By Pete McGrath
THE PHONE call comes from RTE on Tuesday morning. They want me to co-commentate with Micheal (there's only one Micheal) on Saturday night up in Ballybofey. Donegal versus Galway. Should be a good game but it is a long way from home. Still, it is another opportunity to work alongside the master and keeps my hand in if the 'national broadcaster' is looking for 'expert' analysis during the heat of the championship summer.
So I leave home at 3.30pm on the Saturday afternoon along with my nephew, Peter, to pick up the shotgun rider in Warrenpoint, Tommy McGivern and we head off for the northwest beneath an ashen sky which has the promise of wind and rain written all over it.
As we drive past Pairc Esler on the outskirts of Newry the conversation turns to Down's prospects that evening against Longford. The general consensus is that the visitors will be stubborn and highly competitive but that home advantage allied to the expected return of Benny Coulter to the starting fifteen, should edge the outcome in Down's favour. Going through Armagh city we are surprised to see huge floodlight pillars towering over the Athletic Grounds, once the Mecca for the Orchard County's footballing fraternity.
Indeed for a long time during the years pre- dating the county's rise to All- Ireland glory and pre-eminence, this particular venue was a genuine fortress, particularly in the National League. Many very highly rated opponents came away licking their wounds and thinking that the home county would be a real threat in the up-coming Ulster Championship. Of course for many painful years that never materialised until the two Brians and a fellow called McGeeney came on the scene.
Soon we are on the outskirts of Omagh and we say it will not be long until Down are making the journey to Healy Park in early June to face the Red Hands in the white heat of the championship. Tommy demurs and says that the really sharp cutting edge and high drama of the championship has been eroded with the qualifier system. At any rate, Omagh in the early June will be a place only for those of a sound and sterling disposition.
Tommy is determined to avoid going through Strabane and in the thickening gloom has young Peter and myself scanning the left hand side of the road for a turning that will take us through the hamlet of Claudy. We find a sign post and I make a sharp turn and am immediately confronted with a "Road Closed" notice to which we pay no heed whatsoever. Next things we are off over ramps, into dips and over a surface that does the tyres and suspension no good at all. It's a real Top Gear obstacle course, but we are soon back on the main road, passing through Castlefinn and in no time at all we are parking-up behind the terracing in MacCumhaill Park.
It is ten to six, plenty of time so we go into the little social club at the ground where on match days you will always be sure of at least three things- a welcome, a really good cup of tea and the man himself, Micheal O Muircheartaigh, yarning away with the locals. Of course Micheal is mightily relieved to see me as he is fully aware of the invaluable contribution that I will make to the overall package whenever the action unfolds a little later on.
He says the pitch is quite heavy but that there is no doubt that the match will go ahead and indeed we are soon joined by match referee Aidan McGlynn who confirms what Micheal has just said. Young Peter, Tommy and myself are treated to wholesome ham and salad sandwiches as Micheal goes off to scour the dressing rooms in search of team news and I shout after him that I will join him at about ten to seven in the commentary box.
Just prior to throw-in I meet Pauric McShea , an iconic Donegal defender from the 1970s and he makes the point that this would certainly have the potential for a classic encounter if we were in the month of August rather than a rather wild, rainy evening in March.
Before you know it the game has started and we are live on air. Micheal has set the scene in his own inimitable manner referring to the famous Finn River which flows behind the goals away from the town end of the ground and also to the fact that the showband legend of the sixties of 'Hucklebuck' fame, Brendan Bowyer, is performing later that evening at Jackson's Hotel.
As the game warms up and Galway ease into an effortless four point lead, Micheal occasionally turns to me for an embellishment of what he has already described or else to comment. He talks about the Ireland rugby team putting unanswered scores on the board early on in their game against England and look what happened to them – prophetic words indeed.
The game turns out to be a very entertaining and at times, high quality affair with both teams producing patches of highly skilful and committed football which I think augurs well for both their prospects later in the year.
Nevertheless whatever Donegal do in this year's league I doubt it will lead to any inflated opinions of their real worth. For me personally the highlights of the game (apart from my own performance with Micheal) were two superb points, real gems. One was scored by Micheal Meehan in the first half and one by Rory Kavanagh in the second half.
When the game ended and Micheal and I had gone off the air I had time to catch up on the final scores from all the evening's other matches. Down, as Tommy, Peter Jnr and myself anticipated, won a hard fought match in Newry. Rather ominously for Mourne supporters, Championship opponents Tyrone had recorded their first league victory by defeating Laois and, even more significantly, Brian McGuigan made his long awaited return to county action. I know I would be reflecting the sentiments of all Down supporters when I say that it is really great to see such a talented and determined young man back playing the game that he loves so much again.
Finally it is time for Micheal and myself to bid each other farewell. He is covering the Mayo- Kerry game the next day and he will spend the night in Sligo where he will, no doubt, converse with the locals and tell them things they never knew about their locality and their football team. But for myself and my intrepid fellow-travellers, it is now half nine on a cold, wet windy Saturday night in Ballybofey and we have many miles to go before rest our weary head. Is this the GAA's version of Saturday night fever? Maybe that's a question for the fans who called into Jackson's after the match.
