'When I was doubting myself, I had his Mass card there, just asking for strength to keep going'

Cavanman's Diary

When it is over, he stands in the middle of the arena, medal draped around his neck and microphone in his hand, and tries to gather his thoughts. On countless Sunday afternoons in handball courts around the world, Paul Brady has collected medals and trophies, crystal and bronze. Rarely has he said very much other than to pay tribute to opponents and thank the people that needed thanking.

But this is different. Everything about this is different.

“First of all,” he says, “Diarmaid, great tournament, great match and I'm really sorry someone has to lose so thanks for a great game.

“To the people of Mullahoran and my adopted parish of Kingscourt and the wider Cavan community, thanks very much for all your support over the years. To my own family, throughout my life, always there for me, thanks.

“To Shauna and my two wee kids at home for allowing me to go and train hard this year and come back, thanks very much.”

Brady inhales deeply. “This,” he says, “is the hard bit.”

“I dedicate this to...” he begins, and his voice falters. The crowd is silent. “I'm sorry about this...” he apologises, before, after a long pause, two words come out.

“To Kit.”

Momentarily, his eyes dart heavenwards. The crowd are on their feet now in applause. Many are in tears.

“This year, when I was doubting myself, I had his Mass card there, just asking for strength to keep going, and I know he's here today somewhere.”

Kit Finnegan passed away in January last year. He was the greatest handball man of them all, player, coach, organiser, promoter. He was an obsessive and a born competitor and he took extreme pride in the fact that Cavanmen – Paul and his son Michael – were the best in the world and they played the game the way it should be played – with equal parts aggression and finesse, with pride and class.

In this final, Michael was in Brady’s corner during breaks in play, as he has been in many of his big finals, a cool head, words of advice and encouragement.

Last week, in this column, we said our money was on Brady but in the early rounds, we wondered how this would play out. Fairytales only happen in Disney movies; this was elite sport, a high-wire act with no harness.

Earlier in the week, Brady dispatched an American, Loren Collado from San Francisco, and two Corkmen, Michael Hedigan and Daniel Relihan. Then came the brilliant Martin Mulkerrins, a Connemara Gaeilgeoir turned Texas gunslinger. Martin had beaten his quarter-final opponent 15-0 in one game and had been torpedoing all comers with heavy artillery - but Brady’s belief in himself is bombproof. Brady won again, in straight games.

On the other side of the draw, though, Diarmaid Nash was stalking the field. Nash (33) is one of the most popular players in the game and has won most of the major titles in singles and doubles. He took down Killian Carroll, the Boston-based Mallow man, in the quarter-final and rising star David Walsh in the semi-final, at times playing the best handball of his career.

So, it was Brady v Nash and the sold-out signs were up.

The manner of Brady’s win over Mulkerrins saw him installed as favourite per most conversations online and around the National Handball Centre but Nash wasn’t listening. He came out on his toes, shooting off both hands, keeping Brady off balance with straight pass shots down the glass sidewalls. Brady wanted it to be an inferno; the cool Nash has built his career on extinguishing blazes, negating power-hitters with precise shots, with endless retrieving and pin-point two-handed offense.

Nash won the first 15-7. Brady found his range in the second, leading 8-0, but Nash came back. Brady closed it out.

So, a race to 11. Sometimes, these occasions are raucous but most of the crowd here were neutral handball people, just glad to get a ticket and see the show. The tiebreaker was tense and an unusual silence descended on the arena. We found ourselves whispering.

Brady went up 2-0 but Nash came back with five points in a row, his lob serve tethering Brady to the back of the court. “The composure of Diarmaid, he’s so cool,” remarked the commentator.

It was then that Brady found a way. He levelled the match, then cracked out a serve off the right side wall to take the lead. Now, he was five points away. A fly kill brought him to seven, a big spin on the ball caught Nash out but an error opened the door again. Then, a Brady kill and he’s back in at 8-5, three points away.

“Look at him,” said the commentator, Ollie Cassidy. “He’s talking to himself here and he says ‘come on!’”

But, another twist - “An unbelievable shot from Diarmaid Nash, he stays in the rally, such heart!” – and then another, as Paul returns to the service box.

Brady’s low power serve is his go-to weapon. At game-ball, he serves a short, so his second serve is a more defensive one. Nash returns it, Brady drives it back. Diarmaid’s next shot is a little loose and Brady has the set-up, 30 feet out, on his left hand.

The rally has taken eight seconds; this is the fifth shot. Brady leans back, comes over the ball so as to keep it down. The deftest touch to impart top spin, a millisecond's extra contact, unnoticeable to all bar the incurable devotees. Roll-out. And the match.

It came down to that, to one shot, as it always does. To having the courage to go for it and the skill to execute it. To a shot first learned in St Pat’s under Fr John Gilhooly’s watch and honed in Kingscourt in the alleys Kit helped build, perfected on hundreds of courts across America, Canada, Ireland.

A shot, then, that was decades in the making and a win that will be recalled as long as the great game is played. The king of handball has taken back his throne.