A sense of identity

On Friday afternoon, just before setting off for the Belfield Bowl I decided to reset the distance gauge in the car and make a record of the miles I will cover throughout the season. Come next October, it’s likely to be well above the 10,000km mark.

The Cork-Dublin motorway will be worn out and I’ll be a regular at Midway takeaways in Portlaoise for the next eight months. But do you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way. That feeling of excitement in the pit of my stomach on Friday morning was badly missed since last October.

Of course, being from Cork there’s the added thrill of a return to Premier Division football. It has been a long two years down in Leeside and although the result didn’t go the away team’s way on Friday night, it was good to see them back at this level.

Trips to Drom (twice), Lissywoollen and Ferrycarrig Park were special in their own way last season but going to empty grounds isn’t good for the heart. Indeed, getting lost in Roundabout city (Ed- do you mean Galway?) on Good Friday made me question my sanity on the way to Salthill Devon’s rural complex.

On occasion I wondered if I would get to cover a Premier Division match any time soon but faith was restored entering the latter stages of the campaign when a wonderful string of results set Cork up for that grandstand finale in Tolka Park.

At last, after a season of empty grounds and loneliness, it was time to re-enter the big time. We all know what happened that night – at this stage I don’t think I will mention it again after this for a very long time – but something magical happened. A moment which will never be replicated again.

Derek O’Brien crossed from the left and Graham Cummins rose at the back-post and steered it home. Game. Over.  I was covering the game for a couple of Cork media outlets so, for once, it was 'acceptable' to let a little bias creep in. (But only that time, I assure you!) The derisive looks I received from some were enough to tell me not to do it again. So often the model of professional decorum, I simply couldn’t keep the joy in. Fists clenched, on my feet in the pressbox, maniacally screaming ‘Yessss’.

Yet 10 minutes later – after a couple of emotional embraces on the pitch – it was back to the job, trying to coax a quote out of the disappointed Shels players (who I’m sure woke up the following morning and realised they were still going up and had a cup final to look forward to the following weekend). While the home side’s stars understandably weren’t too keen to talk, the City players were frozen in a cocoon of euphoria, shocked by what had just happened, their lack of coherence an example of how stunned they were to have won the title in such dramatic fashion.

Now we’re back and ready to go again, 123 dark empty nights later and what we all live for returned on Friday night to brighten up our lives. Feelings like that experienced by the 1500 Cork City fans in October can’t be replaced. League of Ireland is our drug, we may be derided and laughed at by some as we take to those aforementioned roads every Friday afternoon.

Yes Mr Barstooler, we know the pub is more comfortable than Gortakeegan on a wet Friday night but you will never, ever feel what we feel when our team scores a late winner or reaches a cup final. Sadly, one columnist in a national newspaper last week got the tone of his piece spectacularly wrong – whether it’s because of a lack of knowledge of the league or just plain old ignorance, his ill-judged conjecture completely missed the point of supporting a League of Ireland club. Identity, for the writer, must not be very important.

On the other hand, we have a huge sense of identity in this league and while we might not agree on certain topics, essentially we’re all here for the same reason. The League of Ireland is like a big family, there are those within the game that you are close to but there are also those you will never speak to but are part of the same church (in a way like that cousin you know exists in Australia but are unlikely to ever meet).

This is our league and even though some might point and laugh at us strolling towards the bright lights of the Carlisle Grounds on a dark October night, those people will never appreciate and understand what we have here.

Enjoy the season folks, I hope it’s one that brings you much joy (before the inevitable crashing disappointments unless you’re a Rovers fan) and let’s hope it’s one to remember for all the right reasons.