GAA: 20 YEARS ON MEATH v DUBLIN:On this day 20 years ago the extraordinary four-game series between Dublin and Meath came to a suitably-dramatic end. David Sheehan looks back at "the end of the most incredible series of football matches that were ever played in any code the world over"
THE THIRD replay. Dublin 0-11 Meath 0-6. There are 20 minutes to go in the first championship match to be played on a Saturday. Just one of a number of records broken by this Leinster tie. Dublin corner back Mick Kennedy signals to the bench that captain, Tommy Carr, is in trouble. It’s the second time the Army man has required treatment in the space of a few minutes, but Carr signals his intention to play on, even though he is hobbling badly.
Play resumes with Brian Stafford taking a short free-kick to Gerry McEntee, and shooting upon receiving the return pass. The ball drops short, allowing John O’Leary to punch clear just before been bundled over by Colm O’Rourke, seeking to unsettle the Dublin goalkeeper in the same way he had a year previous when scoring Meath’s early and decisive goal in the 1990 Leinster final. This time, O’Leary gets a free. With that break in play, Carr concedes his goose is cooked.
Sitting in the lobby of a Mullingar hotel almost 20 years later, Tommy Carr sits forward, removes his glasses and places them on the table. “I went over on my ankle. But I think the feeling was we were fairly well in control. I remember coming to the sideline and (substitute) Davey Foran saying something like ‘don’t worry, we have them’, because I was reluctant to come off.”
Carr would have barely sat himself down on the grass before things got even better. From the free-kick for the foul on O’Leary, Mick Galvin gathered possession and played a long ball into the Meath defence. Liam Harnan misjudged the flight of the ball and, as he chased back to retrieve, was tugged slightly by Charlie Redmond. Harnan responded with a cuff around Redmond’s head, but in the meantime Paul Curran had nipped in, rounded Mick Lyons and drove the ball over the bar. He had the goal at his mercy, but taking the point was the prudent option.
Dublin led by six.
It was the biggest lead either side had enjoyed in any of the four games, and despite Meath’s recovery in game three, when they came from five down with 10 to go, this time Dublin looked to be gaining in stature with every passing minute, while Meath seemed to be wilting in the heat.
The four games had been played in every kind of weather imaginable. The original fixture and first replay were played in overcast conditions with a strong breeze prevalent in the second encounter. The second replay took place on a sodden Sunday under black skies. Torrid affairs at the best of times, add greasy conditions and the result was never going to be pretty. But the tension. The tension.
Every game had it.
“It had become a case (when playing Meath) of proving your manhood as much as anything – that’s what it had turned into,” says Carr. “In fairness to the Dublin players, they were always willing to stand up to the plate, as it were – they were always ready to give as good as they got.”
Having contrived to snatch a draw from the jaws of victory in the previous three games in 1991, Dublin looked to be out of the woods – finally – in game four.
Though no one was counting their chickens yet. Stafford cut the lead to five with a free, and threw Meath yet another lifeline moments later. Referee Tommy Howard pulled back McEntee for taking a free from the hand (at the time, only the player fouled could take the free from his hands. If another player took it, it had to be from the ground). The throw-up was won by McEntee, who palmed the ball to PJ Gillic. Not for the first time in the life of that Meath side, the man in possession aimed a long ball into O’Rourke’s corner.
O’Rourke had been having a quiet game, hindered in no small way by a thunderous wallop he received from Eamonn Heery early on, following what could only be described as a “hospital” pass from Stafford. O’Rourke gathered Gillic’s pass, escaped Mick Kennedy and, resisting the urge to get his own back, teed Stafford up for a goal chance which the Kilmainhamwood man tucked away.
Dublin 0-12 Meath 1-7.
“Dublin had so much of the play early in the second half and they should have put Meath away,” noted Mick O’Dwyer from his position in the RTÉ commentary box, “but now Meath are back in the game, and it’s in the boiling pot again!”
Stafford’s goal, expected to give Meath a shot in the arm, stung Dublin into action. Galvin gathered and pointed after Declan Sheehan had rounded a heavy-legged Mick Lyons and fly-kicked the ball across the Meath goal. Seconds later Niall Guiden gave Dublin a four-point lead after a darting solo run which made light of the frenetic pace and heat in which the game had been played. Dublin had their cushion again.Four points in it, 13 minutes left.
Mattie McCabe, something of a fall-guy in the Meath team of that era in that he always seemed to be the first one dropped in any reshuffling, came off the bench and put his always-accurate shooting to good use in popping up with a point on 61 minutes.
Two minutes later, Dublin were presented with the opportunity to slam and double-bolt it on Meath, and toss the key to the wind.
Sheehan nipped in front of Martin O’Connell to win possession on the edge of Meath’s large rectangle, and advanced before drawing back his left boot to bury the ball in the net, and with it, any chance of another Meath revival. Robbie O’Malley’s illegal intervention stopped Sheehan from getting his shot away, and Tommy Howard had no hesitation in spreading his arms wide to signal a penalty-kick.
Dublin had spurned chances throughout the series, most notably in games two and three.
Following the dismissal of Lyons late in normal time in the second game, Dublin sought to take advantage of the absence of the Meath full back, and put several balls into their opponents’ goal-mouth. Ciarán Duff launched one such teaser, which found Paul Clarke and Vinnie Murphy unmarked in front of the goal.
Both players looked skywards, arms outstretched, as if they were preparing to catch a child thrown from a burning building. They collided in a fashion that would have done justice to Laurel and Hardy.
Seconds later, with the final whistle imminent and the game heading for extra-time, Murphy again got on the end of another long delivery from Duff. Following a nudge on O’Connell, Murphy was in. Only the goalkeeper to beat. A point would have surely won the game. But Murphy went for goal, and Meath net-minder Michael McQuillan blocked with his legs.
Still sitting upright in his seat in the Mullingar Park Hotel, Carr can still see the opportunities slip away. “I remember the first game was a dead aul game. But in the second game we had such opportunities. Vinnie Murphy – all he had to do was throw it over the bar and he went for goal – stuff like that. Then there was a chance just before then when Vinnie and Paul Clarke crashed into each other when they were both totally free in front of the goal. Then in the third game, Paul Clarke had a great opportunity. Little things like that, but that’s what made it exciting.”
Dublin had had their woes from the penalty spot before – Charlie Redmond scooped his penalty over the bar with the last kick of the 1988 Leinster Final, when a goal would have earned Dublin a well-deserved replay. This time, Keith Barr was nominated.
Barr’s personal battle with one of Meath’s foremost gladiators, O’Rourke, had been one of the key duels of the four-game saga. O’Rourke had plied most of his trade at right corner forward for Meath in the previous five seasons, but was somewhat surprisingly selected at centre forward in each of the four games in 1991, though he moved into the corner at various points. There was a theory O’Rourke’s deployment on the 40 was designed to curb Barr’s forays.
“There were great individual battles,” Barr recalls, “it was very much you against your man. There was a team aspect to it, but mainly you had to win your own battle, and if you did that as a player, well then the rest would look after itself.”
McEntee and Lyons were in close proximity as Barr lined up the kick, and the myth which grew in the aftermath was that Lyons had threatened to break Barr’s leg should he score, with surgeon McEntee offering to mend it. Barr also had Lyons on his shoulder as he stuck the kick. So close was the shot to McQuillan’s bottom right corner that it took the green flag out of the ground next to the post and had RTÉ commentator Ger Canning exclaiming, “IT’S A GOAL!” which was quickly followed by, “NO – IT’S OUTSIDE. HE’S MISSED IT!”
One of the umpires also dramatically pointed to his partner on the other post to signal for a goal, before realising his mistake – nonchalantly putting his hand in his pocket and hoping nobody noticed.
The penalty-taker himself has a much calmer take on the incident, “I’m sure that was going on (the verbal sparring), I’ve no doubt about it, but I put the ball down on the 14-metre line and I was totally focused. People forget, I was shooting into the Meath goal – the Canal End. Everyone goes on about Mick Lyons or other Meath players, but sure didn’t I have 15,000 Meath supporters behind the Canal goal!”
The penalty miss threw Meath another unexpected lifeline, just as Stafford’s goal had done nine minutes earlier. But, as had happened after that score, Dublin again responded when Guiden capped a fine individual performance by slotting over his fourth point shortly after Barr’s miss. It looked to be the insurance point, even though Stafford added another free to cut the gap to three points with five and-a-half minutes remaining.
There was still time for Meath to save it, but when Stafford kicked wildly wide from 30 metres moments later, to derisive cheers from the Hill, it seemed to encapsulate the frustration Meath had endured for long parts of this game. They were still in it in terms of the scoreboard, but they hadn’t played with any fluency and were looking like a beaten, weary team. Dublin still looked to have plenty of life left in them even at this late stage.
They swept forward once more, Guiden dodging a couple of tackles before laying the ball off to the recently-introduced Murphy, who would surely be as relieved as his team-mates would be delighted, to finally win this tie, given his misses in the second game. Murphy sought to move the ball on swiftly into the corner towards Sheehan, but it was a loose pass.
It started from there. The 61,543 spectators were about to witness something incredible as O’Connell beat Sheehan to the ball in the corner of the Canal End and Cusack Stand.
“We lost that game up in the corner,” recalls Jack Sheedy. “That’s where that game was lost. He (O’Connell) should have been put sitting up in the corner of the Canal. If it was the other way around, that’s what would have happened.”
For those of who couldn’t get to Croke Park or to a TV, Micheál Ó Muircheartaigh was our eyes and ears.
“ . . . Martin O’Connell wins it beside the corner flag, Cusack Stand side of the ground, gets it inside to Mick Lyons, Mick Lyons is tackled, holds on to the ball, comes to the 14-yard line, kicks it out to the far side of the field to Mattie McCabe, who releases it to Liam Harnan . . . they’re driving up the centre . . . ”
In all the fuss made over this goal since 1991, the two most difficult and important passes of the entire move were overlooked. Lyons played a delicate pass into the arms of McCabe, who had a split second to gather and pop the ball inside to Harnan before being tackled. " . . . out comes Colm O'Rourke, Colm O'Rourke goes to the ground, is fouled – we've a minute and a quarter left – and the free is taken out towards this side of the field to David Beggy, 60 yards out, he has it, 55 yards out, gets it to Kevin Foley on the 50-yard line, Kevin Foley gets it inside to PJ Gillic . . . "
Carr was starting to get anxious. “It kinda clicked in my mind, ‘there’s nobody putting a hand on this ball’.”
Sheedy, though he was on the pitch, was almost as helpless as his captain on the sideline. “I worked right back down the middle, but never got a hand on the ball. I could see it coming. I was trying to get back behind the ball. But we just couldn’t kill it.”
“ . . . PJ Gillic to Tommy Dowd, 21 yards out, Tommy Dowd gets it inside to Colm O’Rourke, back to Tommy Dowd, Tommy Dowd gets it to Kevin Foley and IT’S A GOAL! A GOAL! And we’re level again. Incredible! . . . we’re within 30 seconds of the end of the most incredible series of football matches that were ever played in any code the world over . . . ”
The ball had gone through 12 sets of Meath hands before ending up in the net, and nobody in a Dublin shirt could lay a finger on it.
The hasty kick-out saw Meath gain possession. Liam Hayes galloped down the Hogan Stand side as if it was the first minute of the first game. Hayes’ cross-field pass found Gillic, who popped the ball over an out-on-his-feet Heery to David Beggy. Beggy, like many of his colleagues, had been having a quiet game, but was on hand to drive the ball over the bar into a stunned Hill 16 end, and edge Meath in front with time almost up.
Carr again mourns the lack of composure Dublin showed at that stage. “Even after the goal, the damaging thing was the point straight after – and that was something similar because it was an uninterrupted move. I think lads were still in shock after the goal.”
Time was almost up, but Dublin got one more half-chance when they were awarded a free near the half-way line. It was a massive ask for anyone to take a shot on from there, but Sheedy himself stepped up. “I was told it was the last kick. With about 10 minutes to go, I strained my hamstring, and when I was taking the free, I was very conscious if it went over, and I pulled my hamstring, that I could be out (of the next few games). So I was trying to stroke it over without doing any more damage.”
Considering the distance from goal, he made an admirable effort. The kick drifted wide, but certainly had the distance to sneak over had it been on target.
To Meath’s relief, the final, final whistle sounded upon McQuillan’s kick-out.
It was Sheedy’s first proper championship season, and he had played like a veteran throughout. In fact, Sheedy was one of just nine, out a total of 49 players used by both sides, to play every minute of every game. It came as scant consolation. “I was gutted, absolutely gutted. It felt like I’d just had my stomach ripped out. The level of intensity . . . it was as close as most of us had come to professional football, really. It seemed like you were living in a goldfish bowl, because everything – the media, the street, work – everything was just football, football, football.
“I enjoyed it, it was great to be in the middle of all that. But when it was over and we had lost, it was like someone just smashed the bowl. I found it very tough to get over. It took a long time.”
Dublin’s dressingroom resembled a morgue. Could anyone muster a word? Sheedy takes a sip of tea and sets his cup down. “There were some tears. I don’t think anyone was even capable of words. I think I recall Seán Boylan coming in and Liam Hayes, and even they were bereft of anything adequate to say. In fairness to them, they were very magnanimous in their victory as much as we had to be in our defeat.”
Carr, a man notoriously serious about his football, was also dumbstruck. “I think Paddy Cullen said a few words, but other than that it was just . . . shell-shock, huge tiredness, mental tiredness, not even physical tiredness . . . there was a sense of ‘thanks be to f**k it’s over’ as much as anything else – ‘at least we’re getting out of this place’!
“Because the whole thing had become quite claustrophobic because of the attention it was getting – it was just relentless from one week to the next, you were just living to play football – which was fine too, no problem.
“The whole country had stopped to watch it after the second game and it took over the summer for those few weeks.”
Rather than being allowed to go their separate ways to celebrate or drown their sorrows, both sets of players were requested to attend a function in the Mansion House by then Lord-Mayor Michael Donnelly. “Someone suggested it to me after the third game,” Donnelly recalls, “and I thought it would be a great idea given the uniqueness of the situation. There was a big crowd at it. The local elections had just finished so I invited all the outgoing councillors and as many of the new ones as I could.”
It was something Carr felt he could have done without. “The Mansion House thing, none of us even knew this was happening – it was a pure surprise we had to go to the Mansion House. We were all handed invites and I think I left mine in the car and when I got to the door there was obviously security there and I was refused entry because I didn’t have my pass. So this was a great excuse for me! I couldn’t get in so I immediately started walking down the street. Someone came after me and apologised and we went back. It’s hard to remember everything that happened in there. I remember we were standing around a lot, I’m nearly sure there was no mixing with the Meath boys.
“We were standing on one side of the room and they were on the other, both sets of players couldn’t wait to get out of each other’s company – and not in any bad way – it was a case of the Meath lads being conscious of the way they had won and also they knew whoever lost the game was going to be in a bad place. From our point of view we didn’t want to see any more of them after that day.”
The two captains were asked to say a few words, and, while Hayes kept his speech very, very brief for fear of being seen to be rubbing salt in the wound, Carr spoke at length about what the games had meant to him – something which resonated with Bernard Flynn at the time. “It was embedded in everyone how distraught he (Carr) was. He was devastated, who wouldn’t be? But the way he spoke made us all realise how much it had taken out of him and how much it had meant to him.”
Looking back 20 years on has given Carr a clearer outlook on the impact those games had on the rivalry between Meath and Dublin. “I think what happened was that, out of those games in 1991, came a huge sense of respect that hadn’t been there before. Up until then it had been more dislike than respect, but I think it after that it was respect from the Meath boys to the Dublin boys and vice-versa. And yes, there was a sense ‘we’ve come through something incredible here’. Along with that, they (Meath’s players) never jumped on our graves in terms of the defeat – they didn’t gloat.
“And okay, you might have said ‘big deal’ at the time, but looking back, it was quite an honourable thing because they could have gloated a bit – now it wasn’t their style – but they didn’t gloat and they probably knew deep down ‘there but for the grace of God goes us’. I think they realised that and dealt with it accordingly.
“I’m glad we lost the way we did. Even with the way it turned out, I was glad to be involved. It had gone past the point of being a disastrous defeat, because it had taken on life of its own.”
