Cary Grant feted, as 'Clark Gable of Limerick' ignored

John B Keane

Reporter:

John B Keane

Cary Grant feted, as 'Clark Gable of Limerick' ignored

Feted: Cary Grant

THE fact that Cary Grant has decided to settle in Clare has attracted much publicity to the region.

His proposed holiday complex should bring the tourists flocking in, and we should him him every luck.

The fact that Mr Grant has decided to settle permanently in the Banner County has annoyed one female reader from Sexton Street in Limerick.

“What’s all the fuss about Cary Grant?” she opens.

“What about it if he’s going to live in Clare? There was great hush-hush when Thady Woods decided to live in Limerick. How is it that no paper apart from the Leader gave the event any publicity?

“Thady Woods has been rightfully called the Clark Gable of Limerick and I think it is more important to have a man like Thady Woods settle in Limerick than it is to have Cary Grant settle in Clare. He might be no millionaire, but he had more sex appeal than any film star I know.”

End of Saga

SO THE great football saga has ended. This was the saga that enriched the Finuge GAA Club by several hundred pounds and brought thousands of football fans flocking to the Finuge football pitch on three different occasions.

The first was a cold and windy Sunday night over a month ago. It was the final of the local tournament and Glin made the journey from Shannonside to compete with Moyvane for the glory and honour of emerging winners and also in an effort to collect the hundred pounds which was guaranteed to the winners.

The first match started with several interesting bouts of fisticufs, beautifully timed kicks, some classic elbowing and tripping, and by and large, as entertaining a bout as one could wish to see.

Referee Pat Lane quickly took control, however, and there followed one of the best football matches ever seen in North Kerry. This match was memorable for some splendid point kicking, and it ended in a welter of excitement with the teams level. Everybody agreed that it was great value entirely for the meagre fifteen pence entrance fee.

The replay was billed for the following Friday week. Again there was a large crowd and again there was an epic encounter, with Glin recovering in the late stages and forcing a draw.

This was a match which Glin could have won, but Dame Fate decreed otherwise, as she did when Moyvane were coasting home to victory in the first game.

The second replay was, in all respects, a great game of football, and old timers who were present were of the opinion that it was as good as any encounter they had ever seen. Personally speaking, I found it to be the most entertaining game in years. Men spoke of the fierce meetings in the ‘thirties between Glin and Abbeyfeale and comparisons were made.

Whatever the verdict, one thing remains clear, and that is that the third and final game, which was played on Friday night last, will be spoken about for many a day to come.

Again, Pat Lane had charge of the whistle.

There was such an air of tension before the ball was thrown in that it would not have surprised me had Mars himself opened the game with a crack of thunder.

The opening fifteen minutes was a bloody affair, the bloodiest I have seen at this venue. Blows were exchanged at almost every corner of the field, and at the climax, after a fierce Glin onslaught, there were no fewer than five players stretchered off the field.

Mighty blows were struck and there were valiant deeds on either side. There were several black eyes and bloodied noses. There were sore legs and sore heads, while the partisans on both sides cheered themselves hoarse.

It lasted for several minutes and it looked as if the game would have to be abandoned.

Again it was referee Pat Lane who ended the fight. Firmly and decisively he order four players to the sideline, two from each side.

If he had intervened earlier I feel it would have done more harm than good. He did the wise thing under the circumstances. He waited until the initial frenzy of the combatants had exhausted itself and when both sides were growing anxious for a breather he stepped in.

Truth to tell Glin suffered more in the putting off than Moyvane because Glin never really recovered from the loss of Jotty Culhane.

If Glin won the fight it was Moyvane who won the match, but in the end it was Glin who were unlucky. They missed a goal at point blank range.

To give them full credit it must be said that when they trailed eight points and looked a beaten team their game rose to great heights and there were many passages of brilliant football.

In conclusion, let me say that it is all too rare indeed that football followers are treated to such fare.

Thanks is due to the Finuge committee for providing a dry and well-appointed pitch and for not upping the admission fee when they might easily have done so.

Some cribbed that the stewards might have intervened in the fight. I think that this would have been fatal and it is well to remember that the referee is the boss.

Thanks to Glin and Moyvane for providing us with manly, vigorous and exciting football.

I would travel a long way to see them do battle again. Finally, thanks to Pat Lane, surely one of the best referees in the game at present. Also, thanks to his linesmen and umpires.

The never lost their heads.

Tom’s story

NOW A STORY from Tom O’Shea of Cappamore. There was once a bachelor in the district who was a hopeless housekeeper.

The fowl went in and out of his kitchen at will and generally speaking the house was in a horrible state.

In warm weather people would hold their noses as they passed by. Visitors to the house who were all too rare soon had to leave because of the smell.

One day the bachelor, whose name was Mick, went up into the mountains and came back with a puck goat. On his way home he met a lady who knew him.

“Wisha Mick,” said she, “that’s a fierce looking animal entirely you have there.”

“Yerra he’s alright,” said Mick.

“Where are you going to keep him?” asked the woman.

“I’m going to keep him in the kitchen,” said Mick, “we’ll be company for one another.”

“That’s alright,” said the woman, “but what about the smell?”

“Yerra,” said Mick, “won’t he get used to it after a few weeks.”

The late, great John B Keane was a Leader columnist for more than 30 years. This column first appeared in our edition of July 1, 1972