Joe Brolly: The boys from the County Armagh

THE vast roar that greeted the throw-in merely symbolised the triumph of hope over reality that grips the viewer.

Immediately, the game settled into the familiar pattern, the endlessly rehearsed formula where nothing is unpredictable.

So, both teams began the ‘you score a point, we score a point routine’, which has almost become a gentleman’s agreement in football. Galway beat Dublin by a point. Armagh beat Kerry after extra time. Donegal beat Armagh on penalties in Ulster. And so on.

The outcome in this new game depends on a mistake, or black card or injury. Goals are an anachronism, something that used to happen in the old days.

By the 30th minute, it was 0-5 to 0-5. Paul Conroy then kicked another delightful long range point, before Ben Crealey equalised just before the half time whistle.

An Armagh man beside me said: “I don’t like the hurling, it’s too easy to score.” Tell that to Tony Kelly. When the half-time whistle blows in the hurling, we say: “is it half time already?” In the football, we say: “thank God for that.”

In the 10th minute, Galway suffered what turned out to be a momentous blow when Rob Finnerty, their left footed free taker injured his knee and had to go off. Shane Walsh took over all of the free taking duties and, like Ronaldo, he missed all of them.

Armagh’s zonal defence makes it more or less impossible to score a goal. Often, they had four sweepers playing just outside the 21 yard line, pushing out and back in like a well drilled back four in soccer.

Any ball collected by a Galway attacker near the sideline resulted in him immediately being double-teamed in a pincer movement. At one stage, the stricken Galway forward actually held the ball up over his head in a vain attempt to do something with it.

The second half continued where the first had left off with long periods of holding possession punctuated by some admittedly superb points, mostly from distance.

The pick of these was a truly extraordinary score from Rian O’Neill from what seemed an impossible angle out on the right touchline in the 40th minute, making the score 0-8 to 0-8.

I looked around me at the faces in the crowd. They could have been spectators at a snooker match. Interested but not excited.

In the new game, the excitement is concertina’d into the last 15 minutes. My son Niall argues that there should be a new 15-minute ticket at a discounted rate.

That way, we can take our seats in the last quarter when the actual game begins.

The game finally began in the 46th minute, ten minutes earlier than expected. With the scoreline at 0-10 to 0-9 for Galway, Stefan Campbell was brought on.

With his first touch, he barrelled through the Galway defence before giving a perfect floated handpass across the square for the Armagh full back Aaron McKay to palm to the net. Stefan has become Armagh’s Kevin McMenamin.

Having conquered his gambling disease, he has become a magnificent young man and footballer.

Six years ago, he was in despair, away from home, broke and humiliated. Today, he is an All-Ireland champion and his was the decisive contribution.

Céin D’Arcy, who was outstanding throughout, brought Galway back to within a point and we waited for Armagh to get the yips.

Instead it was Galway who froze, ensuring that Armagh’s past horrors on big days didn’t flash before their eyes.

In the 57th minute, Shane Walsh kicked a horrendous, panicky wide. In the 59th, D’Aarcy missed another one. In the 61st, Walsh kicked a straightforward mark into the goalie’s hands.

A minute later, Cillian McDaid completely miscued a great chance. In the 64th, Dylan McHugh kicked a good chance up into the clear air to nowhere. Then Shane Walsh kicked a 35 metre free short into a grateful Armagh defender’s hands.

Walsh kicked another wide in the 71st minute, before Dylan McHugh kicked a bad wide off the outside of his boot in the 74th minute. By swivelling awkwardly onto the outside of the boot, he made an easy shot difficult. By then, Galway were smothered in panic and Armagh, feeding off that, survived to the final whistle.

In the middle of all that panic, Oisin O’Neill kicked a monstrous point. His uncle Padraig who died out of the blue last Saturday, would have been ecstatic to have been here watching his two nephews play with such honour.

It was a day of days. I was educated in Armagh. I kissed my first girl there, a beauty from St Catherine’s. Had my first taste of Buckfast tonic wine. Sang as a boy soprano in the cathedral.

On Monday, even the PSNI were singing the Boys from the County Armagh and risking penalty points, celebrating Sam with Orangemen who allow catholics to join.