Sharing 1988 winning bus after Galway retain All-Ireland title
IT was the second Monday of September back in 1988, and we were on a full bus going back to Galway; not any old bus, mind you – this one had Conor Hayes up front with the McCarthy Cup sat on his lap.
Behind him was Galway’s Al-Ireland-winning hurling squad and management team with plenty of room for everyone on a 50-seater in the days before Strength and Conditioning experts and dieticians filled out the backroom numbers – enough room indeed to invite a couple of reporters to join them on the trip of a lifetime.
That’s why, perched side-by-side in the middle of the bus just taking it all in, was myself and Martin Breheny, then the Irish Independent’s GAA correspondent but then and now a passionate Gaelic Games man and proud Galwegian.
We knew we were privileged to be allowed to experience the journey home with the players who had seen off Tipperary 24 hours earlier – although in truth this was probably 36 hours later because it took a while to muster the troops for departure.
Setting off from the Ashling Hotel with suitable lubrication already on board – or the hair of the dog after a long night’s celebration – the first half of the journey home, just like the first-half of the final itself, bordered on the uneventful.
The second-half, in both cases, was a different matter. And the atmosphere and anticipation changed as soon as we entered the West.
The tradition of walking the Liam McCarthy across the Shannon in Athlone was duly observed and in fairness there wasn’t another stop until they got to Connaughton’s pub in Clonark, in front of the famous Clann na nGael clubhouse in Roscommon – all of four miles from Athlone.
The fans knew the team would be there because they’d always stopped there in victory and defeat – and they got the same welcome from supporters and the bar staff irrespective of the result. So as they were welcomed on days of disappointment, they generously shared the glory.
Such was the crowd awaiting them the only safe place for the players was behind the bar which also meant that, as a consequence, they had to pull the pints.
For themselves and for everyone else as well.
From there it was on to Ballinasloe and a homecoming that would have been no less impressive if it was the final destination. As it was, Loughrea seemed even more packed to the point that the bus had to pull right up to the stage to let players directly onto the platform.
But the problem with stopping off in pubs along the route is that what goes in must come out – and we’re talking about a time before toilets were standard on coaches.
So when we pulled into Loughrea and as Conor Hayes left through the front door, a small group made it out through the emergency door at the back and knocked on the door of possibly the only person in Loughrea not already out on the street.
Their role in saving the day and keeping the homecoming cavalcade on track will never be known, but they were among the many heroes of an epic journey.
There didn’t seem to be any part of the road home that didn’t have fans and flags and bonfires and then the reception that awaited the team in the old Beech Hotel in Salthill was a sight to behold on another level.
Looking back now, it seems bizarre that we lived through a time when we were accorded that sort of welcome, given that we find ourselves in an era when media access to players is curtailed to a level that you’d get more chat out of a silent order of nuns.
I entirely understand why management wants to protect the team from the pre-match hype, all the more so given that, back then, you were dealing with a couple of national titles, a few local papers and RTÉ.
This was a time even before local radio, and social media wasn’t even a pipedream.
You might say we were embedded with the team and you’d be right, but then when you’re from a particular county – as a journalist or a supporter – you’re embedded anyway, so there was no great compromise in that.
It didn’t mean that teams weren’t taken to task for bad performances and you couldn’t say there wasn’t fall-out – but it was a simpler time.
And I remember that bus journey like it was yesterday. I remember, as well, Noel Lane’s goal as he rounded Conor O’Donovan to shoot past Ken Hogan and ensure Galway – for the one and only time – retained their All-Ireland crown.
But most of all I’m eternally grateful for the privilege that allowed me to see what it must be like to be a hero, even if we were only basking in the reflected glory.