Around Donegal, people are still a bit shook by what happened in Croke Park last Sunday. There is still a collective shivery feeling throughout the county, the sense of having been in a cold and dark place that nobody expected to visit or would want to again.
Silence has given way to about a million theories and explanations and rumours, all of which are predicated on a basic admiration for the way Armagh performed. In Donegal, there is a belief that, above all, the brand of football played should reflect the personality and soul of the county, a real faith in the aesthetics of the game. And because that game was stripped naked on the grand stage, searches for perspective have been long and far-reaching.
As The Follower, the long-suffering Donegal Democrat polemicist, admitted this week, "As I came from Páirc An Chrócaigh on Sunday last my mind went back to the ancient Roman Forum and the death of Caesar on the Ides of March".
When The Follower invokes the classics, you can be assured the football situation in the county is either grave of glorious. Several stories, probably apocryphal, made it from the field back to the hills during the week. One Donegal player, a veteran and no shrinking violet, is said to have said he never met such a devastating physical presence in all his playing days. Another tale doing the rounds is that a defender, upon testing the ribcage of a celebrated Armagh forward (which doesn't really narrow the list), was met with a dead stare and the words, "Are ya tryin' to tickle me, young fella?"
As the game passes into lore, it will be remembered for a most perfect and sustained aria of strong, uncomplicated and visually splendid football from Armagh. Nobody could recall a performance of recent years to match it.
Donegal obviously played a less desirable and - typically - a cloudier role in the story.
Were they swept away by greatness? Did they fall flat? Is their spirit broken? What happened? Of course, the bottom line is nothing other than the inevitable happened: two teams turned up to play a football match and one lost. But boy. After the Battle of the Little Bighorn in June, 1876, a Sioux warrior said the routing of George Custer's 7th Cavalry lasted "about as long as it takes a hungry man to eat this dinner". At first glance, that probably seems like a reasonable summary of the events in Croke Park, which must have been like a harbinger of doom to all other counties with All-Ireland aspirations.
Donegal, the sunshine boys of the championship, got eclipsed - completely blotted out - in a way that nobody could have foreseen. When the details of the game are laid to rest, the abiding memory will be of Armagh using the remnants of the game, which had long lost the tension of contest, to send a chilling message around the country. There was positive and controlled rage at the heart of that game. They have displaced Meath and the Dubs as the county most suited to the scale and prestige of Croke Park.
Although it is generally agreed that Diarmuid Marsden's first-half goal was the game-breaking score, the truth is it was probably his point just seconds later that frayed the Donegal nerves. It was apt that Marsden, an Armagh teenage prodigy who grew into a quiet and intense senior footballer, should flourish in perhaps their finest statement as a team. Never as prolific as Steven O'Donnell or as lazily stylish as Oisín McConville, Marsden embodies all of his county's best qualities. In the 2002 All-Ireland final, he alone stepped up during the bleak first half against Kerry. Last year, seconds after Donegal scored a cracking goal in the All-Ireland semi-final, Marsden restored order with a fine and difficult point just before half-time. Funny, when the game was won last week, Marsden wasn't all that noticeable but, during the period of its winning, he was omnipotent.
It leaves the question of whether Armagh can be beaten this year. That is where the details of last week are important. Until the 62nd minute, the game was alive. Donegal, although still suffering the heebie-jeebies, were never more than two points away from posing a sticky sort of problem. They missed a reasonably straightforward 1-2 in the second half, were asleep in defence for Marsden's goal and also handed Paddy McKeever a point from a stray pass.
They made countless cardinal errors and made the fatal mistake of trying to run at the Armagh defence, one against X, from a standing position. That was football suicide. They slipped and hesitated, they played horribly at times and in the last minutes had to endure a reality that must have been individually and collectively shocking. But at least now they know what the very worst that can happen feels like and move from there.
Yet despite the misery of the afternoon and a scoreline that will make them wince for many years, they lived with Armagh for a long time. They appeared to be hanging on with their fingernails, certainly, and - who knows? - had Colm McFadden hit the net instead of the crossbar, Donegal might have had the requisite energy and imagination to force a comeback. But just perhaps Armagh were not quite as supernova as the pictures suggested.
But they are, undeniably, the county to beat, and that fact enriches the championship. Armagh are a fascinating team and have locked into the metaphysical power of team ethos in a way rarely seen in any sport. Their quest for another All-Ireland and their third successive September appearance has suddenly become a riveting subplot in the general narrative. Laois must show a hand tomorrow. Galway and Tyrone walk the plank this afternoon. Kerry must rediscover the finesse to match the muscle. Páidi Ó Sé is smiling in a way we have not seen for years. The Tom Lyons road show is the biggest sensation down the country since the heyday of Fossett's Circus. Derry are threatening to become the silent assassins of this championship.
Optimism abounds throughout Mayo and Roscommon. Colin Corkery has yet to start banging over 60-metre points. Mattie Forde is scoring for fun. It has been an intriguing and strange championship to date and now, as of tomorrow's draw, the heavy business truly begins. There are a lot of counties with good reason to persuade themselves this could be a very good year, but Armagh are out there and alone. The chief pressure on them is to tap into whatever frequency enables them to perform at such a frightening pitch as they did last week.
If any team has the mental discipline to do that, it is Armagh. Right now, it is hard to identify a county capable of matching their resolve and strength and frosted finishing. But nothing is surer than Armagh are going to find themselves in a dangerous place before this summer is through. And this championship being what it is, the threat will come from an oblique source. The fun is only starting.
