8.15am – I awake. There is a message waiting for me on my phone.
“If you’re back in Dublin, you hardly fancy a trip to Baltinglass tomorrow night for Dublin/Wicklow? I’m taking a trip down to it if you do. And yes, apologies for the 3:45 a.m. message!”
Sending texts at quarter to four in the morning? Has my friend taken on the Mark Wahlberg lifestyle? Is his new year’s resolution to get up three times a night to eat boiled chicken breasts, all with the intention of adding four stone of pure muscle to his dad-bod? The fact that he said ‘tomorrow night’, rather than ‘later today’ suggests 3.45am was the end of his night, rather than the start of his morning. When he sobers up will he still want to go to Wicklow/Dublin in Baltinglass?
8.30am – I’ve been lying here for 15 minutes and all I can think is – why do I want to go to Wicklow/Dublin in Baltinglass?
8.45am – I reply to Padraic, that yes, I will go to Wicklow/Dublin in Baltinglass. In fact, my exact words are that I’d “love” to go to Wicklow/Dublin in Baltinglass. The die is cast. I didn’t get a chance to see Padraic at home in Galway over the Christmas, so we had made tentative plans to go to Castlebar on January 28th, for Galway against Mayo in the first round of the league. Even as I was texting him to make that arrangement, I was inclined to think that maybe things would change as I got closer to that date.
Now, four weeks ahead of schedule, I’m going to Baltinglass. Really? Is the draw of my erstwhile colleague-in-podcasting Oisín McConville’s debut in intercounty management really that irresistible? How many more questions can I keep asking myself before I consider the possibility I’m losing my mind?
9.20am – I inform my co-workers on the Second Captains podcast that I will be unavailable for an early-evening recording we had scheduled, as I am going to Baltinglass. Far from being annoyed, my co-workers express concern about my mental wellbeing. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Really. REALLY.”
“And anyway, it’s Oisín’s debut. We’ll get something from it”, I say – more in hope than in expectation. “Who knows, maybe Jack McCaffrey will be punishment-selected. It could be good.”
10am – the Dublin team is released on social media. Jack McCaffrey is obviously no longer in the doghouse, because he’s nowhere near this selection. This is your typical Dublin O’Byrne Cup panel, so it’s highly experimental.
Bizarrely, this appears to have no impact on my enthusiasm levels whatsoever. I begin to wonder if this is somehow connected to the split season. The last intercounty game I was at was the All-Ireland final, on July 24th. That’s ... well, that’s 164 days ago. I don’t have to feel guilty about this at all! Gaels around the country are only gasping for live action. Right?
11.30am – I see elsewhere that the Leinster Council are charging €11.99 for the privilege of watching Walsh Cup games. ‘Who would pay such a price?’ scoffs the man going to Baltinglass.
1pm – I tell my wife I’m probably going to head to Baltinglass for a football game tonight. I presume she doesn’t even know where that is, but soon after, she departs the house without mentioning an approximate return time.
2.30pm – I inform the Sports Desk that I fancy stretching my legs, getting out into the field – maybe someone, somewhere is in the mood for an offbeat, sideways glance at the opening night of pre-season competitions. “No problem, but while you’re down there you might just send us 200 words at full-time as well, and I’ll give our actual reporters the night off.” It happens so fast I can’t even muster a complaint.
6.30pm – As we pull out of Dublin 8, the temperature is a balmy nine degrees, the rain has stayed away, and it almost feels like we’re cheating the system. On the other hand – still no sign of my wife.
7.10pm – It takes only a quick shower of rain to bring home the full scale of our mania. We may have made a terrible mistake.
7.40pm – The rain has stopped, and the people of Wicklow have come out in force. We take our positions beside the PA system, which has helpfully blown the generator. A pleasing low-grade hubbub replaces the usual playlist. And we’re dry!
8.15pm – Killian O’Gara is the pick of the Dublin forwards with three early points. Wicklow have left Kevin Quinn inside, have given him some service, and Dublin apparently feel it just wouldn’t be cricket to drop in a sweeper on an occasion such as this.
8.20pm – Two possessions later, Dublin think better of that and tighten things up a little.
8.25pm – Half-time: Wicklow 0-5 Dublin 0-6. I have now revised downwards my initial suggestion this Dublin team could win Leinster.
8.55pm – Jack Kirwan, one of Wicklow’s most effective players, has a gilt-edged goal chance after no more than five seconds of the second half. He blazes it over, and even as it happens it feels like a pivotal moment.
9.10pm – Colm Basquel has been quiet, but he hits a goal to go with the impressive O’Gara’s goal earlier in the half, to ease Dublin 2-11 to 0-7 clear. Everyone’s attention turns from the scoreboard to the exit.
9.32pm – It finishes 2-15 to 0-9. The paying public are duly released back into society, where they will quietly reintegrate, their neighbours and friends none the wiser.
