“This is going to be a long, long night…”

– Fergus Dennehy: Circa, March 2016

Straight off the bat, I’ll be honest with you all, I’m not the biggest GAA head in the world.

I’d never even been to a live match before.

So last night, when I found myself standing in the freezing cold watching a Kerry U21 game, all while feeling thoroughly and completely out of place in this alien GAA mad-world, let’s just say it was a strange experience.

Here’s how it all came about: 

So, I’d just started working as a photographer for one of the local papers here in town and one of my first assignments was to get a few ‘crowd shots’ at a football match taking place in the newly renovated Austin Stack Park stadium.

Seriously, I don’t know why they chose me of all people, it baffles the mind.

Sounds simple enough right? I thought so too, bu it, uh, didn’t quite as quickly or smoothly as I had expected.

I decided to get down to the stadium nice and early, to avoid the mass crowds and thus make it easier to maneuver through the stands to get the photos.

However, as I drove along the road next to the stadium, I was astounded at the sheer number of cars parked up outside. It seemed as if my plan to avoid the huge crowds was quickly going up in flames.

My fears were confirmed when after parking up, I caught a glimpse of the mass group of people already seated in the stands. There didn’t look like there was going to be much room for awkward photo taking…

‘Right, this is going to be a little tricky’ I thought to myself.

I joined the throng of people heading towards the stadium, all of whom were decked out in in the famous green and gold and eagerly discussing the prospect of the game and who they thought would come up trumps for Kerry.

As I walked casually amongst them, camera bag in hand, I was met with only one thought in my head:

‘Right, the rest of these people are probably looking at me and thinking that ‘this guy here, he looks the part. He’s got a camera and all, he’s definitely be a regular match goer and GAA media head’.

I needed to to keep this ‘GAA look’ going, I thought quickly.

“Next” a voice shouted from in front of me, I glanced up and realised it was my turn to buy ticket for the match.

‘Just act cool Dennehy, you got this’, I reassured myself.

“One adult ticket please” I said confidently the kindly old man behind the counter.

“Sorry?” he queried, looking at me strangely.

‘Oh god, am I at the wrong counter?’ I panicked inwardly, ‘this is definitely the counter for season ticket holders or something, I’ve been rumbled…’

“Umm, one adult ticket…please?” I said back to him, my voice cracking just a little.

“No bother” he replied before proceeding to press a series of buttons on his machine out popped the ticket.

“Thanking you” I replied, wiping my brow in relief before bounding through the turnstiles, confidence renewed and image as a  ‘legitimate’ GAA fan still intact.

Entering the stadium, my head was turned in every direction as I tried to take in all the surroundings.

Huge floodlights stretched far up into the sky in front of me, a teenager selling match programmes was shouting to the crowd while a group of old men wearing flat caps and puffy jacket walked beside me randomly uttering “ah jaysus, she’s looking well” and “Hup outta that!”.

‘Yeah’, I thought, this was definitely going to be an experience.

The stand was almost completely full when I reached it and I saw that it would be very cumbersome to try and get any individual shots of people without stepping on the person in front of them, such was the crowd.

So it was that I, being a completely awkward person, decided that my only option was to sit through the first half of the match and try to snag people in for a few photos at halftime.

Here’s the scene that greeted me on arrival:

GAA fans, GAA fans EVERYWHERE.

So it began.

From originally having planned on being in and out of the stadium well before the game even started, I was now sitting in a crowd squashed up next to a father/son pairing who were both heavily engrossed in dissecting the team line ups.

Needless to say, I knew absolutely none of the players that I was soon going to be cheering for.

“Looking forward to it?” the people next to me asked just before kick off.

“Oh yeah, I’ve been looking forward to it for ages! It should be a cracker!” I replied, hoping they wouldn’t see the clear deception in my eyes.

‘Here we go’ I thought as the whistle went, ‘Time to play it cool, just blend right in Dennehy and we’ll get through this with our image intact’.

What followed was some of the most interesting, self aware, downright strangest 35-70 minutes of my recent life.

My life had become this scene from the IT Crowd:

In my efforts to be ‘recognised’ as a fan, I went full GAA: I cheered when the others cheered, I winced they winced, I booed when they booed, I clapped for the injured players and I gave abuse when they gave abuse.

I even went so far as to cheer the ‘Maor Uisce’ or the ‘water man’ on the sidelines as I called him, even though the majority of what he was shouting to the players was complete and utter gibberish to me.

After a while though, I subconsciously found myself less and less occupied with ‘keeping up my image’ to those around me and more and more on enjoying the game that was taking place in front of me. 

It actually did soon turn out to be a ‘cracker’ of a game! 

Soon enough though, halftime arrived and I bounded up and wandered the stadium nodding politely at the stewards as I went, being careful not to look them in the eyes too much though in case they saw through my devious ruse. 

I meandered around and quickly got all the photos that that I needed. My mission was complete and I was free to head away now if I so wished…

I didn’t though.

I couldn’t leave my ‘boys’ down now, having invested so much in them in the first half.

So it was that I wandered back inside and took my seat back amongst the rest, as the players exited the tunnel to rapturous applause.

The second half flew by in a whirlwind of cheers, whistles, shouts of encouragement at points scored, agonizing groans at missed chances to score and a sheer admiration on this writers part for the outstanding commitment from the guys on the pitch.  

Looking around at the crowd near the end of the match, I no longer saw it as ‘them’ and ‘I’ situation, I saw it as unified ‘us’ situation, as completely cliché as that sounds. 

We were all part of something here, part of a community.

A community that had left the warmth and comfort of their homes, paid hard earned money and braved a cold, wet Wednesday evening to come out and cheer on their local U21 team and all out of nothing more than pure passion and sheer enjoyment of the sport.

I’ll reiterate what I said at the start of this post that I don’t know much about GAA, but after spending an evening watching this match, I think I’m leaving just a litter wiser about it all.

For me, that’s a start. 

My Awkward Life | The Mugging

This is a completely true story.

The year is 2011 and I’m a baby faced 19 year old, second year teaching student in Mary Immaculate College in Limerick , who is slowly and awkwardly making his way through the social quagmire that is the college experience. 

My first year had been quite, eh, uneventful to say the least, with my strong shyness limiting me to just a handful of interactions with my classmates, with our conversations limited to: 

“Hey”

“Oh hey, how are you?”

“Good, you?”

“Same”

“Cool, cool, [insert silence] Look, I better head away there sure”

“Okay, nice talking to you, bye!”

This year though, I was determined to step it up a notch and push the boat out a little and with my recent hairdressing mishap far behind me (that’s a story for another time), things were so far going swimmingly.

‘Note to self: don’t use the word ‘swimmingly’ in real life’. 

I’d teamed up with some a group of friends that I’d met in the Gaeltacht the previous Summer and we had become quite the ‘fellowship’, as I liked to call us anyway. 

So it was that one dark and wet Thursday night, as I settled down to watch TV, I got a text from my friend Catherine, telling me about a house party that her and her friends were throwing at their place at around ten that night. 

“Cool, see you there so!” I replied. 

‘This is it, this is going to be an excellent party. This is where all those classic college stories start’ I told myself convincingly.

So after gulping down the remainder of my dinner, a hurried shower and a quick goodbye to my flatmate and his girlfriend, I was out the door, ready to arrive bang on time at the 10pm for the party.

SIDE-NOTE: It wasn’t until after this that I realised the very important (and apparently well-known) rule that no-one ever arrives on time for a party.

I got to the general area of Catherine’s house at 10pm on the dot and not knowing exactly where I was at this point, sent her a quick text looking for directions.

Not hearing anything back from her though, I decided that standing suspiciously in the dark outside peoples houses wasn’t really a good look for me and so I headed back to my apartment, where I watched an absolutely fantastic Channel 4 documentary on Roman Villa’s (seriously, it was excellent). 

Towards the end of the show, Catherine texts me telling me that the party has started and that I should come on down and so I’m soon heading out the door again, bidding goodbye to my flatmate and his girlfriend (again) and making way through the now very dark and very deserted Limerick City streets. 

I’m passing the Redemptorist Church when I notice a lone figure standing outside a house on the opposite side of the road.

‘Uh oh, this guy looks kinda shifty’ I think to myself.

‘There’s still time for me to turn around here…’ I think, looking around for another route, ‘No, I’m being silly nothing is going to happen to me’ I reassure myself. 

I continue onwards, now level with the shady hooded figure, who to my sheer and utter terror is crossing the road towards me. 

“Well boi, you’ve got the time on ya?” he says to me.

“Uh, yeah,” taking my phone out of my pocket to check for him, “It’s 11:30” I reply before starting to walk on. 

“Sound lad,” he says, now following me down the deserted street, ” Actually do you’ve a lighter on ya?” 

“Sorry man, I don’t smoke” I say back, now noticing that he’s moving awfully close to me. 

The situation now heads south, very quickly. 

“Right man, gimme your f**kin phone now or I’ll break your fingers” he snarls as he waves a very menacing looking hammer in my face. 

‘OhHellIsThisActuallyHappening—‘ my mind races.

‘I can’t have broken fingers!’ I panic, ‘My exams are in a few weeks!’.

I’m thinking about making a run for it, I take a quick glance back up the road towards my apartment, it’s completely deserted. ‘Could I make it?’ I ponder, testing my leg muscles to myself.

‘No, If I’m caught, there’s no telling what he’d do with that hammer…’ now resigning myself to losing my phone. 

“Your phone! Give it to me!” 

“Okay, Okay” I respond, handing over my loyal Nokia phone to the hooded man, who then darts back up the street and into the house he was first standing outside. 

The silence is now deafening on the empty street, I stand there alone for a few moments, the reality of what has just happened slowly sinking in…

‘I was literally just mugged…’

Now shaking all over, I slowly stumble my way to my nearby friends house (different friend) where I hurriedly and anxiously explain what has just happened.

They call the Gardaí who arrive, in force, twenty minutes later. 

I head outside to them where I explain what happened and point out the house that he ran into.

“Thank you sir, now we might need your help identifying the suspect, would you mind coming into the house with us?” 

“Uhmm, okay I guess” my brain now in such a whirlwind that everything is happening at ten times its normal speed. 

So it is that less than two hours after I was watching a Channel 4 documentary on Roman Villas, I’m now dressed in a some sort of bulletproof/stab-proof vest, standing in a group of other Gardaí as we prepare to ‘raid’ my muggers house. 

“Are you ready to go sir?” an officer asks me, snapping me out of thoughts. 

“Yeah, I guess…” 

I’m positioned in the middle of the group of Gardaí, the officers in front of me now preparing to force open the front door of the house. 

After a few tense and nerve-wracking (for me anyway) minutes, we’re soon inside and I’m quickly jostled and harried up the wooden spiral staircase at the end of the hallway. 

We reach the upper part of the house, which looks like some sort of studio flat with a kitchen and living room amalgamated into one and where we see my mugger sitting on a couch in the middle of the room. 

One half of the group secures him and I’m told to follow two of other Gardaí into what looks to be my muggers bedroom. 

“Right, your phone might be in here so we need to do a thorough search of this area, I’m going to need you to flip the mattress”

Not even questioning the logic of this situation anymore, I flip the mattress off of this mans bed and I’m soon tossing and turning everything in the room, all in the look out for my missing Nokia phone. 

I feel quite bad for my mugger at this point, I’ve come in and completely wrecked his house, all for what was essentially a very old phone. 

“We found it!” comes a voice from the next room.

“Is this your phone sir?” showing me a black sliding Nokia phone. 

“Yes indeed, that’s it” relief flooding through me. 

“It looks like he snapped your SIM card when he heard us coming though,” he says to me. 

‘That vindictive, vindictive man!’ I think to myself, ‘there was no reason for him to snap it!’, my sympathy for my mugger disappearing in a second. 

“We’re going to need to hold onto it for tonight but you can come and collect it at the Garda station tomorrow morning” the Garda says to me. 

“That’s fine, yeah,” I reply. 

“We’ll get one of the others to give you a lift home now” he states. 

“Ahhh, quick question, can I keep the vest?” I ask cheekily indicating the vest they issued me with.

“No” he replies curtly and walks away. 

The Gardaí drop me back to my flat where after explaining the situation to my flatmate and his girlfriend, I head straight for bed, exhausted and where I fall into a deep sleep almost immediately. 

I was so tired from the nights excursions in fact that I overslept for the college the next morning, thus causing me to miss my first ever lecture in my first two years of college. 

After the night I just had though, I didn’t mind one bit.