THE dust has settled and Galway have taken Liam McCarthy out west. For Joe Canning, the euphoria of a first All-Ireland was clearly visible.
People forget that for the mums and dads out there, these wonderful moments will live forever in the memory.
They say that behind every great man is a great woman. Well, that may be true, but equally you always have a great parent or parents.
This is demonstrated no moreso than in all GAA parishes and communities up and down the country. It is the fabric which has produced some of the greatest club and county teams since this great association came into being.
While we can never agree on team tactics, what went wrong and who was man of the match, what we do agree on is that our games – both hurling and football – have never been as popular or as good, technically speaking.
Last Sunday’s occasion is one of the truly great events in modern Ireland’s calendar.
The more society progresses, the more detached we become is an opinion which seems to sum up our modern pre-occupation with social media and increasing political correctness.
From my perspective, one of the most annoying aspects of this so-called progression of society are the steps the GAA has taken in recent years to conform with these supposed changes in society.
Preventing celebrating fans from any team running onto the hallowed turf of Croke Park was dressed up to look as if the previous hundred years were a huge insurance liability waiting to happen which simply could not be afforded by Headquarters at a time, might I add, when the coffers have never been as full.
A massive Perspex barrier was installed to keep players safe. Or was it to keep fans out?
There is something artificial about a load of celebratory ribbons rocketing out of the stands onto the field. The hi-viz jackets surround the caged masses in the Hogan, Canal and Cusack Stands. No more PLAN B signal.
Some of my earliest memories and some of the best in my childhood involved a run onto Croke Park in 1991 to celebrate that famous Down All-Ireland win.
Afterwards, I dreamed one day of running up the line beneath the Hogan and Cusack Stands with an O’Neills ball playing for the county jersey. I got to reach out and touch heroes like Greg Blaney, DJ Kane and Mickey Linden.
These men were Gods to us.
I remember as a kid heading over to watch Liverpool, a trip my Dad, a teacher in the Abbey Grammar School, organised.
We had a tour of Anfield scheduled for the Saturday. We visited the changing rooms and I was so excited to get to walk on the Anfield turf, hoping to emulate John Barnes’s dribbling and Ian Rush’s finishing at the Kop end.
Much to the disappointment of all concerned, we never got to walk on the field. Cordoned off, we got to come out the tunnel in single file, turn right and walk around another cordoned area and return to the tunnel. The disappointment was heartbreaking.
The gulf between professional soccer players and the fans has grown in line with the huge influx of money into the game.
Similarly, you can no longer get to walk on the hallowed turf of Croke Park as a fan. The day trips will take you into the changing rooms, out of the tunnel and guess what?
You’ll go into a cordoned off area where you will be shuffled to the right and back around all of five metres and into the tunnel again.
As a player who has lost an All-Ireland, I had no issue then or now with Cork fans running on to celebrate with Graham Canty or Michael Shields.
In one of the most disappointing moments of my life, I wanted my mum and dad to come onto the field to console me that day.
They had equally been through the hard yards and difficult times in the previous eight or nine years with Down.
Ever since, I always felt robbed of those immediate few hours after the game. It would be after media duties and a heck of a long journey out to the City West Hotel before I would actually be able to share time with my family.
For winners of an All-Ireland, I can only imagine the same anti-climax of being unable to locate loved ones and those special fans who you have shared unique moments with over the years.
The hopes of the Perspex falling at Hill 16 remain a dream of mine.
Our games have been founded on the ideals of our Irish identity and culture, our sense of community and of amateurism.
They are no more visible than on Sunday when Joe Canning got the All-Ireland medal he deserved and how he sought out his mum and dad in the Hogan Stand to share in this special moment.
Meanwhile, on a much smaller scale, the annual Maurice Fearon Memorial Sevens tournament was held for Over 35s in Ballyholland, with the club’s community and volunteerism at its best.
‘Mo’, as he was known, died from cancer, aged 40, on the day he was supposed to be married.
He had given many great years of service to his club and the tales of his dedication in the following of fashion were amusingly told.
Clubs like The Loup, Cooley, Rostrevor and Carrickcruppen were all formidable opponents. However, in the end, it was my beloved Saval who won the tournament. After I produced the necessary birth certificate, we accepted the cup.
The craic and community emanating from the volunteerism in such an event really makes the GAA what it is.
It is not available in any other sport in the world. It is worth cherishing and the sight of supporters running onto celebrate an All-Ireland final win remains the dream. After all, this is what the GAA is all about.
