What excitement greeted the end of the rollercoaster soccer ride! A dingdong battle between two titans of the modern game was only settled by a looping secondhalf goal which sent the visiting fans into raptures.
A pitch invasion followed the final whistle as the realisation hit home that the cup was finally won and the title had been secured. A mass of bodies descended on the scorer of the winning goal, which has once again propelled the side and its enigmatic manager to legendary status. Yes indeed, St Laurence O’Toole’s Girls’ National School at Seville Place are Dublin Division 2 Champions once again. My thoughts at the end of the school year have been dominated by a thousand issues. Staffing, minor works, books, classes, tours, sports day and sponsored walks are only some of the things that bounce around my brain on a daily basis. Yet the fortunes of our school soccer team were forefront in my thoughts for a prolonged period, particularly after an epic battle against Taney NS last month.
That game will surely go down in the annals of time and will be spoken about in hushed and reverent tones for generations to come. You see, I had the bright idea a number of years ago to introduce a soccer team to our school and have had wonderful support from the local soccer club Sheriff YC and from past pupils and soccer internationals Michelle Kane and Olivia O’Toole in terms of coaching. With the absence of a Russian oil billionaire, the availability of international standard mangers are limited, yet our school was fortunate to obtain the services of the Parents’ Association chairperson Peter Watson, who took the girls under his wing every Monday after school for training. We have had remarkable success over the years, appearing in four Division 2 finals and winning three times, all against St Bernadette’s of Quarryvale (their manager, Tom Bolger, has told me time and time again that he is sick of looking at me).
Three victories feel good, but naturally you always want more because every year you are dealing with an almost completely new team, as girls graduate to secondary school. And yes, the one final that we lost still hurts. Anyway, this year’s final was another kettle of fish altogether, as no clear-cut chances were carved out and both sets of fans were left to entertain themselves with handstands and cartwheels. There was a stalemate at half-time, and Ms McDonnell had thankfully offered to go to a local shop to purchase bottles of water as Mr Ó Ríordáin had completely forgotten to bring any.
Adequately restored and with a rousing half-time talk in their ears, our little heroes resumed their positions – thankfully remembering to change sides at half-time – and got set for battle. The build up to the goal escapes me, but it did result in our superstar central-midfielder looping a shot between the posts, which the goalkeeper did her best to fingertip over the bar, but which happily nestled in the back of the net.
Oh joy! Oh rapture! And oh, how did we celebrate! I leaped sideways and offered a playful slap across the jaw to Peter Watson, who was far too focused to see out the game and to go home with the trophy. When I turned around, a happy mound of children was still quivering with delight. But there were still 10 minutes to go. The game was surely in the bag, but suddenly disaster struck. A defensive mix up saw our fullback poke the ball toward the end line and our hero goalkeeper from the semi-final penalty shoot-out retrieved it.
he whistle blew, the referee decreed that the action was a deliberate passback, and an indirect free kick was awarded. Imagine our surprise when the opposing goalkeeper was summoned forward to take the kick – there was surely method in their madness. And sure enough a thunderbolt shot walloped off our crossbar and rebounded back into play. And then, before you knew it, the final whistle blew and the day was ours.
What a great occasion and a fantastic victory – our fourth in six years. Not that I’m counting of course. Sure, it’s only a game…
