As the light declined on Dublin on Saturday evening the floodlights went up at Croke Park and ushered in a new era for the GAA and Irish sport as Dublin faced Tyrone in their opening game of the National Football League.
Walking to the ground was a surreal experience. The flag-sellers were out and about, but punters seemed to be more interested in buying monkey hats to insulate themselves than purchasing flags or headbands.
One of the uglier sides of match days at Croker was also present. Two ticket touts plied their trade on Gardiner Place. Business didn't seem too brisk for them, which warmed the heart on a pretty cold night in the capital.
Further on down on Fitzgibbon Street the awesome sight of Headquarters, as it always does, made you catch your breath. Jones Road was thronged with match-goers, and the pulse raced as the elevator reached the seventh floor and you finally got to step out and see the majestic venue basking in artificial light.
This reporter got there just in time to see Hill 16 welcome the parading teams. Then came a rendition of 'Amhrán Na Bhfiann' by the Dublin Gospel Choir.
Of all the changes over the last 14 or so years at Croker, the employment of singer(s) is easily the most futile and irritating. Nothing makes the hairs on the back of your Irish neck stand up like being present when upwards of 50,000 of your fellow countrymen and women clear their throats and face the tricolour. Using trained singers may be 'best practice' (has there ever been a more pompous term?) in other sports and at stadiums across the globe, but it's time for the GAA to revert to the good old days and let us sing it for ourselves again.
Anyway, formalities over, it was time to throw-in the yellow ball.
Once the game started it was a question of waiting for firsts. Tyrone corner-back Ryan McMenamin gave away the first free. It would not be his last indiscretion on the night, and it wasn't the only dubious honour he received either.
With all the hype that had gone before, it was easy to forget about what kind of fare the players would produce. The first five minutes of action were inauspicious to say the least, but the quality changed once Dublin's Diarmuid Connolly raised the premier white flag at the Davin (nee Canal End) Stand six minutes and 24 seconds after referee Pat McEnaney had started play.
Of course, cheering and jeering often come in healthy measures at our national games, and after ten minutes the Hill got their chance to vent some pent-up frustration when Tyrone's centre-forward Owen Mulligan converted a free. The Cookstown man has been the Metropolitans' nemesis in recent years and the memory of his famous goal in the drawn 2005 All-Ireland SFC quarter-final still hurts up on that hallowed terrace.
The continued existence of Hill 16 irks some observers. Maybe a completed bowl of a stadium would be better both aesthetically and symmetrically, but there is something undeniably apt about being able to see in and see out of this particular venue. We can only hope the GAA never get planning permission to build it all the way around.
Sean Cavanagh's pointed free on 19 minutes brought an unusually rapturous response from a crowd that was heavily biased in Dublin's favour. A glance down towards the other end quickly explained the anomaly.
There, under the brights lights, pranced a male (isn't it always?) streaker. The sight of a man in his birthday suit is now the norm, rather than the exception, at major sporting events across all codes in this country. This regular occurrence may be fiercely embarrassing for the hierarchy, but the majority of paying customers seem to embrace this practice, rather than take offence to it.
Half-time brought children from Cumann na mBunscol out in front of the 81,678 crowd. Kids from 16 different countries took part in the exhibition game, reflecting the multi-cultural make-up of modern day Ireland. However, two of the boys playing in green jerseys also showed a sign of things to come by using their soccer skills to create and execute a fabulous goal.
A Dublin versus Tyrone game always carried the danger of violence, especially after the legendary 'Battle of Omagh', and it was a risky move on the GAA to have them pitted against each other in such a ground-breaking and highly-publicised encounter.
Thankfully, apart from McMenamin's late red card (he could have walked earlier had the referee picked up on an incident with Alan Brogan), the game was played in a relatively good spirit.
What was more worrying was tone set by Tyrone in the final minutes.
Having come back from 0-07 to 0-02 down to hold a slim 0-11 to 0-10 advantage heading into injury-time, Tyrone had showed tremendous battling qualities to tame a Dubs side that had looked supremely confident in the first period.
However, the ultra-cynical manner in which they persistently fouled to prevent Dublin getting any rhythm going in additional time left a sour taste in the mouth when we should have been relishing a grandstand finish.
Tyrone are no longer the underdogs. With two All-Ireland titles under their belt, their place in history is assured. But, with continued success, the nature of your victories and not just the victories themselves carry greater significance.
For Dublin, it's the other side of the coin. Do they take the moral high ground and continue to put style over substance, or do they bite the bullet and become as ruthless and single-minded as Saturday night's opponents? At the moment, they do not look any more convincing than the sides from the capital that have flattered to deceive throughout this decade.
Then again, it mightn’t matter for either side if Kerry can reproduce their 2006 form again this year.
In the end, though, the night was about celebrating what the GAA have that they are willing to loan (for the reported fee of €1.5million per match) to others. It was an interesting and mostly enjoyable occasion. It will probably lend itself to hyperbole in the future, but, in truth, it was no more historic than any All-Ireland football or hurling final.
And walking down Clonliffe Road afterwards, you couldn't help thinking to yourself that you'd swap every floodlit Saturday night of the year for those few precious Sunday afternoons in high summer and early autumn.
Séamus Leonard
