April 9 - Fitzgerald Stadium, Killarney

A match that united myself and 'The Gooch'. My mother had died the day before and I was in Rosslare where she and my father had moved. Amid all the comings and goings in the house and the preparations for the removal myself and Sarah decided to go into the hotel next door and have a few drinks. Habit being what it is I asked one of the barmen could he put on TG4 which was covering the Tyrone Mayo match.

No problem. That was until he changed over from Sky Sports. I had actually looked around before I had asked and, apart from the fact that two other screens had Sky's coverage of the exciting interim between Chelsea and West Ham, and Arsenal and Manchester United, there didn't in fact seem to be anyone actually looking at it. There was a chap in front of us who was sitting sideways and arguing with two children who were making that much noise it wouldn't have mattered what the fuck was on anyway, and three local men in their 60s who had come in after us sitting at a table clearly waiting for something. Naively I thought that they might actually be there to see the Tyrone match!

As soon as the screen changed there was consternation. The Dublin chap with the kids looked around as surprised as if a child welfare officer had suddenly presented themselves. The three Wexford men actually stood up and looked at me, clearly having identified the culprit, with a disgust that would hardly have been surpassed had I mooned from the altar during Communion.

All four called for the barman. "What's the story man? I came in here to watch bleedin' unirer". So apparently had the other chaps. Sarah sensibly told me to act sensibly. In fairness the barman wasn't going to give in and the Dub and his brats moved all of ten feet from which they now had the choice of two other screens. The Wexford lads stood transfixed. Blocking my view of the match it has to be said. This was not good. My temper was rising dangerously. I could feel Sarah's hand on my arm. I got up and went over to the barman.

"Listen. Thanks for that but change it back or you'll never hear the end of it." He looked relieved. Change was made by remote and the three oul fellas looked at me in triumph. That was too much. "Sorry about that. I thought I was in Wexford not Manchester." Sarah hissed at me. "Shut up." She was right and I could imagine my mother not being impressed!. Time to go.

As we got up, the barman came over and apologised again and said he would put it on for us on the little TV in the lobby. He came out with us and gave a quick glance behind him. "No bother. Anyway, I was wondering how I'd be able to see how Wexford are getting on against Armagh. You don't mind if I check the Aertel on RTE once in a while." Grand. We settled down and I could feel myself both relaxing and getting embarrassed. We talked about Wexford's chances for a while and Mattie Forde. In truth I didn't even see much of the match. I glanced at it every now and then but mostly we talked about my mother and father. Qualification for the league play-offs, on which Dublin's chances in large part depended on the outcome of Tyrone and Mayo, were not important anymore.

The other part of course rested on Dublin beating Kerry in Killarney. TG4 switched to it every time something significant happened. Like Mark Vaughan's penalty being saved by Diarmuid Murphy. And the Gooch scoring a point to level the match after he was brought on in the second half. Dublin went clear again but it ended level. The draw and the one in Castlebar meant that Kerry and Mayo were through to the semi-finals.

What united the Gooch and me was that he had not been expected to play at all as his father had died earlier in the week. Probably he would not have appeared had Kerry not briefly looked to have been in trouble. A sign both of how much qualifying did mean to Kerry. How much Gooch means to Kerry. And how much Kerry means to Gooch. It must have been hard for him to kick football in the circumstances. Normally I would only have an intellectual understanding of that. We were in a similar place. Even the simple habitual things become harder after a loss like this.