David Clifford shook hands with two Donegal players before he was swarmed by cameras. Two TV cameramen and two press photographers circled him in a dance, as close as they dare. In Croke Park, Clifford’s personal space has no boundaries.
Brendan McCole had just stepped out. For 70 minutes they occupied a small allotment of common ground. McCole had eyes for nobody else. When the ball was elsewhere on the field he looked into Clifford’s face or grabbed his shirt or jostled him and Clifford let everything pass. He had the audacious nerve to wait.
Time and again he removed himself from the build-up, taking McCole for a walk to the opposite side of the field, donating the space to others. He didn’t need millions of touches, he wasn’t needy for the ball, he had no desire to get involved in the dull weave of handpasses. He drifted to the outside.
Sometimes he turned his back to the play. When his brother Paudie tried for a two-pointer shortly before half-time, David was the only Kerry forward outside the Donegal 45. Others were making darting movements while the greatest forward of all time ambled across the field, not seeking a piece of the action.
RM Block
But in Clifford’s extraordinary career, this may have been his most complete performance. It was a towering monument to patience and cunning and stunning execution. Everything was measured and timed. His possessions must have crept into double figures in the end, but those numbers had no meaning. He was only concerned about consequences.
Clifford’s first touch after nine minutes ended in a two-point score. His next touch, three minutes, later ended into another two-pointer. His third possession led to a pointed free. His fourth touch was a point. A quarter of the game had passed, and McCole had not let Clifford move beyond arm’s length. Already, he was toast.
The build-up had revolved around Clifford. All the what ifs. For Clifford there was no way of brushing that off or wishing it away. Greatness comes with this tax. On the biggest days, there is no allowance for failure, or mediocrity, or retreating into the pack. Whatever he did or failed to do, Clifford’s performance would be quoted as the difference.
During the week Tony Griffin, the former Kerry performance coach, said that Clifford had “fallen in love” with the game again. The new rules were designed for freedom of expression and Clifford is the game’s most flamboyant artist.
What could Donegal do? In the old rules, suffocation was easier. Space could be compressed. How many players were Donegal prepared to sacrifice? Only once in the game was Clifford gang-tackled by three Donegal players and turned over. Otherwise, his battle with McCole was man-on-man combat. He had the strength of mind to wait.
“David has a unique temperament,” said Jack O’Connor. “He just takes it all in his stride. Of course, he must have felt pressure, and he knew he was going to get a lot of heat. We spoke about it during the week, and he said, “Look, if I’m double-marked and triple-marked, I’ll just win it and slip it.”
“He’s humble enough to create scores for other people and he was a massive part of our win out there because he kicked three two-pointers. Particularly the one on the stroke of half-time was just inspirational for us going in, just giving us an extra pep in our step. But how he deals with the weight of expectation? I have no idea. He has a unique temperament.”
When Kerry played Donegal in the 2014 final, James O’Donoghue’s role was not unlike the way they used Clifford here. O’Donoghue finished that season as the Footballer of the Year, but in the final a critical part of his role was to take Neil McGee away from goal. Paul Geaney and Kieran Donaghy stayed inside, and Kerry bombed deliveries on top of them. O’Donoghue failed to score but Kerry had budgeted for that. The focus of the threat was shifted.
This time, Kerry had a souped up version of that plan. Clifford stayed away from the square too, allowing their two centre fielders, Sean O’Brien and Mark O’Shea to drift inside. The key difference was that Kerry had set plays to launch Clifford.
For five of his six scores he didn’t have to beat a defender to get his kick away. The shooting angle was made by the run. The only time he missed was with a harried shot under the Hogan Stand when Clifford should have recycled the ball. It was the only time he lost his patience.
McCole didn’t touch the ball for an hour; a pass bounced over Clifford’s head and he pounced on it. For 70 minutes he didn’t leave Clifford out of his sight. What more could he have done?
In the 2022 final against Galway Clifford kicked eight points from nine shots; this time, he kicked nine points from eight shots. In the last few minutes, he beat Shaun Patton with a bouncing shot that Conor O’Donnell somehow deflected around the post and in five finals, including a replay, Clifford has yet to score a goal. There are always new frontiers.
Clifford kicked Kerry’s last point. He burst into space on the left flank, cut inside, and on his right foot, thumped it over the bar. He turned to the stands, waving his arms in exultation.
Of his great days, none was greater.
