County final day throws up memorable storylines as Stars toast memorable win

Cavanman's Diary

There is something extraordinary and faintly surreal about these big football occasions and the hold they have on people. Everyone meanders along in their own way until, for this couple of hours, they come together like thousands of tributaries, forming a powerful torrent which, on the most dramatic days, can sweep all before it.

I love to observe it – even if the game is bad or the weather deplorable or the band out of tune or the tea cold, the county final usually throws up something worth seeing, something memorable to restore the faith.

These are days when the stadium seems to swell with emotion; often, it will all become too much and the levees will break. On final day, grown men will openly weep with joy, in public. Where else would you get it? It’s mad, really, but in a world increasingly lived vicariously through our phones, this is a precious thing.

And, of course, one thing we all know is that, well, we don’t know. You just never know. The hottest of favourites can be beaten. The unheralded can be king. Did anyone tip against Gowna here? If they did, we didn’t hear it.

To the stadium. The Celt likes to get in early for big matches, to soak up the atmosphere and get first run at the sandwiches. So it was that we arrived into an empty press box – and it was when lifting the shutters that we spotted Shane Connaughton taking his seat.

Shane grew up in Kingscourt but moved to Redhills (“like something from The Grapes of Wrath”); we like to claim him but they had him longer. On this day, it was fair to say he was a Kingscourt man again – and that was fitting because Kingscourt was where he first fell in love with Gaelic football.

Shane was there when the Stars played in Carney’s Field, out the Kells road, and when Offaly came to play Cavan in a National League match. That was 1951. As a boy, he and his friends waited outside Victor Sherlock’s house – Victor was the club’s first icon - on Sundays and considered it a privilege to carry his boots down to the pitch.

The river flowed on, took Connaughton to London and Beverly Hills as an acclaimed writer, yet here he was, taking his seat to see the Stars, having seen it all.

For others, it was all new. Imagine you are Aaron Shekleton, 19 years of age. Last year, you played in the minor final on a day when the wind howled. And here you are wearing six on your back, a teenager playing a man’s role against a team of all the talents like Gowna, each of their players a household name in Cavan houses where football is talked.

More stories. Padraig Faulkner – he’s soon to be in Africa. For weeks now, neutrals have been heard to say they’d like to see Faulkner get another medal before he heads off travelling with his wife. Few players are held in such regard by supporters around the county, for his humble demeanour, for his scores, for the reckless disregard he shows for his own safety.

In recent matches, Faulkner’s ankle has appeared to be hanging by a thread. On Sunday, a thread was all he needed.

Alongside Faulkner in defence were Barry Tully, ducking and dodging through the crossfire, and Shane Gray. The old dogs were the young pups once. Tully was wing-back in the 2010 final; Gray was the first sub used. Hard to believe that’s 15 years ago. They were in deep water against Cavan Gaels that day, too, so when it started to rise here in the first half, there was no panic.

Another defender, Odhran Cunningham, son of Raymond of 1997 fame, was playing a stormer at number five. He had just scorched up the right wing for a point and then - lights out! An accidental collision, a long delay and when the fog clears, Faulkner and Peter Corrigan are standing beside him with the big cup in Cavan General and he’s posing for a photo, still in his gear, the caption, “Alive and well!”

Different strokes. Jordie Morris? He’s just got star-power, right down to the name, which sounds like that of a Premier League footballer. Style, in life and sport, can’t be faked – you either have it effortlessly or you don’t have it at all. Morris is brushed by genius; the first dummy he sold literally left a defender on the turf and from there, he was in a flow state.

Morris’s path took him from Kingscourt to Nobber and back, to Croke Park in the colours of Meath and now to Cavan Town, giving defenders the eyes. The big stage, his.

But they all had their tale to tell. Ciaran Dermody came in from Magheracloone and grew into an indispensable player; his grin as he was high-fived off the pitch by the kids spoke volumes. Kevin Curtis is the Swiss army knife of the team and usually good for a goal, as he was here. Peter Corrigan can play it any way, giving and taking it, moving forward.

The Louthmen, Colin Kelly and Derek Walsh, over the team said they arrived in Kingscourt and immediately liked the vibe of the place. It felt old-school; maybe that was the genesis of the simple but deadly tactics which won the final.

Or maybe it was Paddy Farrelly who came up with the plan; in Tully’s speech, he singled out the selector for special praise.

McCullough, Cian Shekleton, Paddy Meade – all contributed. But, all would agree that in a way, this was Dillon’s day.

As he lay on a ski slope somewhere in Europe the guts of 10 years ago with a serious back injury, waiting to be air-lifted, Joe must have wondered would this hour ever come.

A winding road? He has retired more times than Evander Holyfield and the boxer’s nom du guerre – ‘The Real Deal’ – would fit him, too.

Last year, Dillon was finished. The 2023 final looked set to be his last football match. We jokingly chided him that he would be back but he dismissed it out of hand and, sure enough, he didn’t re-appear in ’24.

But that year out of the game must have whetted the appetite and soothed the sores. He kept himself in shape over the winter and returned during the All-County League, getting a few minutes here and there.

When the championship began, he was a sub. He came off the bench to score a point against Cavan Gaels and Ballyhaise, two against Ballinagh, another against Crosserlough.

By the quarter-final, he was starting. In last week’s preview, we wrote that he was playing his best football for about 10 years. On Sunday, he had the game of his life.

Gowna, great champions of recent vintage, were magnanimous and will be back. By our count, based on the pen pics in the programme, the average age of the 18 players they used is 23.2. Most of their players have two medals already and will add more.

But this fairytale was Kingscourt’s – and that brings us back to Connaughton.

Shane, in case you didn’t know, is working on another movie, this one about a group of men who achieved something memorable, something that wasn’t supposed to happen.

For inspiration this week, he won’t need to look far.