Antrim Poised, Binlids Ready
Talking Balls 2 Comments »
Sometimes you wake up in a cold sweat and realize that what seemed to be real was just been a dream. Or was it? This week Antrim Gaels will dare to dream of what might be down in Clones. You can see it, can’t you. Every shade of saffron, from Gerry Adams to Alisdair McDonnell, to Billy Hutchinson to Nelson McCausland, all sitting in the VIP area with Danny Murphy and the boys. Well maybe not Nelson, you’d have more chance of seeing Nelson Mandela at an Ulster Final than that fool.
There’ll be busloads from the City, pouring out of the social clubs down to Clones. Once in a lifetime trip. And if they should win? We dreamt there were cavalcades of black taxis up the Falls, the Whiterock and down round the Short Strand. Ardoyne a saffron haven – even up the Shankill in a rare moment of solidarity the Orangemen relit their bonfires from the Twelfth. There were Saffron banners streaming from the City Hall, a massive sign saying ‘Baker Says Yes!’ The wee wimmin of Belfast were digging out their binlids from under beds, attics, behind sheds – no-one ever considered the impact of wheelie bins on the binlids of West Belfast – a strident, bangin’ tin cacophony of support for the men inside the wire in Clones.
But sure Antrim doesn’t begin and end in Belfast. We dreamt a man walked into Sambo’s pub in Cushendall and said ‘Antrim have won the Ulster Championship.’ The assembled looked blankly away and carried on with their pints, half an eye on the hurling on the telly. ‘I know, sure we won it two weeks ago,’ muttered a one eyed hurler with eight and a half fingers. Fudball in these parts? More chance of seeing Nelson McCausland play midfield for Loughgiel Camogs.
Over in Bushmills, a young fella who was his own grandfather and his sister was his aunt, such is the convoluted and prolific nature of reproductive activity in that strange wee town, cracked open a bottle of Antrim’s finest and headed down to Armoy. The Armada with Joey, Franky and Mervyn used to sail from there in their hurley tee shirts, but he knew there was one oul lad in the rugby club had a strange fondness for Irish football. Sure enough yer man had been at Clones, the only Armoy man there. No-one could understand him in Clones mind, he would have needed someone from Dunloy to translate. It was rumoured that Davy Tweed, the most bigoted man ever to play rugby for Ireland had been at the match, but it turned out he was visiting an ancient relative and member of Clontibret LOL.
Across Antrim, the optimists from Rasharkin, the eel fishermen down in Portglenone, the Under twelves from up in Aldergrove, Lamh Dearg men, torn by the name on their club but Antrim to the core; Johnnies, Gort na Mona men; the Shinners, the Stickies, you name it, they were all in Clones.
Then we woke up cornflake faced. Still, you never know!
July 17th, 2009 at 11:14 am
Thanks for a laugh when a laugh was needed!! From a Dunloy woman living in Donegal who works in Tyrone, how’s that for hedging your bets and incidentally I have experience in translating for Armoy men if there’s a job going
July 17th, 2009 at 11:49 am
I would just like to wish Antrim all the best for the final. No doubt it would be fantastic for the county and GAA in general if Antrim could overcome Tyrone. I think its highly unlikely but you never know……….