Second best?

“I always thought you were one of the best priests in the country,” Mrs. Doyle gushes. Ted, ego suitably inflated, can’t resist further validation. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Doyle. One of the best? Or maybe the best? Honestly, Mrs. Doyle, would you say I’m the best priest in the country at the moment?” After a moment’s consideration, Mrs. Doyle replies with her characteristic sincerity. “Well. I’d say you might be the second-best priest in the country.” Visibly deflated and barely concealing his annoyance, Ted snaps back with wounded sarcasm. “No, it’s alright. I’m not the best priest in the country. I’m only the second best. There’s somebody better than me apparently.” Moments later, Ted is shown wandering solemnly along the beach, absent-mindedly skimming stones across the water, Mrs. Doyle’s words echoing relentlessly in his mind. The second-best priest. The second best priest.

Players and managers across every sport insist they do not read the papers, listen to the podcasts or pay any attention to the noise swirling beyond their inner circle. Until, of course, they stumble upon something useful. A slight. A perceived lack of respect. Anything that can be repurposed into motivation and woven into a siege mentality. They’re all writing us off, lads. The conversation surrounding Sunday’s Munster final is no different. If Ben O’Connor and his players happen to tune in to the prevailing narrative, they may find exactly the kind of ammunition teams crave at this time of year. “Honestly,” asks the faceless radio host, “would you say Cork are the best team in the country at the moment?” A pause follows as the co-host weighs up his answer. “Well, I’d say they might be the second-best team in the country.” And there it is. The words linger. The second-best team. The second best team.

Of course, there is precious little genuine grievance to be found here. We have grown quite accustomed to occupying this particular rung on the ladder. Two years ago, we dethroned the team chasing five All-Irelands in a row and widely regarded as the game’s dominant force. We finished second. Last year, we were one of only two teams left standing, our opponents the same ones we had comfortably dispatched just weeks earlier. We finished second. This year? Four games, four wins. A clean slate that few could have predicted from the outset, and with a level of authority that fewer still could have anticipated. Only the second ever team to emerge from the province’s round-robin format with a perfect record, now facing an opponent in the final that was bested just six weeks ago. Still, can anyone really dispute the general consensus that Cork remain, for now at least, Munster’s second-best team? Probably not.

There is no shame in that either. We have spent the better part of a decade striving to reach the point where such distinctions are even worth debating. We watched from the wrong side of Limerick’s ascent, reduced more often than not to little more than another obstacle to be cleared on the path to greatness. But in recent years, the dynamic has begun to shift. We’ve beaten them in our place and in theirs. Under bright lights in Dublin too. And they’ve done the same to us. So, while it may have taken longer than we’d have hoped, the gap has finally closed. Not in terms of silverware, obviously, but perhaps in terms of pure hurling ability. The inferiority complex that once accompanied meetings with Limerick has gradually dissipated. These Cork players no longer fear their Limerick counterparts and, after losing four of the last five championship encounters, their lads can no longer afford to dismiss ours.

Well, at least that is what we would like to believe. The reality is a little more nuanced and for all the talk of equality, some players remain more equal than others. There are Limerick players that Cork absolutely do fear. By the same token, there are some Cork players that Limerick still, if not quite dismiss, will identify as potential targets. The Gillane Problem remains frustratingly unsolved. Thus far, attempts have amounted to dismissing Einstein’s tactical input and instead, doing the same thing in the hope of yielding different results. Or as Ned Flander’s parents lamented after trying to put manners on their unruly son, “We’ve tried nothing and are all out of ideas.” We’ve tried nothing yet, that is. Sean O’Donoghue will likely get the nod again, entrusted with the toughest brief on the field and reassured that this time the burden will not fall solely on his shoulders. The only viable solution, as ever, lies further up the pitch, where supply lines will need to be curtailed to keep Gillane to a respectable smattering of points. Maybe that’ll be enough too.

Alongside O’Donoghue in the trenches will be Damo, a player who has had the frustrations of a county projected on him for the entirety of his Cork career. Yet he’s still here. Still standing. Still contributing. A man who would have been considered Cork’s third-choice full-back only a few weeks ago. Now he finds himself anchoring the last line of defence at the business end of the season. It should not be taken as a slight to admit that there is something terrifying about that. But there is something equally compelling about it too. One of the abiding memories of Cork’s Munster final win over Clare in 2017 is Cahalane charging up the field in the closing stages, relieving the pressure and setting up Horgan’s insurance point. Who could fail to warm to the story of Cork ending the famine with Damo playing a central role? By Christ, we’ve seen enough hurlers come and go down here without fulfilling their potential. So say what you want about the man, but you could never accuse Cahalane of doing anything other than squeezing every last drop out of himself for Cork. And there is something unbelievably admirable about that.

“It looks as if I’ve had the last laugh,” Ted declares when he finally gets his hands on the Golden Cleric. “And a lot of people who didn’t think I had it in me… well, what I’ll say to those people is; look at me now.” Should Cork’s season end the way we all hope, our boy Damo, and a few others besides, would be well entitled to echo similar sentiments. But we’ll stick a pin in those thoughts and dreams for now. We can get back to them after Sunday. Even if we do come out second best.

Up the Rebels