Published: Wednesday, 16th June, 2010 5:00pm

All quiet on Breffni front as Cavan go down

by Paul Fitzpatrick

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Supporters filing out of Kingspan Breffni Park shook their heads, wrung their hands and looked for excuses. This time, there were none forthcoming.

A ruddy-faced man in his 50s, discarding his programme, declared it "the worst yet". His companion, a wide-eyed, tousled-haired boy of about ten years, gaped back over his shoulder. He's new to the heartbreak of life as Cavan football supporter but he felt it all the same. Get out, or get used to it, sonny, you felt like saying… Every footballing emotion, of course, is magnified here among the drumlins, a rural quarter of 40 parishes where football is king and, if you look hard enough, you can still make out the ghosts of John Joe and the Gunner and all the rest.

There is nothing like a win here to fill the long days with cheer, as the spontaneous outpouring after the Under 21s' win over Monaghan back in April proved. By the same token, a loss is the bitterest pill.

The only thing worse than the darkness of defeat, though, is when a team goes quietly into that good night. That was the case here, in every sense.

The much-maligned Erne men, who will start next season in Division Four of the National Football League, came to Breffni Park and ransacked the big house without a drop of blood being spilled. The hosts rolled out the red carpet and were profligate enough to more or less hand away the match. "Might as well have made tay for them," as D'Unbelievables put it…

Want a stat to put it all in perspective? The last time Fermanagh beat Cavan in the Ulster Championship, World War One was raging.

The only rage to be seen at Kingspan Breffni Park last Saturday was that of the Fermanagh mentors, who momentarily became apoplectic when what looked a legitimate point was waved wide by the men in white coats. Otherwise, they kept their counsel on the sideline. Across the white line, their players did likewise; they stuck rigidly to the plan and were led by a few on-field generals.

Cavan showed plenty of slick moves early on but as the wides accumulated, it became apparent that they lacked the nerve to go with their ubiquitous verve.

Fermanagh sensed it and the 5,000 or so home supporters did too.

By midway through the second half, the music was dying for the hosts. Cavan kept on dancing but seemed to have forgotten their moves.

Their best laid plans fell asunder and, the big clock ticking and Fermanagh swarming over the breaks like bees on a jam jar, they hit the panic button.

The Erne men kept on bombarding the Cavan square and when Ryan Carson - who, if he didn't mis-hit his left-footed finish, and this writer suspects he did, is surely Newtownbutler's answer to Marco Van Basten - tucked away the goal, that was that. The umpire raised the green flag and Cavan waved the white one.

Thus, the match played out, the Ice Man cometh. Tom Carr strode over to the waiting press pack for the obligatory interview but his lucid responses, in truth, provided more questions than answers.

So, sin é. Whether a run in the qualifiers materialises or not, this season has breathed its last.

The kindest words we can use to describe this Fermanagh side are "more graft than craft". But they have guts and they won and that's all that matters.

As for Cavan - where to start?

• Full coverage pages 26 & 27