With the arrival of the circus, people naturally jostle for the best seats, don’t they? This encapsulates the excitement buzzing in the Galway hurling scene in 2006, when Ger Loughnane announced his re-entry into the intercounty game following a six-year hiatus. There was an infectious liveliness among our folk, a feeling of finally gaining a promising figure, one who would accept nothing short of All-Ireland triumph, treating anything less as personal disrespect. Loughnane himself professed this, firmly stating he would perceive his stint as unsuccessful if Galway did not claim the MacCarthy Cup within two years.
Many perceived this as our hard-earned reward. Loughnane’s hopeful attitude was simply captivating. After a prolonged barren spell, Clare secured the All-Irelands of 1995 and 1997, seemingly through his sheer charisma. I was only a youngster when this unfolded, but Loughnane’s irresistible charm and unwavering belief were impossible to overlook.
The landscape of Hurling may have transformed since then, but Ger maintained his status as one of the sport’s most fascinating characters. He solidified his presence in the media – a regular pundit for The Sunday Game on television and a boldly candid newspaper columnist for the Irish Star. With his appointment as Conor Hayes’ replacement, he became Galway’s first external manager since Babs Keating in 1979. The decision had a profound impact.
Given that Hayes had tentatively suggested my association with Galway seniors in 2006 (with minors manager, Mattie Murphy, expectedly dismissing any questions related to my captaincy), I was fully aware of these developments. Understandably, my potential involvement was once again speculated about when the county brought in their fresh manager from Broadway.
Contrary to what people may have assumed, my decision during my final year with the Galway minors was clear – I didn’t intend to make myself a senior player in 2007. Many falsely believed that this was due to my strong will, with the belief that it was unshaken by other’s expectations of me. I was perceived as being obstinate; however, this stemmed from wanting to experience life beyond the realm of hurling.
Rather naively, I was seen as a potential recruit for the seniors due to my near-eligibility as a minor – missing the cut by merely a couple of months. However, to me, I was simply a youth wanting to live a typical teenage life.
The appointment of Loughnane seven months later did not alter my stance, quite the contrary, in fact. I remained firm on my viewpoint, notwithstanding the new leadership. The thought of caving into instantaneous obedience to the new order was far removed from my perceptions.
Despite the unyielding position I held, I was approached with hopes of swaying my decision. Brendan Lynskey, a selector under Loughnane, met me in Kilmeen Cross near Loughrea. My memories of this meeting are scant, except for Brendan’s impressive vehicle and his sun-kissed complexion. Despite his efforts, however, my determination was unwavering.
Similarly, Louis Mulqueen, another of Loughnane’s selectors, attempted to persuade me whilst we shared a pizza in Milano’s in Limerick early in 2007. He even managed to convince me to attend a team meeting in Athenry, a decision I still don’t quite understand. Regardless, I knew then, as I know now, that I didn’t belong in that group, and as such, I did not return.
I don’t believe there was a forthright sales proposition from Loughnane himself; I get the impression that he may have been somewhat miffed that I didn’t appear overly eager to participate in this innovative Galway narrative. My interpretation is that his self-esteem might have taken a hit.
Indeed, during my first year in LIT, I emerged victorious in the Fitzgibbon competition, just a few weeks into 2007, and he rendered quite a harsh judgment to the Star about my potential future as a senior intercounty hurler. I didn’t actually spot the article myself at that moment, but it was seen by my family. They retained the clipping.
Ger opined in the article that the Fitzgibbon was a “trivial competition”, fueling the idea that if I allowed the victory to inflate my ego, I would be gravely mistaken. He cautioned that I was on the precipice of missing out on my potential, maintaining that despite my minimal scoring from open play, I was being overvalued by people. Loughnane’s perspective was that I was trailing behind the pace of senior intercounty, believing that adhering to unwarranted acclaim would do me more damage than good. His final assertion was scepticism about whether I possessed the skills to succeed as an intercounty hurler.
It’s rather odd revisiting these statements, especially when he had previously dispatched two of his selectors to coax me into participating. In retrospect, I believe he might have been expressing disdain towards Davy Fitzgerald as much as towards me in that interview.
During his second victorious Fitzgibbon season with a college that had never won before, Fitzy was evidently gaining a reputation as a coach and manager that remains at the forefront of the game to this day. I’m not fully convinced that Ger ever truly embraced the notion of his past goalkeeper creating significant new historical moments.
However, to Loughnane’s credit, his somewhat radical personality traits are likely responsible for propelling Clare to the peak of success in the mid-90s. Considering the fact that their Munster title triumph in 1995 was the first for the county since 1932, I suspect it’s tough to exaggerate the significance of a truly innovative voice in that team.
The echoes of Loughnane’s voice never achieved the same authenticity within the confines of Galway. His leadership resulted in only four triumphs over two seasons; two each against Antrim and Laois. I perceived a lingering resentment in following years as Loughnane seemed to hold the Galway squad responsible for not fully embracing his austere approach. His perception of our collective weakness never faded, and he never hesitated to express it.
I observed Galway’s departure from the 2007 championship, a sobering 10-point defeat to Kilkenny in the All-Ireland quarter-final, from a pub in Brussels, amidst my cousin, Shane McClearn’s stag do celebrations. I was still reeling from our loss to Loughrea in the previous year’s county final, but was on course to clinch an All-Ireland under-21 title with Galway in the forthcoming months and was gearing up to be a part of the senior team once the time seemed right.
Subsequently, Galway used Tubber’s sandy terrain, notorious for demanding absolute dedication, as one of their training locations. This was undoubtedly Loughnane’s psychological challenge for the Galway lineup; a tacit message along the lines of, prove their judgement wrong. You couldn’t argue with the rationale.
Eventually, in March 2008, I found myself ready to experience the fervour of the training for myself, a week after the Portumna’s All-Ireland club final victory over Birr. Since St Patrick’s Day, celebrations had been ongoing when a handful of us were summoned to Athenry.
Given the flooded hurling pitch, we resorted to a weight-circuit in an improvised gym in the underground car park of Raheen Woods Hotel. It was an odd setup, the low ceiling barely six feet above and the overall dusty and sooty environment made it increasingly difficult for some of us even to draw breath.
Loughnane had seen the futility in merely barking and shouting, and instead, believed that such methods could be the very neutraliser needed to bring a tough edge to our hurling. The reality of the training sessions became evident, revealing them to be far removed from scientific or orderly approaches, they were more akin to lads being dared to lift the weightiest loads they could manage.
That memorable day, we found ourselves far from a decent training ground, instead we were in a field straight out of a children’s book, the land filled with cabbages, running laps around a minuscule shed. The contingent from Portumna felt the pain to their core, with the remnants of the previous night’s drinks making our ordeal feel akin to enduring hell sober.
What was originally planned as a relaxed round of ball-work at Kenny Park in the evening, was quickly abandoned due to a waterlogged pitch. What followed was a workout that was diametrically opposite to the intended, gentle introduction into training. Andy Smith, who without a doubt, was our toughest teammate, had to hop the wall at some point just to vomit on the other side. More followed suit as the night wore on and to this day the memory of those nauseous fellows continues to linger.
Loughnane’s first go as Galway’s manager was rather unimpressive, with a loss against his native Clare, led by his old ally Tony Considine, in the Ennis All-Ireland qualifier. It was certainly a challenge for the Portumna crew to get adjusted to Ger’s novel methods, and specifically, his intensely atypical training sessions. Drills from 1995 that had seemed effective now looked hopelessly old-fashioned. The lack of any apparent strategies on the day of the match patterned the reality of hurling during that time, only a handful of tactical maneuvers from teams like Cork or Kilkenny stood out amongst the rest.
As one might imagine, team discussions led by Loughnane were consistently thrilling. His impassioned speech, laden with challenging questions aimed at the soul would surely electrify you.
For our championship’s opening game against Antrim in Casement Park, we chose to travel by air to Belfast. Upon return to Galway, a few of us decided to enjoy the evening in town – an event that eventually came to be known as “the Dew Drop 15” saga.
We settled at the renowned local pub, the Dew Drop Inn, and spent the evening basking in the glorious sunshine. We were devoid of any worries, even though our impending game – against Laois – was barely a week away.
The jovial night at the Dew Drop, however, soured a bit. One guy in our group (not a Galway player) decided to be economical and sip on canned drinks he had purchased from the Spar shop across the street. The pub owner was understandably unpleased. Upon hearing about the ensuing squabble, Loughnane decided to admonish us at our following training session.
We were merely engaging in a light training at Salthill when we received the message: “Ger demands everyone to gather inside.”
He wanted identities.
“Who was having drinks in Galway the other evening?” he thundered. Frankly, he should have been more precise as we weren’t the only ones who had gone out for a few pints that night. No one confessed. There were no tattletales in our group.
This lack of admission incensed Ger and his selectors. Louis Mulqueen chastised us for showing no regard for the management. He lamented about the amount of time they invested into us, that his children barely recognized him anymore.
“And here you are, having a night out,” he sharply retorted.
As the room filled with silence, punishment seemed inevitable. We were commanded to carry out shuttle runs from one boundary to the other.
Such physical torment was absurd, especially sandwiched between two championship matches. While it was evident that the drinking episode shouldn’t have occurred, making us run relentlessly afterwards was complete lunacy, although that was more or less the norm back then.
“We’re here to make you harder, to show you how things are done!” Yet later, the robust training regime proved too much for Damien Joyce. Despite his notoriously abstemious nature during championship games, he ended up pulling a hamstring, rendering him unable to play in the match against Laois. Damien, arguably Galway’s most fit hurler, was an unfortunate casualty of our rigorous training schedule.
The Laois match occurred on a Saturday, with the coaching staff instituting an 8km run around Pearse Stadium the next morning. There were whispers that one of our management had conversed with Davy Fitzgerald, who had recently taken over the Waterford team mid-championship due to player backlash against Justin McCarthy. The rumour was that Waterford would be doing a similar run on Tramore strand, having defeated Antrim the previous day. The idea was to prevent the team members from indulging in drinks on the Saturday evening. We followed suit less than a day after securing victory against Laois.
The run, rather demanding after the victory, was orchestrated with the message that it was about time Galway followed suit if the Waterford players were ready to endure such tribulation. Interestingly, it turned out Waterford never embarked on their Tramore run, a fact I discovered upon returning to LIT and questioning Fitzgerald about it. His response, punctuated with laughter, was a resounding denial. From this, you can surmise that in our realm, intensity was paramount.
Inevitably, the bitter blow of Galway’s early exit from the 2024 championship was heightened by the revelation of the opposing team’s manager. Honestly, from the moment Micheál Donoghue was unveiled as Dublin’s new leader, it irked me. I was vocal about my sentiments in messages to him and selectors Franny Forde and Noel Larkin. It might seem ungracious, and I do accept that, but it’s my genuine feeling, one that persists even now.
Micheál Donoghue’s absence in our lives was deeply felt, his presence was instrumental in our All-Ireland victory. Nevertheless, the game of hurling can lead to distressing emotions, and it often requires time to rationally disentangle such feelings.
It seems unlikely, but Davy Burke was one of those discussing the issue with me at the time. While still active as a player, he seemed significantly less offended by the notion of our award-winning All-Ireland manager taking up the reins of a county we’d be competing directly against in the championship. Burke’s perception was that Micheál likely felt obliged to maintain his engagement at the intercounty level, or to put it differently, to stay pertinent. The pace of the game at that level is so swift that one could quickly be left in the dust. Ger Loughnane is a prime example. After a 10 year hiatus from the intercounty game, he took charge of Galway in 2007 and was struck by just how much the game had evolved.
My perspective was not as forgiving.
The case in point is that the Galway players still wanted Micheál as their coach when he opted to step down in 2019. I was just one of many from that locker room who made multiple visits to his home in Clarinbridge, arguing our case.
From my standpoint, the desire of the Galway players for Micheál’s return didn’t ever really abate, but he had his reasons to exit at that point. Foremost among them was a county board characterised by some rather dated tendencies and viewpoints – a board which has since been disbanded.
Seeing Micheál cloaked in Dublin apparel on the day we were ousted from the 2024 championship felt contrary to my expectations. It’s likely common knowledge that the immediate response from Dublin’s management to the 16th-minute incident (which led to Davy Burke’s dismissal) did Burton no favours when the referee turned to his linesman.
I realise that the rational stance would be to accept that Micheál, Noel, and Franny now belong to Dublin and owe it to their camp to support it wholeheartedly. Anything else would be distinctly incorrect.
However, take a moment to consider Davy Burke’s perspective.
Throughout 2016 to 2019, he would have been Micheál’s primary confidant, conversing numerous times each week. In other words, we all faced and emerged from battles together – an experience that has forged a lasting bond between us.
That incident in Salthill was somewhat unnerving to me. Our bonds of friendship are strong enough to withstand anything. It’s common knowledge that Micheál Donoghue’s influence played a significant role in our triumph at the All-Ireland. Yet, the sport of hurling can occasionally transport us to the most bare and primal parts of ourselves, and it often takes time for us to fully comprehend the emotions involved. Perhaps the magnitude and significance hurling holds in our lives can be attributed to this. It transcends merely being a pastime for us; it’s much more profound. Joe Canning’s autobiography, ‘My Story’, brought out by Gill Books is currently stocked at bookstores, and retails at €24.