A return to Croke Park is a shot in the arm for softball - now let's hope it inspires the next generation, writes Paul Fitzpatrick.
Over 80,000 worshippers filled the big cathedral last Sunday afternoon. Devotees of the camán, scattered on the four winds, homed in on Dublin 3 and took their seats. How it always was, how it always should be, or so goes their mantra.
Because, regardless of what we might be told, the most beautiful field game is the closely-guarded preserve of a couple of tribes from the ash-dotted plains; the suspicion is that hurling folk are happy with their lot and look down on the nouveau riche whenever they do manage to gatecrash that private dinner party.
But handball, a cousin added to hurling's guest list as an after-thought, is different. Our secret society is egalitarian, our gospel accessible to all. Any kid with a ball and a wall can be king for a day – or a decade - if he wants it badly enough.
Take Robbie McCarthy. Mullingar wasn't exactly steeped in ball-alley glory before he came along. His Dad and a handful of others carved out a maroon-coloured niche in the record books but there had never been a senior champion before Robbie rose through the ranks, slaying legends as they passed.
He comes to Croke Park this Saturday with the weight of expectation on his shoulders. The crown is heavy but he's earned it, victory in a hundred skirmishes in as many towns and villages around the country seeing him ascend to the throne.
The deposed ruler, Eoin Kennedy, defied the old boxing cliché two years ago. Old champions never come back, they say – but Kennedy, the ultimate competitor, did and stunned the crowd down by the ancient ruin in Abbeylara by seizing control again.
It didn't last long. McCarthy mobilised again and re-asserted himself last year and if form means anything, he looks the unbackable favourite.
In the semi-final, against fit-again former Limerick footballer Séamus O'Carroll, he was awesome. Meanwhile, Kennedy toiled a little against Brian Carroll of Meath, holding off a late surge to come through in a close second game.
Could Kennedy summon up one last upset? It's hard to envisage. Shocks are rarer in handball than maybe any sport. There are less variables. It's one on one, the ref generally doesn't meddle, the courts, within reason, don't play a massive part in the result.
How could it happen? McCarthy favours a more attacking game than Kennedy, an engineer who plays the percentages. He acknowledged, on the eve of the 2014 final, that he needed to be more aggressive when the chance arose but if this turns into a shoot-out, Kennedy – despite doing just that in the small court doubles final – is unlikely to go low enough, often enough.
It's hard, then, to make a case for the Dubliner to roll back the years again. Were he to magick up another, it would probably be the sweetest trick of all, a third coming of one of the all-time greats.
Then again, there's something about the Croke Park court – the 'theatre of dreams', as Egin Jensen termed it after a spell-binding doubles final some years ago – with its packed gallery and history, that cooks up a heady potion.
Only one man knows more than Kennedy about the big nights, under the bright lights, off Clonliffe Road and he'll be watching from above. That Ducksy won't be there is impossible to fathom, even still.
His history is inter-twined with Kennedy's. Eoin had to edge his way past the alley Cat with the sharpest claws a decade and a half ago and now he finds himself back where he was, the underdog only, perhaps, with his hunger sated by a trunk full of medals.
Whose need is greater? Normally, it's the outsider but Robbie was stung to his core by his shock loss two years ago and will have his legacy on his mind. He's in his prime and is aware of what's at stake.
So, that's the context. To the casual GAA fan, all will be calm in the big house on the weekend between the hurling and football finals but on Saturday night, out the back in the ramshackle garden shed, we'll have our own private drama, worthy of any stage.
The attendance at Saturday's Senior Softball Singles final may compare with the previous week's hurling on a 1:1000 ratio but there's a charm in that, too. The world may not know his name but there's scarcely a sportsman who can reach the level of mesmerising brilliance of which McCarthy is capable.
We'll make our way there, too, from all corners of the country, just like the Kilkenny and Tipperary hopefuls did. Forget the lack of publicity; for handball people, this means as much.
A return to Ceannáras, on a special night, to somewhere only we know. The song put it best: “Is this the place, we used to love? Is this the place I've been dreaming of?”
A subtext. Now, more than ever, softball needs a couple of shots in the arm. Going back to Croke Park is one but a gripping rivalry would be another. If McCarthy wins this one, it's hard to see Kennedy gaining back the ground and, thus, equally difficult to see an end to the champion's reign.
The horizon, from our vantage point, seems clear.
That in mind – and it's a great compliment to McCarthy - the neutrals will, naturally, cheer for the man in the blue corner. Because nothing is more detrimental to a sport than an order of normality asserting itself.
For the good of the game, and regardless of the result in this final, we hope a new superpower emerges to engage the big guns soon.
So many questions. They tell us McCarthy will win on Saturday – he should, but we've heard that before. They told us we'd not see a final played in Croker again, too. And, we're also told, big alley is in trouble.
By Sunday morning, we'll know more. It may well be plain sailing for the Naval recruit, the old arena may or may not be heaving as it once was but what's more important now, for the neutrals, is the future of the grand old game.
Are McCarthy and Kennedy to be the last of the softball superstars? The Boss – a man who also knows his way round Jones's Road – put it best. Will we waste another summer praying in vain for a saviour to rise from these streets?
Or, when the call to "play ball" rings out and two heavyweights meet in the centre of the ring, will a kid in the gallery grit his teeth and say, one day, that's going to be me?
Because, if we want to savour these big nights for as long as the diehards – and blowhards – next door enjoy the finals on the bigger stage, that's what needs to happen.
Kennedy and McCarthy - and the powers that be who have brought the final home – can do no more. Now, we wait and hope.
