SEÁN HOLLAND reflects on his long All-Ireland final day on the Barryroe bus to Dublin
THE dawn of All-Ireland final day is always charged with excitement and anticipation, and this year was no different.
The night before took me back to my childhood. It was like being a kid at Christmas waiting for the arrival of Santa, knowing you had to be in bed early. The bus was to depart in the small hours of Sunday morning but the excitement was too much. Sleep was limited. A 4.30am alarm call was one I’m not used to, still the anticipation and the excitement for the day ahead helped banish any thoughts of tiredness. There was time for a quick scone and cup of tea to set me up for the long journey ahead.
Arriving at the pick-up point at Barryroe Co-Op, our local Cork supporters were draped in red and white. The Barryroe bus, with one Ballinascarthy man, was on the road. We debated the day’s strategies as we made our way towards the capital. The journey was long but spirited.
Disembarking the bus in Dublin, the streets were awash with a sea of supporters, mainly from Cork. Many had learned lessons from the semi-final and arrived in Dublin with oceans of time to spare.
Flanagan's restaurant was the chosen spot for breakfast. Not because of TripAdvisor or any food rating apps, but purely because we were dropped outside the door. Many fans like us lined outside on the pavement of O’Connell Street to secure a meal to set themselves up for the day. I’m in an incredibly fortunate position to call what I was about to witness as work. I was in Croke Park in 2010, a mere 13 years old, to witness Cork’s last All-Ireland triumph with the big ball, but I had never seen a Cork team lift Liam MacCarthy in the flesh. I hoped Sunday would be the day.
As I headed down Jones Road, Croke Park loomed large. Its stands soon to be filled with 82,000 passionate fans. I entered the stadium across from the Croke Park Hotel, passing many fans looking to get that final nerve-quenching pint in, took the elevator to the seventh floor, made my way to the press box – my perch to watch the drama unfold.
On entry, you could feel the atmosphere. Inside the stadium was electric, the air thick with anticipation as more and more fans filed into their seats. The colour clash was eye-catching, the red of Cork against the saffron and blue of Clare made for a visual masterpiece.
From the press area high up in the Hogan Stand, the game looked like a chess match played out with speed and power. Every puck, every tackle, every score was scrutinised and analysed.
The roars of the crowd ebbed and flowed with the fortunes of the game, a living, breathing entity all its own. Robert Downey’s goal had the Rebel fans rocking and thoughts of victory loomed large. Soon though that roar was quenched once Aidan McCarthy pierced the Cork net beneath Hill 16. Having been down seven points, Clare roared back into the game, with the half-time whistle coming at the right time for Cork. At the break discussions of the previous 35 minutes were fierce. To my left was Shane Stapelton, of the OurGame podcast, and to my right Eoin Ryan of RTÉ. Between the three of us and the 82,000 in the stadium, none were the wiser of who would come out on top.
The second period brought about more of the same – uncertainty of who would emerge victorious. Clare shot two more goals, Tony Kelly’s one of pure disbelief, it left the Banner in the driving seat and the Rebels were reeling. Still as they had done all year they never gave up right until Patrick Horgan sailed his final free through the uprights. Extra time loomed. My heart was beating at a rapid rate. The two coffees consumed didn’t help that matter much.
Extra time similar to the 70 minutes preceding brought some superb hurling with the game fully in the balance. The difference though: Clare took their chances, Cork didn’t. When Robbie O’Flynn caught Pa Collins late free and headed to goal there was an audible gasp, but as his pointed effort sailed wide and with that the final whistle blew, the reality of defeat settled in. Cork had fought valiantly, but it was not to be their day.
The press box, once buzzing with excitement, now hummed with the quiet activity of reporters filing their stories of triumph and loss.
Post-match, I made my way to the bowels of Croke Park to the press conference room. Pat Ryan, the dejected Cork manager, faced the media. His face bore the strain of the day, his eyes reflecting the disappointment of a county.
‘We came up here to win today and we didn’t get over the line.’
His words, while stoic, couldn't mask the heartbreak felt by the team and supporters alike.
The journey home was a stark contrast to the morning’s exuberance. The bus was somber, the weight of the loss palpable in the heavy silence. Conversations were muted. We travelled through the night, the hours stretching endlessly as we made our way back to West Cork.
As I finally stepped off the bus in the small hours of Monday morning, I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of respect for the supporters who live and breathe every moment of their team’s journey. Win or lose, we stand by our county with unwavering loyalty. Sunday had ended in heartbreak, but thoughts moved to a new hope. This team has given us many great days and I’m sure there’ll be more to come. This just wasn’t one of them.
