An Irishman's Diary

My good friend Liam Hunt remarked: "It must be a great match to be neutral at". It probably was. But we were not neutral. We were among the hysterics in the stands. Another friend, Frank McAnena, was driven to Shakespeare. "Blow winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! / You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout . . .," he intoned from King Lear as the game began. The wind blew, the rain fell, and we sat defiant in Portlaoise at the All-Ireland Colleges `B' final last month.

On the sodden pitch below, a brave St Nathy's 15 lined out against St Augustine's warriors from Dungarvan and we, with what appeared to be most of Ballaghaderreen, were extreme in our hope. Lear had been stripped of everything when he made that speech on the stormy, sodden, God-forsaken heath. But he remained defiant too. And we knew all about being God-forsaken. St Nathy's College, our alma mater, had not won an All-Ireland football title since 1957 and hadn't been in an All-Ireland Colleges final since 1958.

Too long a hunger makes dust of the heart. And we had been in Portlaoise before. It was 1968 and Nathy's had reached the All-Ireland Colleges (`A') semi-finals. We drew with Colaiste Chriost Ri from Cork. The replay went to extra time. We lost. Nathy's disappeared from the football radar thereafter. Until early this year, when along came Johnno.

Jude of West

Johnno is the one, the only, the inimitable John O'Mahony, football manager extraordinaire, Ballaghaderreen man, and teacher at St Nathy's College. He is also the man who managed the Mayo under-21 side to an all-Ireland title in 1983. In 1989 he was manager of the Mayo senior side which went on to their first All-Ireland final in 38 years. In 1994 he managed Leitrim to their first Connacht title in 67 years, and in 1998 he brought Galway its first all-Ireland in 32 years. He should be called Jude. In the West he is our patron of hopeless football causes.

So there was reason for our unreasonable hope in Portlaoise that wet Sunday in April. And, as always, there was that yearning to be from a place where defeat has no name. Present too were great footballing names such as Dermot Earley, Mick Ruane, Sean Kilbride, and Paddy Henry. Men who had honed their skills at St Nathy's.

But we had no thought of the past just then. The play rivetted us to the present during a furious fast game in appalling conditions which seesawed between certain victory and certain defeat as two gallant teams refused to give in. It was like that to the very end when St Nathy's won 3-9 to 37. Then a spontaneous exhilaration swept aside decades of disappointment in one sweet swoop. Sweet, sweet victory was suddenly released after years of captivity.

"Adversity is the creative juice which has bound together this Nathys bunch this season. The more blemishes on their part, the stronger their resolve to bounce back. And Sunday was no different," wrote Liam Heagney in the Roscommon Herald. His words might apply to the West of Ireland itself.

We followed the team home via the bonfires of Loughglynn, Lisacul, and Crennane, into Ballaghaderreen, where our happy heroes marched down the town to a reception on the Square attended by all the great and the good, the not-so-good, and the soon-to-be-merry.

Adversity

And thoughts went back to those who had tried before and suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous adversity. Men who had managed Nathy's teams in bad times. Such as Paddy Henry, Bishop Tom Flynn of Achonry, Father Tom Lynch. The late, great Father Tom. "He taught me about human nature and to love what was good in the GAA", Johnno told the crowd. Father Tom trained that last St Nathy's team to win an All-Ireland in 1957 and he tried, tried, tried again. He loved Gaelic football. His variation on that hoary old trinity went "Lads . . ." - we were always "lads" to him. He would never denigrate us by calling us "boys". "Lads," he'd say, "rugby is a hooligan's game played by gentlemen. Soccer is a gentlemen's game played by hooligans. And Gaelic is a gentlemen's game played by gentlemen." At which point we'd all laugh.

He had an expansive nature, was broad of heart and in his understanding of people, and especially of young lads in need of confidence. And it was he who taught me and Frank and Liam that great speech from King Lear. It summed up something of his own spirit.

Young heroes

His sister Mrs Annie Towey was there on the Square that night for the celebrations. As well she might be. She is also Johnno's mother-in-law and her grandson was one of the players on the St Nathy's team. He is Eamon Towey and was named Man-of-the-Match by Mid West Radio. He is the only team member I feel it right to single out from a panel of 26 young heroes which made up the team and included my own wonderful, gifted nephew. But Eamon's is a special case.

I met his mother Patricia and his father Mickey after the match in Portlaoise. They were very happy and so proud of their youngest son. It was moving in itself. When families are expressive of their happiness in each other it can have that effect.

Mickey Towey died suddenly on May 8th. He was only 60. The St Nathy's All-Ireland team formed a guard-of-honour at his funeral. Sudden death can be awful for those left behind and it must be so for the Towey family. For Mrs Annie Towey it is but the latest in a succession of such blows. They are strong people, blessed with great faith, but it hardly seems decent there should be such sorrow in the middle of so rare a joy. The thoughts of the town are with them.