You couldn’t make it up! The first people we met as we came off the train at Huston Station were a group of Cork fans asking directions to Croke Park. Visits to headquarters for rebel football fans have been few and far between in recent years, and since they blew up Nelson’s Pillow, the Cork lads have experienced major difficulties in navigating their way around the capitol. Some of them have such a poor sense of direction that they have even been known to go astray in Meelin. And as for the Cork forwards – need I say more!

Anyway, out of the goodness of our hearts, we gave them detailed instructions on how to reach their destination and even wrote down the various buses and trains that they should take. It is nice to be neighbourly, and they thanked us profusely as they departed, little realizing that we had sent them out on the scenic route to Lansdowne Road! All is fair in love and war (and football) and we were still a bit peeved over losing the Munster final.

Some of our lads wanted to catch twelve o’clock Mass in the Pro-Cathedral. Others wanted to visit Stringfellows. (A few wanted to do both) We took a vote and decided to head for the nearest watering hole where we ordered foaming pints of Guinness and took out our mountain of rasher sandwiches and ate a massive feed, much to the bemusement of the locals, most of whom had probably never before seen a travelling Kerryman in the flesh. But, when you’ve been to Croke Park as often as us, you learn to come prepared for anything.

We took our seats in the Hogan Stand just as the junior match finished, with Mayo beating Laois and Micko charging down the tunnel looking sick as a parrot . (We had better get used to using the soccer lingo. We will be hearing a lot of it in Croke Park from now on.)

The senior match went much as expected with Kerry romping home without hardly breaking sweat. Rumours of the Gooch’s demise were seen to be premature, while Moynihan must have discovered the elixir of youth and galloped around the pitch like a thirty three year old. All the talk was of Kerry’s new secret weapon, the high-fielding Kieran Donaghy. Jaysus, Kerry players have been pulling high balls out of the sky for generations. Remember a fellow by the name of Mick O’Connell!

It may well be that Cork were lulled into a sense of false security following the win in Pairc Ui Chaoimh. But sure we have so many Munster titles won, that lads are jangling medals with the small change in their pockets, and piles of them are now turning up in the collection plates after last Mass in Finuge and Lyracrompane!

With the result a foregone conclusion, we left Croke Park before the finish, (as did most of the Cork contingent,) and caught the early train to Limerick Station and drove out to Abbeyfeale and made Jack Rourke’s before closing time, where the Sunday night disco was still in full swing.

We soon put a stop to the dancing and turned up the television to watch the highlights of the game, and listen to the “expert” analysis of Joe Brolly and Colm O’Rourke. (Note; Those who can – do. Those who can’t – become television pundits!)

We always receive a huge welcome in Abbeyfeale as we travel back from our numerous victories in Croke Park. These Abbeyfeale Folk are frustrated Kerrymen at heart and, if a referendum were ever held in the town, they would vote overwhelmingly to opt out of County Limerick and join The Kingdom where at least they would then have a genuine excuse for supporting a great football team. Indeed, ancient history suggests that Abbeyfeale was once part of Kerry, but disgruntled hurling supporters diverted the River Feale one night under cover of darkness so that they could follow the Limerick hurlers! It is high time that the river was diverted back to its original course again so that Fr Casey’s can take their rightful place in the North Kerry championship next season.

Anyway, we will be calling back to Abbeyfeale again next month on our way down from collecting Sam at Croke Park. Mayo or Dublin, it is all the one to us, although it would be great to beat the Dubs in their own cabbage patch and then rub their noses in it when they come down to the Listowel races the following Monday!

AND FINALY – God and The Devil decide to play a gaelic football match in Croke Park between Heaven and Hell.

And God says, “In the interests of fairness most of the best players are in Heaven”

“That may well be,” replies The Devil. “but we have all the referees!”