Slaughtneil - forever branded on the nations' sporting map

By Steven Doherty

THEY came in their droves. From Tirkane and Tirhugh. From Gortinre and Ranaghan. Fallalea and Corlacky were well represented too. There wasn’t a sinner left in Slaughtneil on St Patrick’s Day. Every man, woman and child had made the pilgrimage to Croke Park to see if David could slay Goliath, to see if Robert Emmet had one last act of defiance in him.

Many went down the night before 'just to be ready'. Many went down early in the morning, at first light, hardly fit to sleep the night before. And a few die-hards had been down since the weekend 'to do the thing right'. Nervous and excited. The 16th man. They dared to dream the impossible.

But we also arrived from further afield to lend our support to the county champions. From nearby Maghera, and not so near by America. From Desertamartin, Ardmore, Glenullin, Derry City, Donegal, Dungiven, Faughanvale, Ballymaguigan and more. Much more. Every club in the county was represented. And Slaughtneil were representing us too.

It may have been a 4 o’clock throw in but the constant wave of maroon and white flowed down Jones Road fully four hours before the game. The warm St Patrick’s air was thick with anticipation and thicker still with the proud, now famous, colours of Slaughtneil.

I met a man from Burren who had gone to every All Ireland Club final for the last 30 years, since his own club won it in 1986. He said there 500 people at Croke Park that day, (and he was fit to park outside the stadium with the hazard lights on.) There was just shy of 30, 000 at Headquarters this year to watch the boul men of Slaughtneil attempt to lift the Andy Merrigan Cup. And there wasn't a section of the stadium that wasn't festooned with maroon and white. The biggest roar of the day, as you might have expected had you witnessed the team run onto the pitch at Portlaoise, was when Francis McEldowney led his troops onto the hallowed Croke Park turf. Champions of Derry. Kings of Ulster.

The great and the good were there too. The legendary Jimmy Magee was there from the crack of dawn, determined not to miss a second of it. Asked if he was supporting the Derry team he quipped, "I'm supporting nobody. I've bother supporting myself these days."

The men of '69 were there too. And the 2004 Derry champions too. Had they been asked to lace up the boots and pull the current side out they wouldn't have hesitated.

Corofin. The mighty Corofin. Champions of Galway and Connaught. Heavy favourites and rightly so after dismantling the might Vincents to make the final. It was going to take a Herculean effort to beat them. Sammy was starting - there was reason for hope. And for 10 minutes the Emmet's had them rattled. Chrissy McKaigue's powerhouse run and giant point promised much. Had referee David Coldrick not bottled the early penalty, who knows?

And in the last throws of the game Patsy was presented with a 50/50 bang smack in the middle of the pitch. The game was lost but in one last act of defiance the big midfielder made the ball his, hurtling into the challenge, putting his head where you would put a shovel. And winning the ball.

For every fairytale ending in sport there are a thousand silent tears. Cormac O'Doherty's anguish struck a note with every person that ever lost anything, never mind a game of football. We felt his pain, we shared his grief. He was our son, our brother. He was hurting and the 16th man hurt too. But he had NOTHING to be ashamed of. He had every reason to be proud.

A bridge too far for the mighty dual club. A season jam packed with high intensity championship matches finally took its toll on the biggest stage of all. Micky Moran's men had to be at their very best to stand a chance but they couldn't reproduce those dizzy heights of Celtic Park, Omagh and Portlaoise. Sometimes the greater glory is in the attempt. On taking people - your own people - on the journey of their lives. A once in a lifetime ride to glory.

Shortly after defeat, John Joe Kearney made the difficult trip from a heart-broken changing room to the press conference. That infectious smile was still there but the disappointment was etched all over his face. The huddled press pack assembled waiting for a soundbite, a headline. I shook his hand and he thanked me. But it was me who should have been thanking him for letting me come along for the ride. What was in essence a sporting wake, John Joe graciously congratulated the winners but ever the competitor he admitted his men fell short of their own high standards. It's men like John Joe Kearney that make you glad to be a Derry man, that make you glad to be a Gael. A leader of men and an inspiration to others. A gentleman and a winner.

As the magnificent Emmet supporters shuffled their way out of the stadium in need of a drink, the bus carrying the beaten soldiers made its long difficult journey home. The game will have been replayed over in their heads a hundred times. ‘What if…?’ Countless ‘keep the head up’ and ‘you’ve done the club proud’ will flood the players’ mobiles but it won’t ease the pain. Time will. And history will never forget these men, the men of 2014. This band of brothers. Inspirational players and managers. History will look kindly on them, and legends will be made that will outlive us all.

Slaughtneil - A modest town land in south Derry, forever branded on the nations' sporting map.

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