Lines Written in Dejection

You know it's a difficult defeat to take in, when on the Wednesday morning it's still encompassing your wakening thoughts.

Another heavy rainstorm battering against the window doesn't register. Even heavier sneezing (in these pandemic times) doesn't cost a single thought. The mind wanders towards this weekend - what would have been a weekend away in Sligo. Yes, that's where it's at. Beautiful Sligo, where the majestic Benbulben lurks over your every move. Where WB Yeats rests lightly beneath the land he managed to spiritualise with his genius. Ah Sligo.

Wait a second... Sligo?

For crying out loud. Anyone would think it was some sort of exotic heaven on Earth. A quick slap on the face brings reality crashing back. But there are still flashbacks from that awful night in Ballybofey. Barry Monaghan (I thought he had retired?) driving forward at will. Trying to get through that narrowest of alleys that leads to the main stand. The floodlights coming on, one by one. There was little sun, timid or otherwise.

The day's first bead of sweat breaks on the brow.

I think to myself that I've probably had similar thoughts during each of the last sixteen years. And hell, they'll probably come back to me for the next sixteen. But as Derry fans we wouldn't have it any other way. There's a certain masochistic quality required to follow the Oak Leafers. Every year we tell ourselves that this season will be different ("sure we're one of the top four teams in the country at least"); that our vast abundance of talent will finally perform on the big stage and that Ulster and All-Ireland success is only a back-to-back victory away. Come July, these hopes have evaporated, turned somewhat magically into despair. Another painful exit (why do they always seem to be by just a point or two?) heralds the end of a summer that barely began.

When will we ever learn? A disappointing exit one season should mean that success might not necessarily come our way the following season. And as Derry have not put consecutive victories together in the Ulster Championship in eleven whole years, you would think that we could see the heavy bold writing on the dilapidating wall. Apparently not.

When we sit down to eat the turkey, perhaps we'll realise that we were expecting too much of Damian Cassidy and his stretched and relatively inexperienced squad this season. We will take encouragement from the fact that we have blooded some very promising new players (that will have learned much from a chastening debut season), and we'll be happy that some players have settled and matured into outstanding performers. We will think that all this augurs well for the future, and that we are well on our way to building a team that can compete for honours in the next 2-3 years.

Then, next year, when a resurgent Kildare beat us by a single point in a Round 4 qualifier at Breffni Park, defeat will be much easier to take.