The brain doesn’t operate chronologically. 2013 is for many reasons more vivid than some of the years that followed.
It was the year of Monaghan’s first Anglo Celt since 1988. As a 12-year-old that meant little yet it meant a lot.
11 years on, you cherish the memories, and you also appreciate why these barren spells exist.
Personally, the most vivid memory on that journey is ironically Monaghan’s win over Cavan. Conor McManus at one end, Martin Dunne the other.
It was Rory Beggan’s breakthrough year, and in the aftermath of a one-point win, the Scotstown man was on everyone’s lips.
Funny how things come full circle.
I remember my father furious that this newcomer had taken “12 steps” and got out of jail Scot-Free. I was wise enough to keep my mouth shut.
No medals for guessing that he was and remains a proud Cavan man, even if he has plied his trade further north now for longer than he ever lived in his native county.
That same year, 2013, was the year of ‘The Gathering’, a Government of Ireland initiative to bring the people of Ireland home. Actos Gabriel Byrne called it “a scam to shake down the diaspora for money”.
It could well have been. In our house, it worked.
You don’t need me to tell you that the recession hit hard for many families. Dad spent two periods of about five or six months working in Australia, sandwiching the Christmas of 2012 that he spent at home.
A bit like the Ulster Championship, you’re a little inexperienced as a child to fully appreciate what was going on. You think you get it, but you only get some of it.
You fully get it now.
That year of 2013 was also 25 years on from Gowna’s very first Cavan SFC success. Today, they are champions once more.
Funny how things come full circle.
Dad was on that team in ‘88, as was his older brother Séamus. I remember the little commemoration medal that came in the post at the time. It’s still in the house somewhere.
Back then I could see how much it meant. Now, I like to think I can understand.
The Monaghan-Cavan rivalry has always been a little bit funny. For many, they’d tell you it’s hatred, but it is the very essence of a healthy rivalry. It goes well beyond the GAA, it’s a cultural thing too.
11 years ago was Dad’s turn to receive the texts and phone calls rather than dish them out in a childish spree of gloating that achieves absolutely zero, but it’s great craic. May it never change.
I do wonder if he’s ever been put off oranges for fear of his neighbours asking him if he peels it in his pocket. If he ever has scurvy, he’ll probably opt for lemons.
The tight, miserable, Cavan man jokes thrive in these parts, often about the Cavan man and his wife.
Like the Cavan couple that were down in Dublin for the day. They walked around St Stephen’s Green and for a gander through town.
One particular street sparked the attention of the man’s wife. She raved about the smell of food coming out of a particular restaurant. She told him how she’d never smelt anything like it as they walked by.
The Cavan man replies: “Ah sure f*** it, do ya know what? I’ll treat you.”
So they walked past the restaurant again….
Monaghan might reckon they edge the generosity stakes, but Cavan’s comeback is often the roll of honour.
“How many All-Irelands have yous won again?”.
Monaghan folk know we have none. It’s the 1930s since The Farney even made an All-Ireland final.
But they often don’t know or don’t respect the fact their noisy neighbours have five.
I of course am well aware. I can tell you about the breakthrough of 1933 and the famous win in New York’s Polo Grounds in 1947.
You hear these things and you see how much they matter. Then you hear them again, to the point you can nearly recite it yourself, and then you hear it again.
Monaghan folk will probably cover their ears to it for eternity. In fact, the credit given to Cavan success probably means any self-respecting Monaghan fan has stopped reading this by now.
What about the Cavan crew? Well, let’s face it, they’ve been long since frightened off at the thought of having to pay for a subscription.
And to those Breffni men reading this the old fashioned way, you’re supposed to read the paper after you buy it, not before.
May the best man win.