From the archive: Fr Bennie rests easily as Cavan banish their demons

From the Archive: Cavan U21s win in 2011

Paul Fitzpatrick

Published: Wed 14 Apr 2021, 5:42 PM

This article originally appeared in the Anglo-Celt 10 years ago this week after Cavan U21s defeated Tyrone in the Ulster final.

Think of the names, the games, the faces. Not so much a boulevard of broken dreams as the heartbreak super highway.

Think of 2008, the Minor Championship and Packie Leddy soaring in Clones, only for the Red hands and the swaggering Coney to swat their dreams aside.

Think of Jody Clarke and Mickey Graham, Paul McCorry, Mickey Lee, Brendan Neligan, Donal Keogan and many more mentors, managers and maors, and the teams of talented, fresh-faced boys they had to console in the dressing room. How many tears fell between Thurles, 1996 and Enniskillen, 2011?

There was Eamon Coleman in 2005, furrow-browed and bewildered on the sideline alongside half a dozen of his best players, injured, ashen-faced and crestfallen as Down – and not 14-man Cavan - came through an epic U21 final.

Remember too, Drumlane’s Daryl McConnell in 2001, the brilliant centre half-back punching the ground in frustration as Derry minors pilfered a last minute goal. They went on to reach the All-Ireland final. Could’ve been us; should’ve been us.

Remember the minors of 2003, Mickey Lyng and Dermot Sheridan’s team, taking Tyrone to a semi-final replay before stumbling with the finishing line beckoning. Or Keogan’s slick 2005 side, drawing thousands to Crossmaglen on a sultry Sunday evening but somehow, some way letting Down slip by in another replay.

Or last year’s minors, losing to Armagh, or the 2002 U21s, decimated by an almost comic casualty list, scaring the life out of Tyrone.

Or the minors of that year with Johnston, McKeever and Co, or 1998 with Larry et al, or 2009 when the ref did for them against would-be All Ireland semi-finalists Down in the sweltering Athletic Grounds, their best forward, reduced to wearing a bib because of illness, kicking a water bottle in aggravation. How many tears?

Against this backdrop of failure, bad luck stories and breathless, horribly-close defeats, we salute the class of 2011. The hardest thing in sport is to break new ground; after this, whatever happens is inevitable.

Pre-match last Wednesday, you could sense it too. It was one of those warm, sticky nights (“close” as the country phrase says) that you felt could erupt into a deluge any second.

It happened when we least expected it, too, Niall Murray racing superbly on to Niall McDermott’s break and netting after 11 seconds. That goal would prove the winner, not that you’d know it. Cavan went toe to toe, and were backed against the ropes at times, but were never down.

Every so often, the favourites would land a heavy blow but, to quote the boxing writer Budd Schulberg, Cavan “showed that they had skill as well as chin”. And by God did they work.

We had watched Barry Reilly in the extended warm-up, toe-tapping, even heading the ball, and nonchalantly curling over frees. No nerves there, but at the other end, Coney was limbering up, sending them over from 50 metres with the coolness of an assassin; Tyrone were primed.

The Ulster Council, the word has it, printed 750 programmes and didn’t open all of the turnstiles, which we presume was the reason for the eight-minute delay in throwing in the ball. The drawling PA announcer didn’t explain that, just as there was no welcome for the Cavan team to the field. No matter. The supporters, who had arrived early and made up most of the almost 6,000 crowd, made up for it

“Fáilte romhat go foireann Tir Eoghain,” drew a loud cheer but the Red Hand supporters were outnumbered by two or three to one. This meant more to Cavan, plain and simple.

They got the luck at times, but again, not at others (anyone remember Murray’s shot which struck both uprights and the crossbar before cradling in the arms of the grateful Tyrone ‘keeper?) but what won it for Cavan was their belief. There was no panic; they matched Tyrone’s work-rate and then some, and when that was done, they let their boots do the talking.

The game hinged on a few incidents - a handful of snapshots adorn the collection of this supporter in any case.

Barkey, the firebrand who brought cold-hearted steel to the half-back line, eyed up his prey in the dying seconds and cut Tyrone’s Diarmuid McNulty down with the sort of collision that usually registers a sonic boom. Online the following day, Jerome Quinn’s video proved to the doubters in red and white that the hit was a legal one.

On the pitch after, war whoops gone quiet, backs slapped and crowd gone home, Oisin Minagh’s father Paddy said that Barkey’s bang was the winning of the match. Maybe it was, too; Cavan, it said, were not taking a step back.

(Paddy was joined on the field at the end by well-known ref MG Brady, whose son Michael played a huge role, and JJ and Paddy Reilly, whose five Cavan Gaels clubmates were key to the success - this was a family affair).

There were other moments as well. Gearoid McKiernan was central to most of them, literally; his performance was extraordinary. Barry Reilly’s free from the sideline raised the roof, while Paddy King – whose bloodline can be traced without much difficulty back to Cavan’s last Ulster win – showed poise that was incredible.

Minagh rose like a salmon and broke the ball from Mattie Donnelly at one stage in an act of defiance, too.

The guttural roar which greeted Jack Brady’s last point will never be forgotten by those who heard it. The modest Ramor man, whose jinking runs and energetic, honest style will make him a favourite for years, wheeled away and punched the air. The Breffni supporters knew this was their night; crucially, the Tyrone ones knew it too. Their side had walked into a haymaker, and it had just landed.

After an eternity, the long whistle sounded, almost seven minutes into injury time. Cue bedlam.

Corner-back Darragh Tighe celebrated like a madman, and it said it all. Only after suffocating tension can there follow such an outbreak of spontaneous celebration. How rare and uplifting it is to see it.

Fans flooded the field to pay their respects, not filing one by one like on so many funereal Cavan occasions, but as one, to celebrate. Tears stained cheeks again, just like after the county final last October. Implausible, astounding scenes.

McKiernan – a man who will soon have a statue in his honour in his native Swad, judging by the welcome received on the way home – waded through the crowd to the stand where the Irish News Cup gleamed. Drumgoon man Aogán Ó Feraghail did likewise, handing over the canister in his capacity as Uachtaráin of the Ulster Council.

Alan O’Mara, goalkeeper and journalism student who, when he’s not minding goal, spends his weekends attending matches for this newspaper, raced from his nets to join the masses in celebration.

Halfway there, he remembered his €100 worth of gear in the goalmouth; by the time he scrambled back, he had to fight his way through the mob to reach his comrades before the presentation.

Thus, the battle over, the spoils of war claimed, the press pack descended. Anthony Forde, hoarse from shouting, beamed with pride, while Ronan Carolan assured us that “this team will change Cavan football”.

Manager Terry Hyland, ebullient as ever, stood along the sideline waiting to be interviewed for TV, game faces, by this stage, removed.

“You’re not on the telly – you shouldn’t even be on the ‘effin’ radio!” shouted a nameless passer-by, smiling broadly as Terry awaited the countdown from the BBC’s Austin O’Callaghan.

Hyland didn’t blink: “Well you’ve a face for radio!”

The Lacken man’s opposite number, Raymond Munroe, was magnanimous in defeat, praising the winners and urging them to go on and lift the All-Ireland.

That was the plan, too; you could sense it. The players stopped in Swanlinbar and then on to the Slieve Russell swimming pool for a recovery session. Eyes quickly turned to the next battle, the next challenge, the next win.

Last word on the evening went to our first All-Star Ollie Brady, supping a pint in the bar at Brewster Park after the game.

“Fr Bennie would’ve enjoyed this,” intoned ‘Texas’ raising his glass, to the late Fr Maguire, trainer of his 1972 Hogan Cup team and laid to rest that very morning, and to Cavan football.

Fitting. What a night.