Grief matched with disbelief as Mayo once again fall at the final hurdle
THE big screen with its piercing din broadcast from Croke Park was knocked off and what was left was a frozen silence, as dense and as uncompromising as the summit of Croagh Patrick, blanketed in snow.
The despairing people of Castlebar packed up their picnic rugs and their party paraphernalia and attempted to comfort their weeping children.
There will be other times, parents said – though they scarcely seemed to believe their own words themselves.
Elderly men with Mayo flags knotted over their shoulders stood apart, stooped over the barrier, for a long time after it was all over.
To ask how they ‘felt’ at this moment was as clumsy and as socially awkward as it would have been to do so at a funeral.
This was grief. Tears streamed down faces young and old. So close and yet so far away for Mayo, once again – with 66 years of famine stretching now into at least 67. It was almost unfathomable. “How many times can they do it?” asked Tom O’Toole.
“That was us every final since 1989,” he said of the contest.
“Very close – and every time since then it has been, apart from maybe the one time with Kerry. It’s just hard to believe,” he mused quietly.
Tom was supposed to be in Croke Park and had a ticket for the Cusack Stand but had been in a cycling accident on Saturday in which another person had been injured.
“After that I said to my brother that if it was on the wedge of the moon I wouldn’t go,” he declared. Where now for Mayo? “We’ll be back,” he replied, wearily. “There’s no arrogance. We just love our football.”
He said Andy Moran had once told him that if they lost, they’ll be back because “we’re lads and all we want to do is play football”.
“There’s a magic in the GAA that’s not there in rugby,” said Tom, who used to play rugby himself.
“It comes from the soul of the county here.”
Mayo have taken “plenty of beatings,” said Tom. And it’s harder to take because they are “as good as Dublin”.
“We’re proud of them and we’ve been proud of them all along.
“But moral victories are no good,” Tom said.
He doubts the same team can come back in the same form. Something needs to change.
From early afternoon in Castlebar yesterday, the pubs of the town, full to capacity, had locked their willing customers in.
But volunteers from the ‘Love Castlebar’ organisation had organised the showing of the match on a large screen, originally supposed to be on the Mall but finally erected in the large car park on Castle Street, with about 500 people showing up, mostly young families, some with babes in arms, older people and the dejected ticketless. Others spoke of staying put because they felt this truly was Mayo’s year and they didn’t want to spend the start of the celebrations holed up in Dublin traffic. “€80 for a ticket? It’s absolutely crazy,” said one woman. Had she tried to get one? “You must be joking,” she scoffed. The sunny weather at Croke Park seen on the screen was reflected in the blue skies and blazing sunshine here and the first roar went up at the fly past by the jets over the Dublin stadium.
With Con O’Callaghan’s opening goal for Dublin in the first two minutes, heads shook and an early expression of resignation crossed their faces.
“Come on Mayo,” they roared in encouragement from the west.
The relief as they drew level at three points was palpable.
“Mayo are more determined and more focused this time,” declared Noelene Cashin Cafolla, from Castlebar.
“They’re not so full of fear as they were last year.”
A therapist and mentor,
she explained that she could see things were different for them.
“It’s so important that the mindset is right – and if they can hold onto their mindset...” she trailed off.
Two points up, the chant went up again: “Up Mayo.”
There was all to hope for – the boys in green and red were setting the pace at this stage.
A tiny baby in a Mayo jersey slept peacefully, remarkably oblivious to the tension you could’ve cut with a knife.
They led by a point at half-time.
Castlebar friends Sneha Mohanty (18), studying genetics in Cork, and Evelyn Coyle (18), studying early childhood education in Limerick, were in a state of high excitement.
“It’s so hard to watch,” said Sneha.
“I think that they can do it this time,” said Evelyn, who was already hoarse.
Both were planning on not going back to college to stay for the party.
“Mayo will shut down for a year if we win,” said Evelyn.
In a checked red and green suit decked with Christmas trees, Stephen Prendergast, from Castlebar, joked that he would be wearing it until Christmas if they won.
“This is where the fun starts now,” said one woman grimly, as the second half began.
Then there was a goal for Mayo and they began to believe.
But the desperate battle on the screen continued, point for point, far too close for comfort.
Level at 1-16, hands flew to ashen faces.
A roar of triumph died on their lips as Cillian O’Connor’s ball bounced off the post.
A young woman was already crying under her straw hat.
Dean Rock’s point came amid an unearthly silence.
It was over, they knew it.
We’re proud of them, and we have all been proud of them all along. But moral victories are no good