Tuesday, October 10, 2006

It was a feeling that I didn't recognise.

My brother Jim has often said that if you come from Mohill, in Leitrim, in Connacht, in Ireland and you support Spurs... well, you soon learn to handle defeat. He was right, dead right. And then came last Sunday.

Cloone pitch. The forecast was wrong. A beautiful October Sunday. The 2006 Leitrim Senior County Final; Mohill versus St Mary's of Carrick.

In fact, for the first seventeen minutes, it was St. Mary's playing no-one. Mohill didn't register a score as Carrick hit 1-4.

We finally got going but it always felt like it was gonna be too little too late. Ten minutes to go or so and we were five points behind. Carrick's defence seemed to be impassable. We needed a goal.

We didn't get it.

Instead we hit six straight, damn near righteous points to no reply. The equaliser was greeted with a roar from my gut. The winner was near fatal and the final whistle...? I can't describe it. Relief? Joy? More like rapture. I dropped to my knees and cried.


Mohill 0-13, St. Mary's 1-9

My home town is a town of champions. The best in the county. Karl said he never saw Mohill play so well. Patrick said he saw tears in George Dugdale's eyes. As for me; I didn't get to see it. Unbelievable. History was made without me.

But what does it matter? I'll always have that memory of Shannonside and me screaming at the radio and then Trish holding me as I tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.

So here's to the Mohillians; we're heroes again.

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