Conor Counihan wheeled into the yard late Tuesday night looking sadder than Marty Feldman in the Last Remake of Beau Geste, my favourite film behind Mise Eire, Ryan’s Daughter, and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.
“Sudden times, Noel,” were his first words, “sudden times.”
“Too right they’re sudden,” said Nancy, giving the poor fellow a maternal hug, “and only the Kerry lads are gone from the wire completely this year, you’d be history too. Two sugars, isn’t it?”
As always, Nancy’s last words before we leave for Dublin this morning will be “water, Noel, plenty of water, you know you can’t take any chances.”
I’ll probably make a wisecrack about having topped up the engine earlier in the week, before firing the five-gallon drum of the best Ballybore tap water into the back-seat and pointing the car in the direction of the Ashling Hotel where we’ve stayed every All-Ireland Saturday night for almost 50 years.
“Shove it up there against the far wall, Noel – leave room for Nancy to get out,” were Donncha Cody’s first words when I pulled into his father’s place shortly before 6o’c last Wednesday evening.
I saw trouble ahead with the weather and didn’t want a night in a B&B in Gardiner Street. So, with 20 minutes left, I gave Nancy a dig in the ribs. "We’ll make tracks – Kerry have this wrapped up," I said.
She didn’t want to go, partly because Galway were two points up and going strong, but mainly because she keeps a count of the wides, turnovers and restarts at every match she goes to, including challenges.
My Travels
I saw trouble ahead with the weather and didn’t want a night in a B&B in Gardiner Street. So, with 20 minutes left, I gave Nancy a dig in the ribs. "We’ll make tracks – Kerry have this wrapped up," I said.
