The Class Early On

And so for our first real look at matters GAA in 2007. Or, at least, that part of it that involves actual action on fields, as opposed to stuff about stadiums and payments and committees and all the other things that fill columns in January, but are barely footnotes in July.

The inter-county scene at this time of year resembles a classroom of attention deficient kids in the moments before their teacher barks order and they settle down into their pre-assigned seats to do as they're told. For those few minutes, while their teacher drains her tea-cup in the staff room, anarchy reigns.

Division 1A and 1B in the National Football League are headed by Donegal and Westmeath respectively. Both boast 100% records, neither were expected to do so at this point. Westmeath lead the weaker of the two divisions, not that that denigrates their achievements so far (good wins over a rebuilding Laois, Derry in Celtic Park and Down on Sunday last).

On the contrary, they were so unfancied that the NFL organisers might already have been chiselling out a space for them in next season's division 3 (the 2008 NFL will be organised in four descending divisions based on this season's final places, the bottom four teams in divisions 1A and 1B going into division 3 next year. Phew!). So primacy over the likes of Armagh, Galway and Laois even at this higgledy-piggledy stage is good work indeed.

But Division 1A is meaner-looking bunch altogether. Four of the five teams regarded by the bearded sages of the GAA as genuine contenders for Sam this year (Kerry, Tyrone, Mayo and Dublin) are there. Then there's Cork, last year's Munster champions and All-Ireland semi-finalists.

Donegal, too, are not without their own cred. But they are generally regarded in the vein of a Tottenham Hotspur: haven't won anything since the early 90s, plenty of talent but, nah, you wouldn't back them against one of the big boys.

They've come racing out of the blocks this year though (again with the Tottenham 'top of the league in August' Hotspur comparison). Wins over Cork (away) and at home against Mayo and Dublin have put them at the head of some very exalted company. Of course, as we mentioned earlier, everything's a little scattered at this stage of the season, but its still worthwhile to study the tea-leaves.

Indeed, given that this season's league places have more resonance than usual for next term, and also the now-established truism that the old chestnut about the league not mattering come the summer is, well, a false-ism, you have to take notice.

Dublin were comfortably dispatched on Sunday in Ballyshannon. The Dubs appeared not to fancy it from the start, not that it doesn't blow gusts of horizontal rain in Dublin of course. Donegal were five points to the good before the metropolitans had folded away their AA road map, and though they rallied to 0-5 to 0-3, that oh-so-familiar diffidence allowed Donegal to pull away in the second half. "Winter football is winter football," explained Dublin manager Pillar Caffrey, like a devoted mother excusing her bank-robbing sons by saying "boys will be boys."

Whatever about Dublin, Donegal looked pretty sharp, not a little mean and plenty keen. Two very good goal chances passed up by Rory Kavanagh and Brendan Devenney early on could have ended the contest in the first quarter.

Manager Brian McIver has been busy building strength in depth. Missing through injury yesterday was All Star Karl Lacey, and coming on as subs were such luminaries as former All Stars Adrian Sweeney and Christy Toye, seasoned county man Eamonn McGee, and bright young things Kevin McMenamin and Johnny McLoone.

There was variation in style as well as numbers. Despite the bias of the wind, Donegal won both halves. Kevin Cassidy - another returning erstwhile All Star - dropped back from midfield to aid Paddy Campbell and Barry Monaghan in smothering Dublin's forwards. The oft-won ball was thrust directly into the forwards with the wind, and in the second half Donegal's more familiar short passing game was deployed to suit the elements.

Dublin looked willowy in attack, lacking the physical presence to master the conditions, and the thorny issue of full-back looks no nearer to resolution, as Niall O'Shea was repeatedly roasted by Devenney.

Donegal face Tyrone next, whose defeat of them in the McKenna Cup final is the only blemish on their season so far. Their neighbours are always a good yardstick by which to measure progress. And although they're the smartest looking kid of a scruffy bunch right now, they've shown enough to suggest they could be in the front row come class photo time.