Rivalry at its best in Moy kind of town

Pól Ó Muirí visits Moy on the Armagh/Tyrone border, where friendly banter abounds ahead of Sunday.

It's that most familiar of Northern lullabies - a small village and a rural community divided against itself on a matter of utmost importance. But it's not politics; it's peil.

Moy, a village on the Armagh/Tyrone border is getting to grips with the realities of local rivalry on the biggest stage of them all - an All-Ireland. (Indeed, even the village name is contentious. The road signs speak of Moy while the locals invariably opt for The Moy, harking back to the name's Irish origins: an Mhaigh; the Plain.) The village is situated in Tyrone proper and sits on the River Blackwater, the county border between the reigning National League champions, Tyrone, and the All-Ireland holders, Armagh. The river, however, is no barrier to blow-ins and while there are many who fervently hope for a Tyrone victory on Sunday, there are many who are looking forward to back-to-back titles for Armagh.

The competing bunting is not the most incongruous sight, rather it's the rather forlorn war memorial in the village square - a lone bugler, grey and solemn - surrounded by red, white and orange and, bizarrely, a black taxi of Falls Road fame in Tyrone colours which bears the promise (or is it the plea?): Taxi for Maguire.

Famed in days gone by for its horse fairs - Moy supplied the armies of continental Europe with steeds - the village is also a corner of Italy forever in Ulster.

A local landowner, the Earl of Charlemont, passed through Marengo in the middle of the 18th century and was so captivated by it that he modelled the settlement after it. And while Marengo became the scene of one of Napoleon's greatest battles, hostilities in the Moy are much more muted.

BBC Radio Ulster's weekly magazine programme, Karen na hAoine, had taken up residence in the Auction Rooms, a local bar, the night The Irish Times visited. The owner's son, Philip Jordan, is on the Tyrone senior panel and the show's producer, Lynette Fay and its presenter, Karen Gallagher, both Tyrone women, are comfortable in their surroundings.

Things are not quite as straightforward for Lynette at home. Her mother Brenda is an Armagh woman who went to school in The Moy and proudly wears her native county's colours during the broadcast.

The past year, Lynette freely admits, has been a long one with her mother frequently reminding her of Armagh's victory. Her father Raymond, a Tyrone man, has had an equally long year, having been sent to the top of a pole to put up an Armagh flag during last season's campaign.

Brenda concedes reluctantly that she let him hang two this year: "I have to hold my own against these Tyrone ones."

Lynette's hopes are high for a Tyrone victory: "The excitement is greater this year than 1995 or 1996. This is the A-Team and Mickey Harte's plan will come together."

Both are dismissive of the suggestions that the final will be a nasty affair: "It won't be vicious," says Lynette, "I hope it'll be a great game of football that people will talk about for years to come. But, whatever happens, we're all Northerners and Sam is coming North again."

"May the best team win," says Brenda who adds mischievously: "and Armagh are the best team." Her praise of Joe Kernan's efforts is interrupted by a man who says: "When you win it five times, you're the best team."

He's from Down and is happy to remind both sets of supporters who the real aristocrats of Ulster are.

Tickets are the first issue that Dermot MacNeice raises: "You don't have any?" he asks, more in hope that expectation. He manages his mother's bar, Tomney's, in the Square and Armagh's colours are flying. He's a member of An Port Mór GAC across the Blackwater in Armagh but has also joined a club in Moy in the search for the elusive ticket.

There were 33,000 people at Clones last year for the game between Tyrone and Armagh in the Ulster championship, and both counties could fill Croke Park with ease, he says.

Some families are divided down the middle due to marriage but "people are great. There is a lot of slagging and banter but no one pushes it." He's hoping for an Armagh win but would not "begrudge Tyrone a victory, though I wouldn't be happy about it," he quickly adds.

It's a sentiment that his father, Larry, echoes. He played minor and senior football for Armagh in the 1970s: "Tyrone must win an All-Ireland but not until 2005." He's looking forward to three-in-the-row and predicts that, while the game will be tight, Armagh's experience will see them through.

The battle lines are clear: for Armagh's supporters, Tyrone have all the swagger of Texas but no trophy (no, they're not counting National League titles) and for Tyrone's followers, Armagh are uppity minions who were lucky once but who are about to find out how football should be played.

Like many arguments in the North, it has an international dimension. The prize-winning poet, Paul Muldoon, is The Moy's most famous literary son. Now teaching at Princeton University in the United States, when asked via email who he'll be cheering for, he says: "It's going to be very hard for me, since my parents were both from Tyrone but I was brought up in Armagh. I fear I'll have to cheer on Armagh, though, since Armagh did accept us as blow-ins."

The message from both sets of supporters is clear: "Go on; Moy my day."