Sideline Cut: There is a time-honoured tradition of travelling to All-Ireland finals by rail. If it is true Ireland has changed more in the last 20 years than in the previous two centuries, then something of the old country can still be found on the Irish train - and not just that distressed cheese sandwich displayed in all its lonely magnificence on the second shelf of the confectionary case.
On the morning of the All-Ireland hurling final a few weeks ago, many of the newspapers carried a photograph of the Cork hurlers being transported across the golden fields of Erin for the showdown in Dublin. No county has used the train as loyally or as rigidly as Cork. There were years when Cork hurling and football men beat such a hasty retreat out of Croke Park - memorably declining to play extra time during one National League semi-final - the suspicion arose that these teams were chiefly passionate train enthusiasts who just happened to be richly talented at Gaelic games.
There was something enviable about the way Cork teams would scoot off the field after crushing some poor saps from Ulster or Connacht in their stylish, businesslike way and then rush their ablutions and tear hell-for-leather down the Dublin quays.
But many people must have been struck by the opulence of the Irish Rail carriage used to ferry the Cork lads this year. They appeared to be travelling on the kind of carriage one normally associates with the Orient Express, all crush-velvet seats and ornate decor and what appeared to be a mahogany bar at the front. It was a gorgeous-looking carriage, so plush and comfortable it seemed highly unlikely it could belong to the same stable of carriages that have jolted the plain people of Ireland from coast to coast down the years.
The carriage was the pride of the fleet, the executive carriage. Its splendour indicated that Iarnród Éireann is slowly embracing modernity and that soon all train-users will be reclining on velveteen seats listening to piped Mozart and sipping Perrier.
Still, you couldn't but notice that the Cork hurling lads looked a little bored. Half the fun of travelling by train is in overcoming the traditional little obstacles that have delighted and infuriated us all down the years. Getting a ticket constitutes a feat in its own right, particularly on All-Ireland final weekends.
CIE/Iarnród Éireann's contribution to the great Sundays of Irish sport has been the advent of The Special. In one's imagination, The Special would be gaily decked out in the colours of the participating counties. Former GAA stars would act as ticket conductors for the day. The train driver might liven the journey by poking fun at the supporters. There would be a fried breakfast and plenty of scalding tea and bottles of stout for everyone. After the train crossed the Shannon, a cassette playing the classic Irish ballads would get everyone in the mood, strangers becoming friends and singing the chorus or staring out the windows while - to borrow from Shane McGowan's beautiful line - Ray and Philomena sang of their elusive dreams.
The reality of The Special is more mundane: what sets it apart from regular services is the fact it departs at fiendishly early hours and is devoted to people travelling to the All-Ireland finals. The carriages are packed to capacity. No matter how many capsules of milk you load into your tea or coffee, it will scald the mouth off you. That is why Irish people get so chatty on trains: they are just trying to cool blistered tongues.
The toilets are museum pieces. There is always a table-load of lads working their way through heroic volumes of Harp. One carriage will be dangerously hot while, next door, passengers shiver from hypothermia and perform calisthenics just to keep their blood circulating. The conductor will either examine your ticket 15 times or not materialise at all on the journey.
The All-Ireland Special is just as inconvenient as any other Irish train service. But despite, or maybe because of, that there is still something magical about the collective anticipation of a train full of GAA supporters bound for the capital. The trains leaving from Castlebar and Galway this evening and tomorrow morning will have that atmosphere, that sense of pilgrimage. And on any journey, from Killarney or Castlebar, you will almost inevitably spot GAA stars of yesteryear, studying the Sunday previews or reminiscing with a cross-table companion delighted that this hero from the past has happened to occupy the same booth.
In an age of material vulgarity in this country, people fret that the children are being cluttered and overwhelmed by fancier and fancier possessions. But the plain old locomotive pulling in at an Irish provincial station still has the power to impress a child. And there is something sacred and timeless about seeing a father boarding a train to bring a son or daughter for what is clearly a first All-Ireland. Wearing the county colours and the budding excitement of the match ahead is part of it, but so is the journey, the ritual of travelling on equal terms to whatever lies ahead. And when the train pulls in at Dublin, you cannot but get a rush at the way the passengers exit the train as one, hurrying to the bus and taxi ranks, all pulling on their city faces.
There is a surge of energy through Heuston and Connolly stations as the crowd breaks toward the city centre and Croke Park, then the lull that falls over much of the city during the deep hours of the match. Finally, in ones and twos before the inevitable late rush, the GAA crowd shows up at the stations again, either victorious or bereft and exhausted, looking forward to the heaven of their seat so the train can rush them towards the peace and twilight of the country.
The great Kerry teams were fond of riding the CIE chariots after their majestic September Sundays and a night on the tiles around Leeson Street. I remember a former GAA reporter with this newspaper recalling how, after one of those All-Ireland victories of the 1970s, he wandered down to Heuston station to see the champions off. He was talking to the Tralee contingent, who, upon hearing the loud blast of the whistle, decided it would be fun to bundle The Irish Times man onto the train and take him south, oiling his protests with plenty of beer and whiskey as they went. Those were the days.
I have to say, though, that if Mayo win the All-Ireland this weekend, the trains may not make it back as far of the west, Special or not. In the event of an All-Ireland triumph, the county will, in every sense, go off the rails. There is every chance that the sturdy carriages delivering the Mayo passengers back to Castlebar may actually become airborne from the sheer elation of the night.
If some such UFO, bearing a green and red hue, is observed flying low over the midlands tomorrow night, then it will be a sure sign that the most famous Long Wait in GAA history has come to an end.
