IN THE 59th MINUTE, with everything going Cork’s way, Darragh Fitzgibbon received a pass and a quick scan revealed he had time before taking a shot into Hill 16.
Rather than slot it over, he belted it into the skies, clearing the ball stop. There’s a strong possibility it might have landed in a Clonliffe Road backyard. Enjoying yourself, Darragh?
It was at that point that a Cork win felt inevitable. An insane start to the second half brought four points in just over 100 seconds and three of them fell to Cork.
The two point lead that Limerick felt at half-time felt like a game that was slowly returning to script. The five in a row was on. Cork were willingly compliant. Good sports.
A neat chapter and – given the defeat in Pairc Uí Chaoimh – a spicy twist to add to the several biographies to follow.
Here’s a thought though. There were 20 minutes of this game left. Cork were up by six. They would only score another three points. How on earth did they think that would be enough?
The answer lay in the ground work they ploughed into the first and third quarters.
In the 2021 All Ireland final, Limerick beat Cork by 16 points. They did so by bullying them around the pitch from first to last. Ok, let’s show, and not tell. In the first half alone, Limerick registered 60 tackles to Cork’s 20.
The statistic was believed to have originated from the Limerick camp. It didn’t go unnoticed.
So for Cork to have any chance, they needed to go after Limerick physically.
Was that in their locker? Not back then. Their manager back then, Kieran Kingston, prided himself on many facets of hurling. Speed being the king. But stories and yarns that leaked out of Cork around that time were of a group that had gaps in their strength training.
While the Covid lockdown was a time that many hurlers and footballers emerged from like beasts, not everyone in Cork was compliant.
The gaps have since closed.
What stood out in the Munster hurling tie between these two was how Cork went about addressing that. Not even in the collision zone.
There were some examples of overt machismo and aggression. When Declan Dalton forced a turnover early in that game he got in a few Limerick faces, reminding them that… God knows. But it was a sign.
So therefore the first 20 minutes of this game was critical for them to show they were up for the battle.
In that period, both teams executed a single hook each. Cork had two blocks whereas Limerick hadn’t one.
In the standout rucks, Cork came away with the ball twice to Limerick’s one.
The Rebels also did better on the collision count. Discounting a dodged tackle, they got meat on their opponents seven times to Limericks two, but Limerick scored better on turnovers with six to Cork’s three.
Where did that leave them? On 20 minutes Brian Hayes chalked up another score to leave them 1-8 to 0-6 up. So far so good.
But it was at that exact point that their gameplan floundered. Limerick scored the next five points to draw level. The second of those was Diarmuid Byrnes getting into the skies to catch a Patrick Collins puckout, take his few strides and fling a shot over.
Cian Lynch cleaned up a broken puckout by Nickie Quaid to slot home and after a Cork puckout went awry, Aaron Gillane levelled.
And that, was that. They had given it their best shot. Came out swinging. Punched themselves out and now had the tongue hanging out.
The numbers were shocking. Out of the next thirteen points, Limerick scored 10 of them. Thomas Walsh’s whistle came as sweet relief.
Then, the third quarter. Let’s use the aforementioned Fitzgibbon point as the cut-off point. Cork 0-14 to Limerick’s 0-6.
Little things went their way. After a first half being scattered around the place and a baffling close-in free missed to reach the magical 700 points mark, Patrick Horgan found his way into the game.
Declan Dalton nailed a free from well inside the far 45 metre mark that left you wondering what kind of gale was blowing down at pitchside, only to see the sideline flags perfectly still.
And then there were the Limerick malfunctions. A move knitted together by Seamus Flanagan and Aaron Gillane set Gearóid Hegarty up for a sighter on goal.
His shot was a decent height for Patrick Collins and when he batted it out, Gillane had it to his mercy. He slipped. His hurl hit turf before it connected with the ball. They got away with it. This coming after Collins’ superb double-save from Gillane and then Flanagan in the first half.
As a platform, it set them up. Limerick were never going to wimp out of the contest. John Kiely acted decisively. He got 0-4 out of his bench. They gobbled up 0-7 out of the last 0-9 scored. But their accuracy was off with eight second half wides.
Still, they kept going with bottomless courage.
Jitters gripped Cork. Ryan took off Horgan and Dalton was already gone when they were presented with a late free. Mark Coleman dropped it short.
At the very end, they had a sideline cut. They ran down the clock as much as was permissible. Coleman took it and fluffed it. They rode the donkey close to the tail.
Let’s talk about the hurling. The moments.
The Brian Hayes goal that lifted the roof, Mike Casey flaking wildly all the way at his torse. The Hayes goal that was pulled back for an earlier infringement. The five seconds or so on 12 minutes when Séamus Harnedy set up Coleman for a point along the sideline and then Nickie Quaid instantly sent a ball into Tom Morrisey’s hand for him to sling over.
It was an obscene standard.
Hurling. Hurling. Hurling.
Nobody wants to make unedifying comparisons, lest those that hold anyone to ridicule. But a week ago, Kerry and Derry played a game of Gaelic football at the same time in the same venue that felt like ingesting battery acid through the eyeballs.
Again, comparisons are sort of but not entirely pointless. Football remains the sport that is more widely played. Vastly, in fact. Hurling is difficult and complex and – generalisation alert here – not particularly culturally suited to the a lot of pockets of the country.
But when it is played like this, what’s better? Where would, indeed, you get it?
You could sell tickets to watch a game like this beside Anthony Daly. People would pay thousands for the privilege. You’d nearly ask him to put you in an overly-familiar headlock with the sheer hurling exuberance of it all. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Several headlocks. Why not?
The final whistle brought, as they say, limbs. It will be the same in a fortnight.
What a privilege. An incredible privilege.
