MAYO ARE DROWNING

Rochford’s men know tide will not turn for them in summer of 2017

ONCE the rip tide gripped us, we were all out of our depth within seconds. There were eight of us, all Meath footballers, far from home, in the sea off Fort Lauderdale but suddenly heading in the general direction of Mexico. There was a cry of panic to my right. Another muffled sound behind me. Then I heard Mick Lyons. ‘SWIM… ‘F***ING… SWIM!’ I took that as an order. I put my head down and splashed, and splashed, and splashed until I could no longer raise my arms out of the water.

But was there anything solid beneath my feet?

When I felt sand, I started running, and I didn’t stop running until I was a good ten yards back on the beach. Only then did I look behind me.

Five of us had made it out of the water. Three others had to be helped by a team of lifeguards. One Meath footballer was carried out of the water in the arms of a red costumed hero.

And that, I suppose, was the beginning of the end for the Meath football team of the 1980s and ’90s. We had just lost two All-Ireland finals back-to-back, and only a few months after the second awful disappointment it was, literally, every man for himself. ‘SWIM… ‘F***ING… SWIM!’

IT comes to an end for every team, though usually that same ending is long and drawn out. But you can see it. On the field… more and more it becomes every man for himself.

Which is what we’re witnessing with the big-hearted, unfortunate, and sometimes just plain dumb, Mayo football team.

They deserve to have, at the very least, one All-Ireland title to their name during this decade but, clearly, it’s not going to happen. Not now. They’re not even going to get the chance of playing in another All-Ireland final.

This afternoon they find themselves amongst the chasing pack, having watched Dublin, and Kerry and Tyrone, take a decisive lead over everyone else in the 2017 race for Sam.

In the Gaelic Grounds in Limerick, where there is the buried heartache of a careless 2014 semi-final loss to Kerry for the Mayo team and their people, they have Cork on their hands this afternoon. Cork, Donegal and Galway make up the initial chasing pack (with Mayo), but this particular Cork team might as well be in pursuit of its own tail.

Cork are going nowhere. Galway fall into the same unfortunate category after their dim-witted defeat by Roscommon in the Connacht final.

Instead of seeking to build up steam after recording twin Championship victories over Mayo, Kevin Walsh watched his team being outrun and over-run. Galway, like Cork, are virtually leaderless on the field.

The same cannot be said of Donegal. Michael Murphy and the remaining crew from glorious 2012 still have a sense of adventure about them. But we’re less certain that they have a serious ambition of retracing every single tough, exhausting step that was taken five years ago.

Donegal should still be too eager for Galway this afternoon. Same can be said for Mayo, but as I’ve already mentioned, where do the likes of Lee Keegan in defence and Cillian O’Connor up front really see themselves ending up this summer?

They are Mayo’s only two legitimate generals. Up to now, they have nearly always made it happen, shown others the route to victory. But Keegan is a man looking quite dispirited – marooned even – within his own half of the field. And O’Connor’s head has also been down.

The pair of them are doing less than before. Meanwhile, others, Aiden O’Shea as usual, but more clearly Keith Higgins, Colm Boyle, Tom Parsons, and even Kevin McLoughlin (who’s supposed to be the playmaker, the link man, the team’s official tube of glue) are all trying to do too much on their own.

Manager Stephen Rochford has been informed by more than one commentator or analyst that his team is at ‘sixes and sevens’ in this championship. It’s not true, Mayo are at ‘ones’.

Which is exactly what happens when too many individuals in a dressing room make up their own minds on a team’s future.

I don’t believe there is one Mayo footballer, who will take the field against Cork, who believes that this is their year.

Unless it’s David Clarke, or perhaps Paddy Durcan. They are the only two who have been summoning up the required moments of magical inspiration these last two months.

Every other Mayo footballer I see out there on the field is just… swimming! F***ING SWIMMING! They are still listening to Stephen Rochford. They know what he is asking them to do, and they make a determination to act out his instruction and perform as a carefully oiled machine.

Until, of course… the game starts and a panic whips through their heads.

This Mayo team are not at sixes and sevens. They are at ‘ones’