SIDELINE CUTWHAT A week. In Geneva, the science boffins of the world have gathered to see what happens when finer and finer particles are smashed together and if that would result in the universe getting sucked down a black hole. For conclusive proof, they could have saved the billions of dollars and simply attended last week's hurling final at Croke Park.
A week after this year's All-Ireland final and the full implications of what the Cats did - in full view and in broad daylight - are still sinking in and the general mood seems torn between celebrating the mastery as evinced by this Kilkenny team and fretting about the darker consequences for the fabled game in the years to come. Should Kilkenny be feted as the greatest show in the history of the GAA or could the black-and-amber men overwhelm the very game that is their lifeblood?
There was, understandably, a slightly defensive note in the voice of GAA president Nickey Brennan when he declared he would "make no apologies" for lauding the staggeringly high quality of sustained hurling with which Kilkenny claimed the elusive three-in-a-row. Nor should he. It is a happy coincidence that Brennan's ascension to the hot seat of GAA administration coincided with the latest and, the hurling historians seem to agree, richest form of Kilkenny dominance.
As a former player and coach, it is natural Brennan should enjoy his county's success but as GAA president, he has had to preside over the general grumbling that the ferocious well-being of hurling in Kilkenny has inadvertently become detrimental to the development of the game elsewhere. Hurling people had become accustomed and even accepting of the sight of Brian Cody's teams putting up huge scores in the Leinster championship in businesslike fashion and bemoaning Leinster as the sick man of hurling. Then came last year's All-Ireland final and the lamentable sight of Kilkenny removing Limerick from the equation with a haste that seemed almost rude.
But we had seen nothing yet. Last Sunday's performance had in it something of the naked fury of the boxing ring. Every form of weakness was ruthlessly exploited. It was clear after 15 minutes there would be no contest, in the traditional sense. Instead, the Waterford players and their thousands of fans were in for an afternoon of wounding disappointment. It also meant the national support for Waterford evaporated to be replaced by sympathy and growing horror at their predicament.
The All-Ireland final was flipped into a new dimension. It was there to be enjoyed for the aesthetic pleasure of the Kilkenny game, where individual power and artistry was in perfect harmony with the overall team ethic. And with that came the darker pleasure of watching to see just what happens when one team is utterly overwhelmed by another, when one team finds that it has been psychologically colonised by its opponents. The words of an old Lakota Sioux seemed appropriate as Kilkenny spread terror through the Waterford ranks around 20 minutes into the match.
Asked how long the Battle of the Little Bighorn had lasted, Chief Gall replied: "About as long as it takes for a hungry man to eat his dinner." In between the ceaseless splendour and conviction of the Kilkenny points, there was just about time to consider the personalities involved in the drama. After 35 minutes of hurling, the aura surrounding Brian Cody deepened.
The more Cody gently insists there is no secret to what he has done with Kilkenny, that it is all about hard work, good players and ambition, the more secretive it all seems.
Everything now points to a sustained period of Kilkenny dominance. This team is entering its prime. Between the substitutes last week and those coming through from the under-21 ranks, there are probably 10 other black-and-amber men who get their place on any other county team in the country. Cody's deathless enthusiasm for turning out teams obsessed with bettering their own achievements will mean there is no danger of the Cats becoming complacent. And with the under-21s in line to make it a sweep of four All-Irelands tomorrow, then the arguments for Kilkenny completing the GAA's first five-in-a-row seem sound. That brings about further dilemmas.
Who in their right mind would want to face Kilkenny in an All-Ireland final just now? Who would want to stand where Davy Fitzgerald stood last Sunday? The fiery Sixmilebridge man was all alone and perfectly helpless to do anything about the merciless speed with which Kilkenny found the Waterford weak spots and stopped the machine until there was no pulse.
Davy Fitz has burnt bridges down the years and he has his detractors but there was something to be admired in the flame of defiance he showed last Sunday evening. It must have been tempting to don a disguise - like poor Floyd Patterson did after he was pulverised by Sonny Liston - and slip away into the Dublin evening incognito. But Davy chose the firing squad and, like Walter Mitty, he said to hell with the handkerchief. And there was, surely, something of a challenge in his insistence that nothing is surer in life but that Kilkenny will be beaten.
It seemed like a bold remark for a man who had just seen his team lose by 3-30 to 1-13. And yet Fitzgerald was right to make it. A general capitulation to the superiority of Kilkenny will do nobody any good. The managers of the other contending counties have to at least think this way. Even though the usual mood of autumn unrest and managerial heaves is in full swing in Galway, the Tribesman may well be the best placed to disrupt this Kilkenny dynasty. For all the maddening inconsistency of the maroon game, they have the propensity, like the Joker of big screen notoriety, to bring chaos to the world.
Because Galway are so wildly unpredictable, they are hard to plan against: it is no coincidence that they pulled the plug on this Kilkenny machine twice in the decade to date. And now, they have Joe Canning.
But before any team even considers trying to hurl against Kilkenny, they are going to have to learn to think like them. It was the aggression and the intensity of Kilkenny that seemed to impress and scare most hurling men afterwards. The good news is that aggression and intensity are qualities that even limited teams can match.
When Henry Shefflin fired over that wonderful point after five minutes, he swung his fist in determination. That sent out a message. When a character as strong-willed as Shefflin displays his mood and intention so openly, opposition players take notice. When Eddie Brennan neatly fired his first goal, his exhortations to the sky also sent out a message. It sent out the screaming declaration that Kilkenny had no doubts, that Waterford could do nothing; that this was a done deal.
Brennan's assassin's goals may have broken the Waterford belief-system but the killer moment, surely, had already come after 16 minutes. Brennan had casually fired a brilliant point and from the puck-out, Shefflin tapped the ball down and played a perfect ball to Derek Lyng, who sent another point whistling over. You can imagine the voices in Waterford heads at this point, 0-9 to 0-3 down and that growing awareness of pressure, pressure, pressure, of a black-and-amber torrent coming at them. Five minutes later, Kilkenny were out of sight. And that fear, the fear of being blown into obscurity, is the first thing teams will have to erase before they can contemplate actually beating Kilkenny next year.
The contenders have a winter to prepare for a struggle that has as much to do with mental strength as physical power. Only then can they even begin to think of competing with Kilkenny in the matter of hurling.
So the others need to get their heads around this fast. Either that or they better introduce a motion at GAA congress that the Large Hadron Collider be permitted to enter the Leinster hurling championship.
" Because Galway are so wildly unpredictable, they are hard to plan against: it is no coincidence that they pulled the plug on this Kilkenny machine twice in the decade to date. And now, they have Joe Canning
