Cian Lynch made key interventions in All-Ireland final at a time when Limerick looked like pastiche of themselves

The music stopped at five to six. Something from The Cranberries. Three or four Limerick players lingered near the tunnel, not ready to leave. Drinking from the glass they called after last orders. Cian Lynch posed for selfies with kids that had been lifted over the security cordon, his hair styled like Phil Oakey from The Human League. Remember? Together in Electric Dreams. Before Lynch was born.

An hour earlier he had lifted the cup with Declan Hannon, Limerick’s absent captain, and spoke with dignity and thoughtfulness. In these speeches now there are so many people who must be acknowledged that some names are listed quickly, in clusters, their importance abbreviated for the sake of keeping the script moving.

Lynch thanked everybody with a line that you would write on a card, personal and apt, no matter how long his gratitude delayed the last word. You can imagine how those words landed.

“Looking in from the outside,” he said, “people might think we’re a team. We’re a family.”

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His speech crowned a glorious day. For Lynch it ended a two-year cycle of setbacks and recoveries, his form unable to keep up with his desperation to play and lead and add something. In the Galway game a fortnight ago there had been flickers of his bright mind and lightning hands and yesterday all of it came together, a symphony of scores and passes and brilliance.

Without question it was Lynch’s best game since the 2021 All-Ireland final. He scored two points in the first half and made two scores for others, was fouled for two converted frees and the importance of that must not be lost in the blinding final score. It was during a period in the game when none of the Limerick forwards could influence the play, and all over the field the All-Ireland champions were a pastiche of themselves, hurried and hustled and knocked back.

Four of those interventions came in the final minutes of the first half, when Limerick were gasping for positive energy and momentum. Lynch had been a source of that so often over the years.

In the second half he played the last pass for three other points and, at his best, Lynch has always been a creator. The way Limerick play there is a massive premium on calmness in possession, and vision, and being sensitive to the players bursting a gut in support plays, and when Lynch is at the heart of that traffic the running lanes open up. The ball leaves his hand at Twitter speed.

During the Munster championship he was nothing like himself. He didn’t score against Waterford, and failed to make a difference; in the defeat to Clare he was taken off with just a handful of possessions; against Tipperary he was taken off too. Against Cork he made just a cameo appearance as a late sub and in the Munster final he didn’t play a minute. The suggestion was that his latest injury was tricky.

After they beat Cork the Limerick players stayed in the Gaelic Grounds for hours, basking in each other’s company and in the glorious evening sunshine. As the night wore on they congregated in a big circle at the side of the pitch, and at one stage Lynch removed his chair and sat about 10 metres way.

Sitting there in his peach-coloured top, wearing his baseball cap back-to-front, he was clearly making fun of himself. As if to say he was surplus to their requirements; they had won another big game without him. But a silent part of him must have been feeling that too. The championship had arrived and, for one reason or another, he wasn’t ready. Stuck, still.

In the life of this team he has been a pivotal figure. From the glittering team that won the U-21 All-Ireland in 2015 Limerick harvested a dozen senior players but Lynch was the first. As soon as he graduated from minor Limerick pounced on him and promoted him.

Seamus Flanagan’s father John tells a story about a match from one of those U-21 campaigns when Seamus came on as a second-half sub, desperate to impress. He rushed out to an inviting ball, and in his anxiety to gather possession he stabbed his hurley into the ground and nearly fell over.

“The next thing,” says John, “Cian called over to him. ‘Seamus. Calm.’ Just two words. He’s a special character. They have so much respect for him.”

This was Limerick’s greatest All-Ireland. Not because of the hallowed place it occupies in their winning sequence, but because of how much jeopardy they faced along the way, and how mortal they seemed at times. Since the League final in April nothing has been simple.

In the first half yesterday Kilkenny were all over them, hot and heavy, like lava. They trailed by six points about 10 minutes before half time, just as they had done against Galway in the semi-final. This time, though, it felt ominous, as if for once, they might not know what to do about it.

In sport mentality is an abstract concept. The only hard testimony is in outcomes. The staggering hurling Limerick played in the second half came from their minds more than their hearts. It is their greatest power. It will be the last thing to break. On their greatest day they found a performance that exceeded everything else.

Together in Electric Dreams.