Junior A footballers suffer agonising St. Brendan’s defeat

“Oh yeah, I’ll sleep like a baby tonight. If you mean wake up screaming in a pool of my own p**s. Then yes, I’ll sleep like a baby for sure”, said mentor Maguire immediately after a frustrating encounter, in the Division 5 football league. ” We butchered that many chances, I am beginning to think it’s a team of victuallers,” he screamed while being forcibly removed from the ground, foaming at the mouth with eyes out on stalks. Boden had numerous chances to come away with the win but, in truth, they left it too late to make the charge for the finish line.

On a narrow pitch in Islandbridge, St Brendan’s played host to the Boden Division 5 side that are showing real promise and ambition. Brendan’s ultra-defensive playing style and counter-attacking game meant that this fixture was always going to be hard work. Playing against a stiff breeze, Brendan’s picked off points and nullified any advantage the breeze might give to the visitors, by playing 1 and sometimes 2 sweepers. Boden registered their first score after 11 minutes from the boot of McGinn. While their only other score of the half came on 27 minutes from the ever-industrious O’Reilly. The highlight of the half came from intricate passing move that released Mulligan-Lynch inside the cover, for a 1 on 1 with the keeper, only to see his goal bound effort go agonisingly wide. At half time, Brendan’s led 5 points to 2. Riveting stuff.

“We need to make some changes to our style of play for the second half, if we’re to get back into this”, said mentor Paul Dolan, who, just back from Tralee after watching his beloved Roscommon, had a head on him like the fire alarm went off halfway through his hair cut. The introduction of Durkin, Walsh and Gannon added a new impetus to the team, as Boden gathered more possession around the middle third. A point from Mulligan- Lynch and a brace of long-range beauties from Walsh and it looked like Boden could finally take control. However, a St. Brendan’s masterclass in controlling the breaking ball, allowed them to keep their noses in front with well taken points on the break as Boden committed more men to the attack.

In a pulsating second 30 minutes, Boden’s fitness began to show, and they were breaking Brendan’s cover with monotonous regularity but time was quickly ebbing away. Cullen forced a wonderful save from the keeper after creating a 1 on 1, while Mulligan- Lynch saw another effort go agonisingly wide of the net following good offensive pressure to create the turnover. The game looked dead and buried when Brendan’s kicked a speculative high clearance ball, only for it to somehow end up in the Boden net and a four-point lead with 3 minutes of normal time remaining. A lesser team would have thrown their hat at it, but not this Division 5 side. Pointed frees from McGinn and Durkin and there was just a kick of a ball in it as we entered injury time. And then came the moment that was the catalyst for Maguire’s aneurysm. Pressure on the Brendan’s kick out, saw a short kick out go straight to McGinn and along the onrushing Boden forwards created a 3 on 1 with just the keeper to beat. In truth, what happened next was like the 3rd secret of Fatima. As McGinn pulled the trigger, I was distracted by the sound of Maguire’s exploding abdominal aorta. A gibbering wreck on the ground, I rushed to his aid with a shot’s of single malt Redbrest until the eyes stopped rolling in his head. When I looked back to the game, the chance was gone.

And still, they didn’t give up. With a maturity beyond his years, O’Reilly calmly slotted a point 4 minutes into injury time and another from McGinn a full 2 minutes later. At this point, Brendan’s, like the Stormont Assembly, had completely collapsed. Another Boden attack, another pull down, another free, last kick of the game. This to tie it up and get something out of the day. A beautifully struck free from the boot of the wonderfully talented Durkin was splitting the posts in two…………….then the GAA Gods dealt another cruel blow, a ferocious gust of wind that would have lifted the wig off Elton John, blew at the polar moment of inertia and held the ball up, only for it to drop into the hands of the keeper, less than six inches short. Game over.

As I looked to the line, Maguire had a teat on the bottle of Redbrest, suckling harder than a newborn calf, rocking back and forth in the foetal position and crying uncontrollably. We caught up with clubman Richie Connell or “Emu” as he was known in his playing days, because he was fast on the ground but useless in the air. “That’s one that definitely got away. There’s a huge amount of positives and a great character in this team. The fixes are easy, and I can’t wait to see how they progress as the season goes on.” Wise words indeed.

Thanks to Richie and Peter for doing umpire and Sean Gilheany for the snaps.