Final, not final

A Munster Final, then. Destination reached, though the road was anything but straight. Had you bullishly proclaimed to the faithful masses after the league final that we’d finish the round robin series joint top with Limerick on five points, you’d probably have drawn nods of agreement. But had you the prophetic inclination to go one further, to forecast that it’d entail making a hames of a thirteen-point cushion above in Ennis, dismantling Tipp by fifteen before being dismantled ourselves by sixteen just a week later? Well then, eyebrows might arch. Arms might fold. “Ah no,” they’d tell you, “that’s the old Cork you’re thinking of, before Ryan came in.” Ah yes, that wild, wayward creature that was liable to do just about anything.

And they wouldn’t have been wrong either. Before the fiasco in the Gaelic Grounds three weeks back, Pat Ryan’s Cork were never too far off it. They’d made plenty of mistakes, sure – a red card here, a penalty there, soft goals still handed out like loose change – but they were still always in the mix when the clock trickled into red. To the new wave of Rebels; the giddy, unjaded faithful swept up in the gales of the past two manic summers, that Limerick collapse must have felt like something out of a different world. A relic. A grainy reel from an era that predates them. Well, now they know. Now they know what it was like to get swallowed by the tide way back in 2021. Or 2022 for that matter, when it was Kyle Hayes who ambled in from the sideline, untouched and untroubled, to bury the goal that opened the floodgates.

And now we all know too. We know what Limerick are, and more depressingly, for us and everyone else that dares to dream, it’s very much the same as what Limerick were. When Cork shattered their five-in-a-row bid last July, some of the euphoria at least stemmed from a deeper, hopeful illusion – that our ascent was coinciding neatly with Limerick’s own natural decline, that the Green Monster would do the honourable thing and drift gently back to the pack. Wishful thinking. These lads are going nowhere. If anything, our little rebellion last summer simply angered them and the ferocity with which Limerick ripped us apart felt deeply and distressingly personal, a vendetta waged against pesky upstarts. Brilliant, just what we need. Arguably the greatest team ever to play the game and they’ve got a score to settle and a bounty on our heads.

To beat Limerick this year, to even breathe their air, Cork will need wring every last ounce out of what they’ve got. And then find something more. A fully fit Robert Downey isn’t just helpful, it’s a pre-requisite. The same goes for Hayes, Fitzgibbon and Barrett rediscovering the brilliance that rattled Limerick’s cage last summer. Layer on top of that a tactical curveball — something smart enough to wrong-foot them again, all the while cobbling together some sort of system that might shield a full-back line that was left brutally exposed the last day out. And even if all of that clicks — the bodies, the form, the strategy — you’ve still only made it back to where you were twelve months ago. Because chances are, if Cork are to get to where they want to be, at Limerick’s expense as the road now seems to demand, it won’t be by doing what worked before. It’ll take something fresh and unexpected. A flash from the bench. A gamble. Something they haven’t seen and something they haven’t yet accounted for.

Think back to that last great Cork team, as I’m sure many of us do, perhaps more often than is healthy. In 2006, that team failed to get over the line in no small part because the bench just wasn’t there when it was needed most in the final. Strip everything else away and a similar lack of punch from the bench has been one of the most disappointing aspects of this campaign, especially given all the noise around Cork’s supposed depth in April (from this blog too, admittedly). Go back to that glorious day in Croke Park last year, when Cork brought Limerick’s run to a screeching halt. Fourteen of the starting fifteen from that team lined out again three weeks ago in the Gaelic Grounds. The only change? Ethan Twomey, who’s been replaced in three championship games so far and dropped for the other. That Limerick side, on the other hand, have been able to freshen things up with the inclusion of Barry Nash, Adam English and Shane O’Brien. As they say, if you’re standing still, you’re going backwards.

Still, it only takes one moment to change a summer’s trajectory. Indulge me here and let’s stick with ’06 for a second. Cork were in all sorts of bother in the semi-final that year against Waterford, two points down with about fifteen left to play, when John Allen rolled the dice and sprung Cathal Naughton for his championship debut. Two minutes and two touches later and he’d bagged a goal and a point, flipping the script and lighting the fuse for Cork to triumph in an epic. Okay, it didn’t culminate in an All-Ireland in the end but you see where I’m coming from. At some point over the next few weeks, Cork will need to find a similar spark. A bolter, whoever that may be. Someone to step in from the shadows and conjure something, even if we never hear of him again. A Mikey Cahalane. A Garvan McCarthy even.

So, who’s it going to be then? Diarmuid Healy looked like he was ready to make the leap after his breakout man-of-the-match performance against Kilkenny back in March. His twenty minutes against Waterford two weeks ago hardly set the world alight but it had enough bite to suggest he could still have a big hand to play before the summer is out. Or maybe the twist will come from somewhere more unexpected, someone more familiar. There’s a stubborn, romantic part of me that can’t let go of the idea that Conor Lehane has one last dance left in him, a hope beyond hope that one of these days, he’ll step back into the spotlight, find the sweet spot and remind us all how he is still capable of lighting up the championship. Stranger things have happened. Strange things may need to happen.

Last year, we had to beat Limerick twice to keep the season alive. The likelihood is that this year, we only need to beat them once. And if we somehow manage to achieve that this weekend, the chances of repeating the trick may well decrease. So, for all the history and weight the Munster Final carries, this one doesn’t carry that same finality. Nothing ends on Saturday. But Christ, we need to see something – a performance, a statement, a sign that things are still moving forward. Something to bring with us on the road back through Charleville, Buttevant and Mallow that might just shorten that awful journey. And something that might just prolong our journey that bit deeper into the summer. Until we meet these boys again.

Up the Rebels