“Meath are never beaten”

Gone are the days of the mighty, punishing Meath teams. But they still strike fear as a team that’s never beaten.

A row of men sat at a bar in County Meath. They were of different ages, creeds, sizes and backgrounds. Nothing at all bound them together; apart for a thirst and a common desire to be perched at a slightly higher level than everyone else in the room.

What they spoke of mattered little to anyone but themselves and each other. What it produced was clatter. A wall of irrelevant racket.

There was nothing at all special about this group of people. If anything, they looked a little greener ‘round the gills than most, as it was half eight in the evening and the racing had started at half one on that particular afternoon. This was a bar of regular folk.

Unbeknownst to them, there was somebody watching. A slight man from south Tipp curiously examined them. He was in awe.

Second Team

Tipperary hurling was my Granduncle's passion. Had he ever been given the chance to host a dinner party with whomever he wanted, there’s a good chance Jesus Christ himself might have missed out had he not RSVP’d before Jimmy Doyle or Babs Keating.

But as the eighties turned into the nineties, the man from the foot of Slievenamon began to curiously follow a different team, in a different code. From the moment his niece finally convinced him that she wasn’t moving ‘up the north’ when she bought a house in Navan, he began keeping an eye on Meath football. And when the Royals finally beat Dublin to capture a breakthrough Leinster in 1986, they became his second team.

He watched in wonder at the All-Ireland wins against Cork in ’87 and ’88, and particularly the four-game saga with Dublin in ’91. Then again in ’96, the ‘row’ with Mayo and the ’99 win over those damn Rebels, again. He was hooked on Meath football. Lyons, O’Rourke, O’Malley, Flynn, Fay, Giles, Geraghty, he idolised them all. “Tough men”, “hard men”, “men’s men”.

Those Meath teams didn’t win too many fans outside of the county for their style of play, but they had all the characteristics that my mother’s uncle valued. Their famous grit, determination and ‘never say die’ attitude. Their ruthlessness. Their stature. Their success.

I looked across the bar, and I saw a group of unruly, inebriated drunkards. Regular folk.

When my granduncle looked across the bar, he saw hardened, uncompromising warriors.

“All yee Meath men are big bastards”, he muttered with a wry smile.

Perception

It’s almost eighteen years since Sam Maguire last slept a night in the old Fifth Province. A generation of adults, who don’t remember their last All-Ireland success, go to games with only one (questionable) Leinster title since 2001 to reminisce on.

Meath have only reached the All-Ireland series twice in that time and have produced one All-Star. Just two Leinster Championships at minor, very little at club level and nothing at Under 21. And yet the burden of expectation weighs heavy.

Meath fans have seen some bad days since their last legitimate Leinster title in 2001 (sorry, Joe). Championship losses to Fermanagh, Limerick and Westmeath being particular low points. Yet sitting in the stand in Tullamore, as Meath prepared to take on Kildare in the Leinster semi-final back in June, one could be forgiven for forgetting all those days even happened. There was a giddy excitement amongst the large Royal following. An expectation.

“Meath are never beaten.”

And I, like everyone else, almost believed it. Despite recent results, or recent performances, I couldn’t get this thought out of my head. With the McEntee’s at the helm, anything was possible. The warm-up looked intense. I stood with them and belted out Amhrán na bhFiann just like Lyons, O’Rourke and Fay used to.

“Meath are never beaten.”

But when the ref finally threw the ball in, he must have thrown in some reality at the same time. Meath were spanked and I instantly remember that yes, they are beaten. Quite often.

But for me however, the most interesting part of the entire match came right after half time. Let’s get one thing straight. Kildare were miles ahead of Meath in pretty much every way. They should have been out of sight by this stage, anyway. But when Meath scored the first four points of the second half, there wasn’t a single Kildare supporter in the ground who didn’t spare a thought for that old perception of Meath, just like my granduncle had that evening. It might have only lasted a few minutes, but Kildare supporters felt an old familiar dread.

“These big f*ckers are going to get us, aren’t they?”

It was the same last weekend against Sligo. Meath were bloody useless. But, not for one second did anyone in the crowd truly believe they weren’t going to win. There they were, playing with fourteen men behind the ball, and losing with ten minutes to go, yet not a single Meath supporter had the humility to even consider that they might lose this one.

Belief, arrogance, stupidity, whatever you want to call it, to be a Meath fan is to have a tiny part of you that believes that the giant isn’t asleep, he’s only resting his eyes.

Donegal

And so next up is the men from Tír Chonaill. How ironic is it that Meath face them now, as Jim McGuinness’s great team of 2012 drifts further away into the past and Donegal slip further from the top table.

That team weren’t exactly shown much love from outside the county, but like the Meath teams of old, they didn’t care. Much like Sean Boylan, McGuinness changed the way intercounty teams approached matches. Donegal’s 2012 team have lot in common with the Meath team of the late eighties, in that they were both tactically aware, highly motivated and extremely physical.

Now, they have all the hallmarks of a team in transition. The loss of eight All-Ireland winners in one go would severely damage any team. Teams are now generally better equipped to dealing with the blanket defense, and Donegal’s lack of a plan B is a real concern. But they still have two of the best forwards in the country in Murphy and McBrearty.

Back in 2002, Donegal put a dagger through the heart of the last great team Meath team, when they dumped them out of the championship in a round four qualifier.

For a few minutes before the match on Saturday, I will think of the glory days. I’ll look out at the players in Royal green and gold, and they’ll look ten feet tall. When I stare out at Donal Keogan, Graham Reilly, Mickey Burke and co, they will transform into O’Rourke, Flynn and Fay before my eyes.

In that euphoric, spine-tingling period after the national anthem and before the ball is thrown in, where thoughts of form or tactics aren’t entertained and the crowd becomes one, I’ll think of Donegal killing a giant back in 2002.

And just for a few moments, I’ll truly believe that we are about to return the favour.