MARC Ó SÉ EXCLUSIVE
Dublin and Mayo should savour being the centre of attention for what is a unique Irish occasion
JUST 48 hours before the 2006 All-Ireland final, my only fear was laughing so hard that I might crack a couple of ribs. I can only cast an envious eye in the direction of the Mayo and Dublin footballers right now because I loved this week like nothing else.
It is a sacred time; you are in a bubble for most of it but the odd time you stick your head out and that is why 11 years ago this week I was laughing my head off, with tears running down my face a couple of days out from one of the biggest games of my life.
I had worked all that week but with the final approaching I decided to take the Friday off just to afford myself some head space, but then, typically, I found myself bored and wandered down to Páidí’s pub for a natter, but he was all business that morning.
To kickstart the All-Ireland weekend, he had been invited up to Dublin to play in some corporate golf gig and they were so eager for him to be on the tee box that the main organiser was sending a helicopter to fly him up.
I am looking forward to a Dublin reunion with my 2007 All-Ireland winning team-mates thanks to a GPA organised lunch this Saturday.
To mark the 10th anniversary of our All-Ireland win over Cork, we are one of four teams to be invited to the function and it is one of the reasons why I am a supporter of the GPA, because it is actively involved with former players as well as its current membership.
My older brother Fergal was part of the four-ball and Páidí was in his ear that morning about the importance of making a good impression with some of the big wigs they would be playing with but, as the helicopter was running late, the two boys took to the creamy stuff.
When the chopper landed in the field behind the pub about an hour and a half later they had all the signs of it and one of my lasting memories of my uncle is of him tearing over a wall with three suit bags – he liked his style – over his shoulder and trying to carry his overnight case and golf-bag while being handicapped by a gallon of porter.
In the end, the golf bag capsized in mid-air and his putter fell out but he failed to notice and I was screaming to let him know.
‘Yerrah, leave it there for all the f**king good it will be to me,’ and off he went leaving Ard An Bothair and all his good golfing intentions behind him.
Now that could have been the beer talking but more likely it was the All-Ireland weekend kicking in.
He played in 10 finals as a player, took charge of four (including the 2000 replay) as a manager and he was still drunk with giddiness even when his role had been reduced to being a Kerry supporter.
I know that some players can go to great length to bury themselves deep away from the public, but you have to realise that this is an occasion like no other in Irish life and that it is an absolute privilege to be at the centre of it.
I guess every player is different, but I found motivation in knowing what it meant to Kerry people and to my family for our county to be in a final and that motivated me rather than intimidated me.
Once the whistle went in the semifinal, the build-up started. The line is often spun by players that it is just another game, but it is not.
And the more you play in them – and I was involved in 10 – the more special they get because the routine is deliciously familiar.
There is the pre-final press night, which has changed drastically from when I started out.
I remember in my first final in 2002 I was spared it because I was a rookie, but the rest of the lads were hounded into a room in the Gleneagle Hotel and the journalists had a free pick.
That has all changed now, where managers tend to hand-pick three or four players for the job.
I think it works better because even though there was greater access previously, it was neither fair on the player or the press to have individuals there that did not want to be there.
One of the nicest parts is the fitting of suits, where we were well looked after in Sean Hussey’s in Tralee.
Paul Galvin, who likes his threads, missed the 2008 fitting so his previous year’s measurements were used, except he had changed style in the interim and he wanted everything to be tight-fitting.
He was like a bear but he sorted it out for himself. He ended up thieving our diminutive manager Pat O’Shea’s suit jacket and the about the only thing that brought a smile to our faces at the post-match banquet after losing to Tyrone, was the sight of Pat drowning inside a hopelessly over-sized jacket.
Tickets are the other scourge. When I started out, the first thing Páidí advised me was to get rid of my allocation immediately to ensure I wasn’t bothered close to the game.
Which I did except there was one individual, who constantly ignored that deadline – Páidí.
It would not be unusual for him to come calling on match-week, ‘Marc, you wouldn’t have four pieces of good cardboard, would you..’
But the main focus is always on the game. You are particularly conscious of how you perform in training and in practice matches at this time of the year because you know exactly what is at stake.
I always found it difficult as a teacher because your summer routine is gone, you are back at work and it is amazing what an impact in terms of tiredness that can have in training.
The other thing about work is you had to build a wall around yourself. I tended not to mix in the staff room before a final because the last thing you want to do is talk football to people outside the group, no matter how well meaning.
Jack O’Connor used to call those
I found motivation in knowing what it meant to the Kerry people
people energy vampires, and I think every player involved in a game as big as this can relate to that.
All that’s left after that is the journey. The Saturday train to Dublin, from there we went straight to the Dunboyne Castle Hotel, a warm-up session on the local pitch, a rub down with the physios and a prematch meeting.
Sleep came easy to me – and for Eoin Brosnan and, latterly, Darran O’Sullivan, who I roomed with – but the following morning I would be sickened with nerves.
Barely able to stomach a light breakfast, 8.30 Mass in Dunboyne was then followed by a few torturous hours waiting for the bus ride into a city awash with madness.
Finally at 3.15, you are released out of that tunnel and into the light and that sickness washed away, to be replaced by the clarity that this is the football day of your life.
Enjoy.