Are Kerry in danger of killing their golden goose?
IWAS in Tralee last weekend for a fundraising lunch for the Austin Stacks club. They wanted me to come down as a secret guest, then pounce on Kieran Donaghy when he was on stage being asked about his outburst after the All-Ireland final. When their chairman first rang me a month ago, I told him I couldn’t attend because I was in court in Belfast until noon on that day. ‘Oh, jaysus, Joe you’ll have to be here, it’s all set up. You’re the star of the show,’ he replied. When I reiterated my court commitment, he just said: ‘We’ll have a plane waiting for you at Belfast Airport.’ What could I say to that? Is it any wonder they’ve so many All-Irelands?
I arrived in good time at the hotel and was smuggled in under a coat, like Abu Hamza being handed over to the CIA. Big Kieran was on stage being asked about his ‘What do you think of that Joe Brolly?’ moment, when I got the signal to rock.
‘You cheeky Tyrone b*****d,’ I said as I walked into the function room (his late father was from Tyrone – thank God his family settled in Kerry). The place went wild. Big Kieran jumped in surprise, face red as a beetroot. ‘You can take the man out of Tyrone,’ I said, as I advanced on the stage. ‘Your ma never tell you not to challenge the man with the mic? Your first slip-up and the Seán Cavanagh episode will seem like a break-time story in the creche.’
‘Ah jaysus, Joe,’ he said, ‘sure, you said I was finished.’ ‘Wasn’t me who left you on the bench for 90 per cent of the year,’ I countered. The place was in uproar.
When I got a second, I looked down over the huge crowd. Legends of the game as far as the eye could stretch. And in the middle of them, clutching a pint as though it was a thimble, was Eoin “Bomber” Liston.
I thought instantly of an encounter I had many years ago in Killarney. A woman approached me and told me she worked in the Park Place Hotel in Killarney (now long gone) when the great Kerry team used to eat there after training.
‘I am a Cork woman,’ she told me, ‘but my father was a Kerry man. There were three children and he used to say he’d give us a sweet if we’d shout “Up Kerry”. The other two always buckled but I never did. I refused to say it. I never did get a sweet!’
BEATRICE HOULIHAN recalled those Kerry men with glowing eyes. ‘Ger Power was very quiet,’ she said. ‘All he’d ever say was steak. Bomber could eat two steaks. They always left the hotel eating giant ice-cream wafers. Bomber had two, one in each hand. There were no nutritionists then. They were great days. They were all lovely fellas.’
After the crowd had calmed a bit, I was joined on stage by Ger Power (eight All-Irelands), the Bomber (seven), Tomás Ó Sé (five) and Micheál Ó Muircheartaigh.
‘Thank God you’re here, Micheál,’ I said, ‘You’re the only man with fewer All-Irelands than me.’
Having started by remarking that he came into the team at ‘a time when they were struggling’, the Bomber recalled a League game against Roscommon at Hyde Park. Himself and Mikey Sheehy were darting left and right, making smart runs. Meanwhile, Pat Spillane was soloing furiously and taking long-range pot shots. ‘After he had five wides, I could see Mikey getting cross.
‘The next ball, Mikey made the perfect run across me into space. Pat never looked up, just kept soloing, then drove it wide again from 50 yards out, near the sideline. A moment later one of the Roscommon lads went down injured. Myself, Pat and Mikey went into a small huddle. “We need to start working the one-twos lads,” said Pat. “Pat,” said Mikey, “I’d be happy with the one.”’
Afterwards, I sat in the hotel bar with Paudie Lynch, Ogie Moran, Seán Walsh and the rest. I counted 64 All-Ireland medals in the company at one point. The Bomber directed proceedings.
‘You see these hands, Derry man? Most human beings are born with skin on their hands. I was born with silk.’ I nearly spat out my pint. Shortly after that, he grabbed me and held me under his oxter. ‘The Derry man will sing a song now,’ he announced. ‘Shut up lads. Go on Derry man, away you go.’ I told him I’d be more comfortable sitting up. ‘ Fair enough,’ he said and released me. When I’d finished, he said: ‘Jaysus, I thought you could sing better than that.’ And so it continued.
Some of the new generation were there. Donaghy was sipping spring water. David Moran and Tommy Walsh the same. ‘You wouldn’t see the county footballers nowadays from one year to the next,’ said a man called O’Sullivan, ‘they’re locked away.’
For hours, these titans of the game talked about endlessly practising the skills and their fears that intuition and flair were being stifled by modern meth- ods. Seán Walsh (seven All-Irelands) was sitting with us. The Bomber recalled Seán struggling with nerves in the run-up to big games.
‘I used to pick up Charlie Nelligan. We’d meet Seán down at the pitch. Charlie would kick balls in on top of me and Seánie. I let him win every one. ‘Jaysus Seán,’ I’d say to him, ‘thank God I don’t have to mark you on Sunday.’ Bomber Liston, Kerry’s first sports psychologist.
ALL THESE great players, through from Micko to Egan and Maurice Fitz and Moynihan, were born in a time of skill and non conformity. Wild men and mavericks were welcome. They had the space to develop their distinctive skills at underage levels. Time enough to concentrate on winning at senior level, when they were fully developed footballers. They could socialise. Have a half-dozen pints the night before away games in the League. Be part of their community.
Now the game is being controlled by legions of confident bluffers (paid managers, sports psychologists, high performance experts and the like), micro-managing players from a very young age. Underage training sessions are formulaic and intense, designed to create super-fit teams and a winning strategy. A system that tends to bring underage success but doesn’t produce Gooches or Ó Sés or Sheehys.
At underage level, Kerry are now mimicking Tyrone’s development squads. For a generation, Kerry didn’t win a single minor title. Instead they produced highlyskilled senior footballers who dominated Sam Maguire and, more importantly, played with glory and honour.
Five months ago, they won the minor title. Systematic and dull, for the first time a Kerry team at Croke Park looked like all the other schmucks. An hour later, for the first time in 120 years, the Kerry senior team looked exactly the same.
It is a major worry, not just in the Kingdom, but for football lovers everywhere. Sadly, the days of eating giant ice-cream cones after training are gone forever. In the process, we have lost a lot more than a few calories.
Modern strategies don’t produce the Gooches, Ó Sés or Sheehys