No inch given as Diarmuid Connolly and Lee Keegan lock horns

The fear or hope, depending on your perspective, was that yin would get yang sent off again. Lee Keegan certainly tried. Same head-locking, same jersey tearing. Different result. Or no result at all.

They became a sideshow really, Keegan and Diarmuid Connolly, until a golden opportunity fell from the sky. Connolly’s all so nearly winning point happened at the end of normal time when of course there was plenty of time remaining.

This subplot began much earlier. Connolly went straight to centre forward. Keegan swam beside him like any fearless remora.

From throw-in he tracked Connolly to the wing where, for the most part, they silently wandered in and out of this fractious All-Ireland final.

With a minute and change clocked, Connolly caught a diagonal ball overhead just as Keegan slipped on the grease. An uncharacteristically poor foot pass by the St Vincent’s power forward granted his marker a reprieve.

Keegan’s first possession saw the tables reversed as Connolly brutally and accurately punched the ball from his grasp.

A major flash point in this game seemed to come on six minutes as Connolly crumbled to earth clutching his groin in agony. He rose and after some tender strides caught a reprieve of his own.

Keegan wasn’t long initiating his usual antics. As play whizzed past, leading to Kevin McLoughlin’s own goal, the pair of them could be seen rolling around in a violent embrace. The first swing out of Connolly’s neck was helicoptered away by powerful and, importantly, out-stretched arms. The second gave Connolly no option but to go down with Keegan.

Nothing came of it because nobody highlighted the incident. Connolly was livid but recovered sufficiently spray a gorgeous ball into Bernard Brogan leading to the Brian Fenton goal chance. Keegan responded with a raid forward that prompted Michael Darragh MacAuley to hack him. Cillian O’Connor pointed the free. No yellow card though.

Connolly produced another powerful dispossession, this time on Donal Vaughan and later on Keith Higgins.

He also tried to tear Mayo apart all by himself. Keegan was dummied and discarded but Seamie O'Shea made a brilliant block to deny air time for a spread-eagled left-foot shot.

Connolly was as much defender as creator on this day but his class could not be denied. A quickly taken laser-free found Dean Rock. Rock fumbled the ball but Colm Boyle poked in a second own goal.

Connolly then got ticked for scragging the neck of a Mayo man. No yellow card though. Keegan had yet to be caught in the act of boldness.

He even joined the Mayo revival after half-time but Connolly, great white now following his parasite, applied enough pressure to see Keegan’s shot sail wide.

It took 47 minutes for their old relationship to truly spark into life. Connolly, finally running into space with the ball, was met by Keegan. Possession got shipped on but Keegan kept on mauling. The Dubliner looked to Conor Lane for something, anything. He got nothing.

In the viciously physical finale, Connolly emptied Boyle but Vaughan returned the favour.

This energy sapping middle distance duel, this Gaelic love affair, eventually saw them wander towards square’s edge. They initially seemed to be taking a breather but roars from Hill 16 brought all eyes back on the odd couple. No blood but Connolly’s jersey had been stretched into an overly pronounced V-neck that only Paul Galvin could pull off about town.

Lane must journey all the way down field to whisper with his umpires.

They offer a different version of what the Hill swears to be true.

Lee wouldn’t let go of Diarmuid’s jersey, not even after some face pinching, so Connolly empties him to the grass and lands a few pucks.

Lee still refuses to let go. Doesn’t know how to.

Yellow cards all round. Keegan is astonished, Connolly’s face just resigned disgust.

“There was nothing, to be honest,” said Keegan after. “The two of us both just want to do whatever we can to win a game. I wouldn’t think too much about it.”

An avalanche of football finally followed. Alan Dillon stole a score to level matters. John Small showed us all there is point scoring to go with constant carrying. Dean Rock somehow rediscovered his mojo.

David Clarke's kick out sailed into the grey. Here is when Connolly seemed to win it for Dublin as the ball bounced off his back. He turned and blasted the score that made it a three point game.

But Dublin lacked the intent to deliver victory in this All-Ireland final. They tried to methodically strangle time. Seven minutes is an awfully long stretch to kill with Cillian O’Connor playing like a Mayo immortal.

Seconds before O’Connor secured the replay, Connolly tried to nail a sideline. Fearless, or maybe such breaks in play prove his only relief from the relentless Lee.

That was the way of this game. Nothingness prevailed. They must meet again.