Got to Croke Park yesterday with friends for the Gaelic Fussball. As an Armagh blow-in who has worn the orange in – cough, cough, cough – Masters’ handball, I was looking forward to the Division 2 championship game between Armagh and Down. In truth, it was an odd one. Had Armagh played tighter they could have won by a lot more than two points. Down, apart from flashes, seemed a bit flat to me.

Anyway, goodness knows where this leaves the Ulster Championship. Antrim must be deflated after their loss to Sligo; Tyrone are relegated from Division 1 (though the Tyrone ones I know don’t seem too bothered); Down, who are on the up, are tangoed by Armagh who are good but still have problems; Donegal and Derry are, well, Donegal and Derry and could win by a mile or lose by a kilometer; Monaghan are hammering away; Fermanagh are floating away and Cavan, well, Cavan still wear blue jerseys. 

Of course, being good Northerners and being afraid of turning into pumpkins were we to stay south of Newry too long, me and my entourage did not stay for the Cork-Mayo game reckoning, correctly, that it was going to be a stinker. As we were heading up towards Dundalk, a flash of lighting lit up south-east Ulster. Whether it was a sign of Armagheddon to come or the footballing gods of Down reminding their followers of that victory 50 years ago, I do not know. Neosfaidh an aimsir.