Sunday
4pm. June 29th. The Old Dublin Roaders versus Greenfield Drive. The Final.
The Drive had quietly yet assuredly cantered through the previous
rounds. But they were far from prolific in front of goal, had they the quality to cause an
upset? It was unlikely, they were missing Eamon Gallagher, their midfield
anchorman. The Roaders were confident. Very confident. But had they fully recovered from their epic
encounter with Old Greenfield?
Yes they had. And,
with nine players at their disposal, they knew that The Old Dublin Roaders'
name was on the cup. The game was an open affair, The Roaders carved out several
chances in the first half. At times they were unlucky and also somewhat
wasteful in front of goal. A bobbly surface was rightly blamed for one
missed opportunity in particular.
It took a miscued
slice off the boot of Joe Lee to calm the ODR nerves. 1-0. A fortuitous goal perhaps, but
it was a lead that the Roaders thoroughly deserved. The Drive looked weary, lethargic,
there was a distinct lack of urgency and fluency in their play. They knew that they
were second best. One drink too many the night before? Perhaps.
The team spirit and camaraderie
was alive and kicking in the Roaders' camp, and with a full complement of staff, they used
their substitutes wisely and effectively. It was a luxury they were very thankful for
after the titanic struggle just a few days before. The Drive could not
cope with the fortitude, focus and sheer desire to win of the proud
Roaders' lions. "We will not be defeated", the warriors' cry
that beat ferociously in their hearts.
For all their skill
and creativity, the Roaders' could not find that killer second goal to
finish off their opponents, the brave but ultimately inferior dogs of war.
But they were relentless in their pursuit of that holy grail of 7-a-side
football, the Joe Murphy trophy.
1-0 became 2-0,
Ciaran McCarron, a much-needed and gifted replacement for the sidelined
player/manager, pounced on a ball in the Drive's penalty area and
dispatched it with aplomb
into the back of the net. The relief was orgasmic in intensity. That
knockout uppercut sent the Drive crashing to the canvas, a fall they would
have no chance of recovering from. You're out!
The game ebbed and
flowed until the final whistle. To the Drive's credit they forged on and
were slightly unlucky not to score themselves. The Roaders defended
resolutely when needed but having controlled the tempo of the game from
start to finish, they could relax. The trophy was theirs. And it still is. Somewhere...
the end.