Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

Mayo Final Training Night

Posted: September 21, 2012 in Mayo
Tags: , , ,

Just back from Mayo. I didn’t realise how cold it was out there. I’d heard all year of people going to Mayo for their holidays and on the map it looked closer to America. I just took a small cardigan with me, expecting sultry conditions. I’m now at home wearing 3 jumpers, 2 coats and with my feet as close to a fire as humanly possible without serious burns. I was foundered like never before.

Mayo, tonight

Anyway Mayo, it appears, are taking a different approach to the final. Whereas McGuinness has his troops chewing on buck wire, Horan has decided to go down the more spiritual route. It did my heart good. In this era of fastest and fittest, Mayo are breeding a culture of brainiest. I knew something was different when the management team ran onto the field first not with footballs and cones as expected. Instead they brought on 30 easels and a load of paints. Horan bellowed the instructions that all players had 30 minutes to paint the scene they visualise if Mayo lifted the cup. There were no complaints. It was obvious that this had been a normal start to their sessions. There were some poor enough efforts, especially from Dillon and O’Shea who put no real effort in and just drew stick people. Horan, as opposed to McGuinness’s tactic of humiliation, simply put an arm around the worst artists and reassured them that they’d done their best. Enda Varley won with his post-modern effort of drawing the Mayo captain, naked, receiving the cup. There was an awkward glance between Varley and the captain Clarke.

Clarke’s strange effort

Next up was poetry. This time Dillon excelled and used some really big words like Equilibrium and Development. He won by a country mile, writing an epic of 3000 lines with references to Greek Gods and mythical creatures. Again, O’Shea had a bad day at the office. I managed to get a copy of his effort. It ran as follows:

Oh Mayo. It’s a great wee county.
I like to eat coconut bountys
I like to play for Mayo. I love the snow. Y’know.

The session finished with hugs. Group hugs, couple hugs. Some kissed cheeks, mostly those who had been on foreign holidays. And that was that. They headed back to the changing rooms happy, spiritual and cultured. I left with pneumonia.

So, the day is almost upon us. It’s hard to call. I think Donegal will be like the school bullies with their strong arms and hardened sense of humiliation, making them desensitized to all physical and mental abuse from the opposition. Mayo might have the last laugh though and dance and quoting Yeats into the Dublin night with Sam in their pocket. A draw.