Market Forces

Cork City v Cobh Ramblers, North Kildare v Cork Harlequins & Treaty United v Wexford... I've been home for a while in the old country...

When I finally completed all 42 Scottish grounds with a trip to Queens Park v Raith Rovers last November (and I’m writing this before the play off between Brora Rangers and Edinburgh City, in the knowledge I may have to make a trip to the far distant Highlands at some point), I needed a new challenge. After taking in the League of Ireland’s domestic curtain raiser at the Aviva Stadium (Bohemian 0 St Patrick’s Athletic 0) at the end of February, it occurred to me that, having started visiting LofI games in December 1985 with a trip to Ballybofey to see Finn Harps 2 Derry City 7, I really ought to tick off the last 4 grounds that remained for me. These were Cobh Ramblers, Cork City, Kerry and Treaty United. The major problem was that all of them are in the province of Munster, in the south west of the country and the only Irish Airport served by Newcastle is Dublin. Thankfully my mate John, resident of Maynooth, County Kildare, but hailing from Boyle in County Roscommon, was prepared not only to give me a bed for a few days, but to accompany me on this extreme ground collecting adventure, which will need to be done in two parts (at least), of which this was the first.

The four places I need to visit are all homes of clubs in the League of Ireland First Division, which consists of 10 clubs playing each other 3 times a season, as opposed to the Premier division, which consists of 10 clubs playing each other 4 times a season. Because of the geographical issues, I decided to make the trip over on a Bank Holiday weekend, as the teams play on a Friday (the regular match day) and a Monday. Effectively, this meant I was looking at Easter, May Day or the first weekend in August. Having consulted both the fixtures and Ryan Air’s website, I plumped for £30 return fares and the May Day weekend, with the Leeside derby between Cork and Cobh and a trip to Limerick (aka Stab City) for Treaty United versus Wexford.

With Ben’s car in the garage, I couldn’t get a lift to the airport on the Thursday evening, so I headed for the Metro. The display board at South Gosforth told me of “delays systemwide,” which set alarm bells ringing, though a train for the Airport (proudly displaying OUT OF SERVICE) got me there to check in on time. As I’d been fleeced by Ryan Air for bringing on a case, I was allocated priority boarding and took a window seat with nobody sat next to me for a short and smooth trip across. I got in my 10,000 steps in by walking from the terminal to the exit and then caught a 16 bus to Drumcondra, where John was waiting for me. We got the train to Maynooth and, because it was already after 10.30, we decided against a pint and I got my head down sharpish, in preparation for long journeys over the next few days.

After a good sleep and a fortifying breakfast of rashers and white pudding, we took the W6 bus to Hazlehatch Station and our first train to Portlaoise, along with some overdressed young ones on their way for a day on the gargle at Punchestown races. Next up, a train direct to Cork and a short walk to the Premier Inn where we’d booked in for the night. A quick drop of de bags and then we went out exploring De Banks. Cork’s equivalent of Temple Bar is Oliver Plunkett Street, and we settled into The Oliver Plunkett pub for a bit of grub. The Irish Stew was pricey at twenty quid, but excellent, as was the Muskerry IPA. I’m slightly ashamed I didn’t go for the vin du pays of Cork, Beamish stout, but there was plenty of time for that later.  

If you’d known where you were going, you could have walked to Cork’s ground at Turner’s Cross in no time at all, but as we didn’t, we took the 203 bus and headed into the fantastic, welcoming pub outside the ground, The Corner Flag. Here, Beamish was taken at a very reasonable fiver a pint and we mingled freely with home and away fans, before taking our place at the far end of the ground on the side of the pitch. This being Ireland, it began tipping it down, so we escaped the deluge by getting seats behind the goal. The crowd was 4,610 in a ground with a supposed capacity of 7,770. There were possibly 500 away fans and an empty block next to them, but I couldn’t see where else you could squeeze another couple of thousand in. Entrance was £15, but with kids for a quid, it swelled the gate and resulted in probably the highest percentage of people not watching the football of any game I’ve ever been to.

 

There was a good reason for that. The game was appalling. Previously unbeaten table toppers Cork City, under the stewardship of Barry Robson and David Meyler, were looking for an immediate return to the League of Ireland Premier Division, by assembling a team of giants and playing one dimensional hoofball all night. It was awful to watch and at least little Cobh Ramblers, who’d never previously won a game at Turner’s Cross, tried to play football when they had the chance. Despite my dad and his family hailing from Bandon in County Cork, as well as being a fervent supporter of Cork hurling (and to a lesser extent football), I’ve never felt any attachment to Cork City, as Bohs are my Irish team, and tonight’s encounter didn’t change that. Of course, you need to factor in that the history of association football on De Banks is almost as tortuously labyrinthine as British Trotskyism in the post WWII period. Over the years, venues have included both Turner’s Cross and Flower Lodge (now the city’s second GAA ground, renamed Páirc Uí Rinn), as well as a series of defunct clubs including:  Fordsons/Cork F.C. (1924–1938), Cork Bohemians        (1932–1934), Cork City I (1938–1940), Cork United I (1940–1948), Cork Athletic (1948–1957), Evergreen United/Cork Celtic (1951–1979), Cork Hibernians (1957–1976), Albert Rovers/Cork Alberts/Cork United II (1976–1982) and Cork City II (1984-present), with a brief interregnum as FORAS (Friends Of  Rebel Army Society).  Anyway, Cobh won this one with a softish penalty for handball on 77 minutes and I admit I was pleased. I’ll bet you there wasn’t a cow milked in Queenstown that night!!

At full time, we avoided the potential headache of a packed bus by taking a taxi through the backstreets of south Cork back to Oliver Plunkett Street and the welcoming embrace of the famously eccentric Hi-B Bar. As the sign says, No phones. No shots. No please? No pints. A cracking little upstairs bar that looks like an old person’s sitting room, complete with coal fire. We had a couple of Beamish in there, before it got oppressively full and hot. Google recommended The Long Valley opposite and we settled in there. John was delighted to see his favourite Smithwicks on offer, but I stuck with Beamish. We stayed until closing, by which time the place was deserted and freezing, then headed back to the hotel and crashed out. There were plenty of bars still open, but with a combined age of 134 and a gallon each on board, we decided to be sensible.

Next morning, we checked out and went to the station. There was a replacement bus to Mallow (“no rush lads; take your time” as the train fella said) and then we got the train up to Portlaoise and changed for Hazlehatch, again in the company of overdressed young ones on their way to Punchestown races for a day on the gargle. We had a slight delay waiting for the W6, meaning we got back to John’s a minute after Newcastle took the lead against Brighton. In a reverse of my usual Saturday routine, I watched Newcastle (via a dodgy box) and kept an on-line eye on Percy Main’s progress against Stobswood Welfare (we won 5-0). After that, we watched Monaghan stage “the greatest comeback since Harry Houdini” in beating Derry in the first Ulster semi-final, before Dublin eviscerated Louth in the first Leinster one. With Newcastle emerging victorious, I could actually enjoy a Saturday night Match of the Day for the first time in months, before getting another, good sober night’s sleep.

Sunday morning, I decided I’d go and see some cricket. North Kildare were hosting Cork Harlequins in the Leinster Cricket League. John decided against a four mile track down the side of the Royal Canal in the direction of Kilcock, opting for Kildare v Westmeath in the second Leinster semi-final and Armagh versus Down in the second Ulster one. If it had been raining, I’d rather have seen Limerick v Clare in the Munster Hurling, but the day stayed fair and so I headed for the cricket. North Kildare Sporting Club is a little piece of Surrey or Hampshire transported to the exurbs of Kilcock. Not only was there cricket to watch, but also lawn bowls (not the sort you get in Cork or South Armagh) and a rugby final replay between Ashbourne and Tullamore. I ignored the bowls, saw about 30 seconds of the rugby and concentrated on the cricket. Cork batted first and made 222. They were 130/3 from 23 when I got there before subsiding to 148/8. A late revival saw a semi-decent score at a pleasant, smallish ground with a proper village feel, but hardly any benches to sit on. Kildare weren’t particularly fazed by the total, as Moize Haider flayed 95 off 67 balls, being brilliantly caught on the fence trying for another maximum to bring up his ton. Yash Kalasannavar (58) gave good support and there were a couple of silly dismissals as they tried to get it done before drinks. In the end, North Kildare won by 5 wickets with 22 overs to spare and I had my first pint of Guinness of the whole trip (lovely it was), before John collected me.

We went to eat in Dowling’s in Prosperous, on account of it being the pub where Christy Moore and Planxty started out. No music this time, but a glorious chicken dinner and a fine pint of black porter (they didn’t have Beamish), in a pub full of miserable Kildare fans on their way back from defeat at Tullamore. From there, we went to Farrington’s microbrewery in Rathcoffey. A lovely pint of 5.2% Out on Bale IPA, but terrible, rude service. From thence, back to John’s local, The New Town for plenty Beamish. We called it a night around 12, watched the GAA highlights on The Sunday Game (facile wins for Armagh and Limerick), then crashed out in preparation for the trip to Limerick.

 

Same drill as Saturday. W6 to Hazlehatch Station, train 1 to Portlaoise, train 2 to Limerick Junction and train 3 to Limerick Colbert. We arrived spot on time at 2.19. There’s much to be said about having railways in public ownership. Irish trains are quick, clean and reliable because profits aren’t going direct to venture capitalists but are being used to reinvest in the infrastructure. Money from the EU helps as well. Another thing we can blame on Brexit…

Limerick, I’m pleased to report, lives up (or down) to every negative stereotype going. It looks like Gateshead and stinks of weed. Litter-strewn, almost deserted and plagued by young fellas riding up and down the main drag on scraggy ponies, it’s like the 1980s never left this place. After an expensive and average meal in a supposed Texas Steak joint bedevilled by terribly slow service, we wandered in the direction of Garryowen and found Markets Field without a problem.  I have to say it’s a lovely little ground, reminding me of Elgin City or Montrose. Tickets were a fiver and we took a seat in the 1,200 capacity stand. The crowd for this one was about 500, including a dozen or so from Wexford, as hurling and rugby are the games of choice along the Shannonside. Also, the history of association football in Limerick is almost as convoluted as it is on De Banks. From 1947 to the present day, there has been Limerick FC, Limerick United, Limerick City, Limerick 37 and currently Treaty United, with home games played at Markets Field, Hogan Park, Jackman Park, Crossagalla, Thomond Park (improbably enough) and now Markets Field again. Add in the fact they were managed by both Neil MacDonald and Sam Allardyce in the past and you have a real basket case of a club.

That’s why I was so elated when the plucky, limited lads of Treaty United beat a technically superior, tactically astute but woefully blunt Wexford side with a scrappy 95^th minute rebound. Although, I loved the pre-match music as well; “Jump Around,” “Last Night,” “Just Like Heaven” and, predictably enough, The Cranberries. However there’s got to be a degree of cognitive dissonance going on when “Zombie” segues into “Sean South From Garryowen,” which the teams came out to and was sung lustily by the whole crowd. Marvellous. Best pre-match ever. Imagine if Portadown came to visit, or if they got into the Champions’ League final…

Afterwards, we had an easy walk back to the station, catching trains to Limerick Junction, Portlaoise and Hazlehatch, then the W6 bus and a good night’s rest. I came back on the Tuesday, via Maynooth to Drumcondra, the 16 bus, a Ryan Air flight that landed early, the Metro to South Gosforth… and then a taxi as it wasn’t running to Four Lane Ends. Brilliant eh?

Now it’s time to plan for my next visit. Cobh Ramblers v Wexford on Friday 31^st July and Kerry v Cobh on Monday 3^rd August? You heard it here first….