GAELIC GAMES:From Hyde Park yesterday came a glorious shout that was over 30 years in the making. Sligo football teams have played more classical football in the winless years that date back to 1975 but their story has often held a dark and blackly comic edge.
Yesterday, the team in black and white burst their way into a Technicolour triumph. Sligo were about spirit here and that as much as talent and endeavour saw them defeat a Galway team bearing some of the most glittering names of the modern era.
The final score was 1-10 to 0-12: tight, scrappy and every Sligo score weighted with significance. The match was not pretty and not until the great Ja Fallon of Galway whipped a late shot just wide of the graveyard posts did Sligo folks dare to truly believe. It was all over seconds later and they stormed the open plain of Hyde Park. Sligo were champions of all they surveyed. That was all that mattered.
"This hasn't sank in yet at all," croaked the flame-haired corner back Ross Donovan afterwards. "I'd say it will be Wednesday before any of us know what is going on. The boys are shattered more than anything. I am frigged meself. I got harder slaps on the back from meeting bucks coming in that I did in the game. But ah, this is brilliant."
It was a match that belonged to a new generation of Sligo men. Donovan has been wearing the county colours for just three seasons and suddenly joins Mickey Kearins' band of brothers in the exclusive Sligo club of Connacht medal holders.
1975, that distant year of Cortina cars and The Osmonds, means nothing to Sligo kids like Donovan and Johnny Davey. But it is burnt on to the retinas of every young Sligo footballer. Barnes Murphy, the last man to captain Sligo to this title, must have been euphoric to see Noel McGuire lifting the Nestor Cup yesterday.
Murphy is blue in the face taking phone calls to ponder the lonely honour of being Sligo's last victorious captain. Now, he has his life back. Ross Donovan smiled benignly at the thought of Sligo players who came and left through the losing years.
"And a lot of old men in there that collected one as well," he said, nodding towards the dressingroom. "And thank God. They have taken a lot of stick, like, and have nothing to show for it. At least now they can go home and put something up on the mantelpiece."
Galway's stars have no more room on their sideboards for provincial silver. Yesterday it showed. As the maroon team laboured with private demons, the public fascination was concentrated on whether Sligo would stay cool. They made dramatic work of it. Eamon O'Hara, their wonderful leader for the last 10 years, graced the first half with one of his superhero goals but limped off for the last 20 minutes.
In front of a tricky breeze, a series of Sligo men missed frees that would have earned them complimentary pints for life. The crowd groaned. Eamon O'Hara turned cheerleader in heavy strapping.
We half thought Mickey Kearins might hop out through the wire to lob a few over for old times' sakes. Then Michael McNamara landed a huge point from near midfield and then it was a matter of four minutes of injury- time and prayers. It felt like watching a beloved nag, half dead but still galloping towards the finish in the National. It felt like a rare day.
"It felt amazing," O'Hara said simply.
After McGuire lifted the cup, Ja Fallon walked slowly towards the changing room, his child skipping alongside. The Galway man handed his gloves to a young lad in a Sligo jersey. It was a classy epitaph. All around, you could sense history shifting.
