My Gaa Life with Donegal’s Barry Cunningham

At the end of April 1992 I was living and working in New York with no mind of county football, I might have listened to the radio commentary of Donegal’s defeat to Dublin in the National league quarter-final, but probably not.

The previous year I had made huge sacrifices to be part of the squad eventually beaten in the Ulster Final by Down. I didn’t play one minute of competitive football during that championship, and after the game I told the management that I was finished with it.

That was the way it was and I was happy with the way it was.

Then the phone started ringing.

I knew who called, I knew what they wanted, but I didn’t answer.

After about 10 phone calls over the following week or so a friend of mine finally told me that if I thought Donegal had a chance to win the All-Ireland, and if I thought I was good enough to help Donegal win the All-Ireland then I should have a go at it.

I answered the next phone call and was in Ballybofey the following Tuesday night. I would call that pretty good advice!

What was the best thing about playing in your era?

The way the game was played. The object of the game was to score more than the opposition, not to ensure that they scored less than you.

Every man on the team was responsible for his own man in what was a continuous battle for possession of the ball.

At the same time, teams were not afraid to lose possession because they knew they would probably get it back, usually in a matter of seconds!

What was the worst thing about playing your era?

The structure of inter-county competitions. You spent all Winter playing glorified challenge games in the league, half of them before Christmas!

Then you went around the country for two months playing actual challenge games, then you went to the Athletic Grounds, or Newry or somewhere and your season was over.

I remember playing Armagh up there on the day Ireland beat England in Stuttgart.

We knew exactly when Ireland scored because it was the only cheer we heard from our supporters! An eight or nine-point beating and our season over by 5pm on the 12th June.

When did you know it was time to call it quits?

My football career effectively ended three weeks before the Ulster Final in 1993 at the age of 26.

A simple kick of the ball snapped the adductor connecting my hamstring to the bone bringing a bone fragment with it.

The bone fragment is still there and ensures that the injury will never heal. I remember watching Paul O Connell getting the same injury in the Rugby World Cup. I knew the man would never play again.

I played football with the club for a few more years on the one leg, the other one was the one I was limping on when I met Larry many years later!

What interesting or funny story may readers not know about you or one of your former teammates?

This story might not be that funny and only mildly interesting, but it is part of my ‘gaelic life’.

In the late 1970s myself and a gang of the cousins were over in our ‘football pitch’ in Park Ban, beside the Black Road, the only level area of the old homestead fit for the purpose.

There would have been Donegal accents, Cockney accents and Cockneys with a strange mixture of the two which has stuck to them since.

A neighbour of ours by the name of Patrick John Mc Brearty saw us at the football and came over to impart his knowledge upon us.

He was a grand fella who never missed a Donegal championship game in those days.

It was a day out for him every year. Patrick John had his own dogs, and we had other dogs who were quite comfortable in his presence, but our Blossom despised him.

We could never figure out the reason for her animosity, Patrick John being no harm to man nor beast.

While he was explaining to the gathered throng the correct method of soloing the ball, with one of the locals translating for the Cockneys, Blossom, showing a level of cunning, foresight and tactical awareness which she hadn’t displayed before or after, was crawling down along the Black Road and back up the ditch at the side of the field to within striking distance of him.

Just as ball was dropping from hand to boot (wellington boot) Blossom sprang forward and attached herself to Patrick John’s backside.

With a roar that he seldom let out at Donegal matches, (through the lack of need), he bounded for the fence, minus his glasses, false teeth, and the arse of his trousers, with Blossom’s triumphant growl after him.

Not one of the assembly, from either side of the Holyhead ferry, confessed to witnessing Blossom’s brilliant manoeuvre and while we gathered up Patrick John’s paraphernalia and returned it to him with the appropriate decorum, we were secretly delighted for Blossom and her great victory.

Having learned the lessons of the day, as to the correct method of soloing the ball while wearing wellington boots and to never underestimate your opponent, we gathered round, picked two teams and had a game of ‘three and in’ gaelic style.

The mildly interesting thing for me as I recall this event is that a total of five All Ireland medals were won by some of those present, two of them by one from the other side of the Holyhead ferry, captaining one of the teams.

Next week – Barry Cunningham selects his perfect player