An Irishman's Diary

Dear God, I forgive you everything. The famine in Sudan, Hurricane Georges, Linda Tripp, Cork. None of them has anything to do with you. I know that now. And how could I ever have thought so? There is no way a God such as you and one who played such a stormer for Galway in the All-Ireland last Sunday could have had any responsibility for disasters like those.

Anyhow, I thought I should say how grateful I am. I always remember how warmly you spoke about that man in the parable who came back to say thanks - the only one out of nine. When I was young I was so touched by that story it inspired me to an epidemic of gratitude. People eventually got sick of it. It's hard to believe, but people can get fed up of being thanked. They began to think I was touched in a different way. One man threatened to murder me if I said "thank you" to him again. So I stopped. I gave it up for years.

And I'm sorry for not speaking to you for so long. Of course it wasn't your fault that Roscommon lost the Connacht final again this year. Or that Mayo should have lost three All-Ireland's since 1996. Or that Leitrim seemed about to do the impossible if only they had a hint of divine assistance. Or that Sligo might at last escape the Devil's clutches and make it out of Connacht. Poor Sligo.

God's own people

But it is so, so good that you have discovered us again. I mean, everyone knows that God's own people live west of the Shannon, and that Connacht was the first place you created on earth that first day. We all know the original Garden of Eden was just outside Ballaghaderreen and that Adam came from Cloontia. Eve, they say, was a Towey from Brackloon. Of course we also know that when they were banished they were sent to Cork. Terrible thing to do to decent people for eating an apple.

But we shouldn't be too hard on Cork either. In your infinite wisdom you sent us John O'Mahony's people from there, once more confounding the wise. Then, of course, they used to say that nothing good ever came out of Nazareth. And thank you for John O'Mahony. You know, and this is a joke, if there was an election for office as the Divinity in Connacht tomorrow morning, he would win it hands down. What he has done is resurrect our province. He has given us self-belief. He has shown us that we can do it, that just because we are from Connacht does not mean we have to die in Croke Park on the big day.

Like Roscommon did in 1980. Oh God, such agony. How you could have favoured Kerry so much and they with two consecutive All-Irelands under their belts already by then left me as perplexed as does the problem of suffering. My father, in his more philosophical moments, is given to muttering: "Life's a puzzle", while simultaneously shaking his head from side to side. Like you, my father is something of a mystery to me but in 1980, as we left the Canal End, I felt I might at last have an insight into the labyrinthine ways of his mind and what he meant by that puzzling phrase.

In the wilderness

We fell out then too, you and I. Remember? I thought you had abandoned us entirely. We've been wandering in the wilderness ever since. But now, after 32 years, that gallant young Galway team and John O'Mahony, we realise we are up there with the best. We are the best.

It reminds me about a link between Johnno and that Galway team which won the last All-Ireland for Connacht 32 years ago. When he was a student in Galway in the 1970s, Johnno stayed in the same house as Mick Reynolds. Mick was another Ballaghaderreen man who played no small part in bringing glory to Galway. He was on the county's All-Ireland teams of 1965/66.

In fact the last man to bring the Sam Maguire to Ballaghaderreen was Mick Reynolds. I remember it well. My wee brother was just a few months old and we put him in Sam for a photograph. Major mistake. It's why we call him the "wee" brother. Sam has never been back since. In more innocent days I used to wonder if my brother's contribution had anything to do with it. But sure you know all this already.

I have a few worries, however. There's the Earleys. Grand fellas, great footballers. Dermot Earley Snr was probably one of the greatest footballers of his generation never to receive an All-Ireland medal. Along with his brother Peter, both from Lisacul outside Ballaghaderreen, he played for Roscommon for years. There they were last Sunday after the match posing for family pictures on the pitch in Croke Park as all of Galway was losing its head around them. And I thought: how sad.

Charlie McCreevy

I mean there's Dermot Earley Jnr now, a fine young footballer. It'd be a shame to see such talent unrewarded in another generation, don't you agree? And Kildare are going to find it very hard to get out of Leinster again. So, you wouldn't ever think of dropping a hint in young Dermot's ear about playing for Roscommon - his father's and uncle's county - would you? Just a thought. But as in all things, Thy will be done.

Then there's Charlie McCreevy. What a blow last Sunday's defeat must be to him. Not just the sex bit either. I mean, here we had Ireland's first million pound team beaten by a bunch of gosoons from Galway. It's not good for the morale of a Minister for Finance to have the point driven home so cruelly that there are just some things money can't buy. And I don't believe all those stories about him buying up half the tickets in the Hogan stand so his friends could witness a famous victory. Though I have to admit that where I was sitting in that stand there was just one other Galway supporter besides myself, blessed among all those Lilywhites.

And please make sure he doesn't take revenge on us by opposing the current attempts to retain EU Objective One Status for "our poor benighted counties" in the west, where the average income is so far below that of Kildare. .

But, bottom line, it's good to be back on close terms again. And this time let us try to make sure it stays that way.