AND MOLLY bloomed.
Yes, they cried. Yes, we will. Yes! She bloomed and suddenly all the world was blue and they danced on The Hill again.
Oh, Sweet Mother of Divine.
YES! Dublin’s painful odyssey is over. There was nothing sweet about that last 16 years, but none of it matters now.
Stephen’s soliloquy closed the chapter on this particular epic.
The Dubs are All-Ireland champions.
Sam Maguire has returned to the capital city.
Words can scarcely describe how much this means. It’s why grizzled aul’ fellas were crying like babies and strangers were kissing at the final whistle.
The banners were hoisted to welcome the return of the Prodigal Sam.
“I’m comin’ home, I’ve done my time.” Barack Obama beamed across the hallowed turf – America’s president and Ireland’s Uncle Sam immortalised on a flag: Is Féidir Linn.
Although, to be more accurate, it was Is Féidir Dubh Linn.
This game couldn’t be beaten for drama and excitement. The aristocrats of Kerry after an astonishing 37th title; the Fancy Dans of Dublin looking for their 23rd trophy.
There is a special romance to Dublin/Kerry finals. There is thrilling history here, and a rivalry and glamour unmatched by any other encounters.
If Dublin was to lift Sam Maguire once more, and the flagging spirits of its indomitable supporters, the best way to do it would be to seal glory with a win over the men of The Kingdom.
Less than a minute to go. Pat Gilroy’s team on the brink. A city holds it breath.
The Hill falls silent. The tension unbearable in Croke Park. One kick stands between Dublin and an incredible victory.
With 15 minutes to go, they looked dead in the water and that familiar date with disappointment seemed their inevitable fate.
“Kerry! Kerry! Kerry!” The chant swelled from the stands.
Four points to the good.
On Hill 16, they kept the faith and sang. But yet again, things seemed to be slipping away. Like the dog that gets used to the passing kick, the fans hoped but didn’t really expect a happy outcome.
The clock wound down in tandem with Dublin expectations. That sick feeling in the pit of the stomach time again.
Then substitute Kevin McManamon scored a magnificent goal. A point from Kevin Nolan followed.
The fans and firecrackers exploded. Holy God. How did we get here? Could it be possible? And we roared and they roared and in the injury-time lung-bursting frenzy of it all the referee signalled a free and Stephen Cluxton was standing out from the Kerry goal – his boot and a ball the only thing between him and All-Ireland glory.
Veteran Cluxton – so much more than a goalkeeper – slowly walked the long walk from his net to take the kick.
Dublin, Kerry and all shades in between watched through splayed fingers. This was pure heart attack territory.
Cluxton, a decade in the hunt for that elusive All-Ireland crown, seized his moment with a cool nonchalance which belied the ferment.
He kicked.
He scored.
What’s the colour of rapture? It’s blue.
The game was over.
Dublin, the underdogs, the senior football champions of Ireland.
It took the hurt of the minor defeat away. If truth be told, fans of all stripes did not begrudge the young men of Tipperary their wonderful win. The vanquished youngsters of Dublin have time on their side.
When that final whistle blew, the flares went off and Hill 16 rejoiced in clouds of blue smoke. Habemus Sam.
Silver streamers burst from the roofs and fell on the jubilant Dubs. The men of Kerry collapsed on the turf, spent.
This was the city’s day. Unbelievably, their day.
Then the affirming voice of Dubliner Phil Lynott blasted over the public address system. “The Boys are Back in Town!” sang Phil and it was time to party.
“We’ve been to hell and back,” said captain Bryan Cullen, before he got on with what Dubliners thought they might never see and hoisted the Sam aloft.
On The Hill, they waited for their heroes to come to them. So many shades of blue to colour the feelings of relief and joy.
The Kerry Gold spread too thinly yesterday, but they know they will be back.
The fans, who travelled far, were magnanimous in defeat. They go back a long way with their Dublin friends.
The bodhráns beat a wild welcome to the boys when they came to show them Sam.
On the sideline, as the players paraded their trophy from stand to stand, a garda watched the celebrations as officials and fans rushed to hug him. They knocked his cap off in their exuberance.
Then the lads reached him and grabbed him, enveloping him in a welter of hugs and kisses.
For it was Paul “Pillar” Caffrey, former Dublin team manager and the man who did much to bring the players to where they are today.
He watched it all with quiet satisfaction, along with many well-known faces from the long journey past. Mickey Whelan was another. All celebrating.
“There won’t be a cow milked or an iPhone nicked in Dublin tonight” crowed one delighted Dub from under his blue and navy Mohican wig.
It was a long time coming. And a nerve-wracking arrival.
In 1995, the last time a Dublin hand lifted the Sam Maguire, it was a different Croke Park and many of the tearful fans who cheered yesterday’s victory were there, full of optimism and youthful expectation.
They were not to know that 16 long years would elapse before they could celebrate again.
They are Darby and Joan now, Who used to be Jack and Jill, The folks who like to be called What they have always been called The folks who live on The Hill.
Singing Cockles and Mussels, Molly bloomed again.
Yes, we cried. Yes, we have.
YES!