Promised Land awaits for superb Swanlinbar

New year, new experiences. Supporters are supporting, players are playing and hacks are prowling on their beat as it ever was, but last Sunday threw up something new for us all. Take a bow – to paraphrase another football aficionado who had an eventful week – Swanlinbar St Mary's. Breaking new ground is the toughest thing to do in sport. The doors of the big house will be thrown wide open on February 12, but for now, let's take stock. What a season it's been already for the footballers of Swad. Highs and lows? Where should we start? Storm through the county and to the Ulster final – good. Fail to show up in the final – bad. Opposition hits the panic button and throws an illegal – and precocious – forward into the fray – bad. Opposition get found out and thrown out – hard to know how to take that one. Nobody wants to win a provincial title in the committee room, but by the same token, who wants to lose one to a team playing by their own set of rules? Swanlinbar kept ticking over and finally, the mess was cleaned up and they were cleared to go through. At last, white flag raised – in the racing sense, not the surrendering one. So, the fixture finally dropped into our inbox on Tuesday afternoon, too late for the Celt – not good. Swad v Ballinabrackey, a rural Meath club which has made massive strides in a short time, All Ireland Junior club semi-final. Uncharted territory for any Cavan club. Great. Then we spotted the venue and scratched our heads. Looked up Google maps. Brace yourself, Keenagh. Fittingly, we passed a hostelry called The Rustic Inn en route. In the absence of a turnstile, we hustled our way past the maor (I know, I know, we've covered this press-pass-what-press-pass logic before, but still). We were directed to park where we sat - on a football field. Hmmm. We'd heard of Ballinabrackey's packed defence but surely this wasn't... A wizened steward set us straight – through the trees, he beckoned, through the trees, to the main pitch. And so we gingerly stepped through the magic clearing, and there it was. The pitch! Suppose it wasn't in the worst of nick, bar the fact that there were enough hollows and hazards to classify as a parkland golf course. It looked like impish corner-forward Robbie Prior had disappeared into a dip at one stage but luckily he re-emerged, a will o'the wisp skimming across the horizon, jinking around dangerous tackles, in a hole, in what felt like a forest. In Keenagh. The throw-back surroundings added to the unique feeling; this was a day like no other. The sense even before the throw-in suggested as much. The minute's silence for two departed Ballinabrackey stalwarts was disrupted by some war whoops from the brothers in arms in blue and white. “This defines us as a team,†urged one player. “This is what they will be talking about in 20 or 30 years,†growled another. And they will. They won't be talking about Ballinabrackey; the Meath side embodied what has come to represent junior football. They were rough and tough and dogged but Swad, all slick moves and huge scores earlier this season, showed that they can win that way, too. And the cold. Oh, the cold. A scarlet-cheeked toddler tugged at my sleeve. “Where's my daddy†he asked. Probably in the car defrosting, I thought, before Papa loomed into view, berating the referee and encouraging his own troops, all, it seemed, in the same breath. Swanlinbar's supporters came in for great praise from their players in the breathless aftermath. They travelled in numbers and will have been dreaming a dream crossing the old canal on the way home. The end is often an anti-climax on these occasions, but not this time. First, the referee – playing God maybe – didn't want to end it. When he did, he was surrounded by frustrated Ballinabrackey players, desperate to make him believe that the final wide had been a point. It hadn't. Tears stained cheeks, on winning and losing sides. Ag caoineadh in Keenagh... So, we shuffled back to the freezing car, warmed a little by the exploits of this courageous, talented Swanlinbar team. “Was that guy a reporter?†one westsider was overheard asking as your correspondent ducked through the firs and away. “Well if he was, he was cheering for Swad at the end!†exclaimed her friend. I was; we all were. St Mary's abu! Say it slowly – Croke Park. Here they come.