Tears of joy and loneliness too as Arva rejoice in stirring win

Paul Fitzpatrick

Win, lose, live, learn. The footballers of Arva know the tune, know it off by heart at this stage.

Four years ago, they were sent scuttling home in the Junior Championship, trounced by teams who didn’t even win the thing. A dozen of those who saw action on Saturday evening last played back then, in the gutter, but they always dreamed of reaching the stars.

So they tasted defeat early, found it sour and spat it out. And then they grew up fast and got to work, started building, building, building towards a night like this, dancing under those bright lights.

The song – maybe it was even played that night, wherever the party was – puts it better than we can. Started at the bottom now the whole team’s here...

After the game, we caught up with Jonathan McCabe on the field. In the middle of the conversation, Peter Reilly – a Cavan hero decorated in battle – interrupted us, tapped the captain on the shoulderand handed him the Gilroy Cup. Just like that. No big deal.

But it hadn’t happened just like that. And it was a big deal.

“It’s a lot of the same players going back to when we started this run,” said McCabe.

“We were beaten by Kill here in a junior final and a lot of the same players are playing today but we were four years younger back then. We’ve come a long way in four years as players. Take Ciaran Brady there, he’s played a lot of football in those four years, the same as a lot of us.

“You mature, you learn how to win. In the semi-final, Shercock got a big lead on us but we didn’t panic, we took our chances and we came back and we won the game.

“There’s something in us this year, we never give up, we always know we’re going to get a chance.”

That mantra has served Arva well in recent seasons, never more so than in this championship. They played eight matches, they lost one, drew two, won two by a point. All through, they kept on keeping on.

They had heroes all over the field. Bouchier and Sheridan were the stars up front but the supporting cast all played blinders.

The captain, Jonathan McCabe, was cool and classy on the ball. Garda James Morris prowled his beat and minded the house like it was his own. His twin brother Peter played a tireless role in attack, too.

And that was a familiar theme, there in all winning championship teams turned out by small, country clubs. A handful of clans backbone the thing. Morrises, McCabes, Ellises, Bradys, Bouchiers, Conneelys... As the marketing slogan tells us, club is family.

Arva will celebrate this one lustily and they’re well entitled to do so, as Reilly insisted. It’s become a serious business now, this football, almost life and death, but of course it’s not.

Because there’s more. Familes smile and cry together. Forget the song we mentioned; not everyone was here.

The town of Arva and its club and their panel has suffered losses in the past few years. People are gone who should have been celebrating and that brings perspective.

Losing hurts; losing loved ones hurts much more. Maybe we imagined it or maybe that was there, buried deeply, as Arva players put it all on the line against a valiant foe. We could see it.

And we saw it again as McCabe looked up to begin his speech and Ciaran Brady, in the exultant group below, cleared his throat. “Go on, Jonnnnny!” he shouted, and the cheering started again.

Maybe Ciaran was savouring the moment - or maybe he was delaying it. When last an Arva captain lifted this cup in 1983, Ciaran wasn’t around but his Dad, Vincent, was, and it was he who raised it aloft as captain.

Thirty-three years later, here was Ciaran and brother Thomas playing leading roles but their Dad has passed on. That’s the context against which this great theatre is played out.

Kevin Bouchier knows. He’s picked up bags of medals, for club and county, in the last few years. How did this one rank?

“This is the sweetest of all,” he told us, on the pitch afterwards, eyes welling.
“The town of Arva has gone through a lot of losses so a win like this brings it all together. As Jonny said in his speech, there were four parents who weren’t there including one of mine. It’s just as sweet as anything. It’s just... it’s as sweet as a nut.”

And so it was, for Arva, guided by the hand of fate on their shoulders.
Killinkere players, meanwhile, crumpled to the turf and tears stained their cheeks. That’s how much it meant. That’s the cruel beauty of the game, why we love it and hate it and love it more.

By taking your best shot, you leave yourself open to being countered.

This has been a brilliant championship, with two excellent teams fighting their way to the big day. The shame was someone had to go home empty-handed. But these finals would restore the cynics’ faith in a game whose reputation has been bruised and battered.

And as the music dies on another season, the bitter sweet symphony, that folk song handed down through the decades, plays as loudly and proudly as ever.
Bravo to worthy winners Arva who now turn their eyes to Ulster, commiserations to a gallant Killinkere. Roll on 2017.

 

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