BY the time you read this, I will be back from Galway, and the events of this weekend will be but a distant (albeit fond) memory.
Let me preface it by explaining that it’s the first weekend I’ve had off since my birthday in May, so when this August bank holiday rolled around, and I not only had time off, but was going to Sligo to see Leonard Cohen in concert, and then on to Galway, one of my favourite places in the world, for a week... Well, I needn’t tell you I was quite excira and delira.
So yes, the weekend started in the breathtaking grounds of Lissadell House. Being the clever cat that I am, I had managed to get some of the most amazing seats ever, so myself and my family (immediate and some extended), parked ourselves within licking distance of the man himself. (I may have already mentioned our dangerous stalker tendencies in a previous column.)
Many, many hours later (Mr. Cohen played for three-and half glorious hours) and we were making our way back to the car, skins soaked but souls satiated. One overnight stay in Sligo and a full Irish later, and we were hitting the road again. We arrived at our house in Galway in plenty of time. You see, that was the day Kildare played Meath in the All-Ireland quarter-finals.
And yes, we all know the result now, but that afternoon weary from the late night, early morning and long drive we had 70odd minutes of the terrifying unknown stretching out ahead of us.
Before the 4pm start, six of us assembled ourselves in the sitting room, some on the couch, some on chairs, some on the floor. (My brother wisely retreated to his room, where he no doubt locked the door, pressed pillows against his ears and rocked back and forth, trying to block out the madness that he knew would follow.)
And so, with the sound up, the blinds down, and our hearts hardly daring to hope, we huddled around the TV set. What followed was an hour and half of shouts, screams, tears, laughter, whoops, cheers, claps, fist-shaking, hugs, and leaps into the air. On one end of the scale, we had moments of complete silence, when we waited with baited breath; on the other end, we screamed some of the worst language you’ve ever heard.
When it was all over, we let out a triumphant roar that could, no doubt, be heard in the Curragh.
Plans were made to immediately go out and buy white t-shirts for those who hadn’t had the foresight to bring their Kildare jerseys with them. (The shame!) Everyone made a mental note to free up their diaries and/or book time off work for 29 August, when Kildare face Down in the All-Ireland semi-finals.
Enquiries were made about getting tickets, and pacts with the devil were planned in the event that we might glory of glories need tickets to the final.
Soon afterwards, much to our surprise, my brother re-emerged. We had all fully expected to find his window open and a note explaining he couldn’t take it anymore and had run away to join the circus. For a bit of peace and quiet, like.
The following morning, we bought every single Irish publication in the greater Galway area, and then the whole match was watched again online (followed by a re-cap of the Down match, just to see what kind of form they were on). That night, everyone went to bed happy campers (except, perhaps, our newly-deaf neighbours).
All in all, it was a magical weekend in the company of Field Commander Cohen and the heroes that are the Kildare football team. So dust off the banners, unfurl the flags and roll out the white carpet, ‘cause this could be the year Sam Maguire pays our beautiful county a visit. Up the Lilies!