An Chluiche Mór: Full Story as Gaeilge (with English Translations) (Junior Cert Irish): Revision Notes
An Cluiche Mór: Full Story as Gaeilge (with English Translations)
An bhfuilim ag taibhreamh? Naoi mbliana déag d'aois. An uair seo an tseachtain seo caite bhí mé ag sochraid m'athar. Anois táim suite anseo ar an mbus foirne leis na sluaite taobh amuigh. Bratacha ag eitilt, bandaí timpeall riostaí nó ag ceangal siar ghruaig na gcailíní. Os mo chomhair tá staid ollmhór Pháirc an Chrócaigh. Aréir chuir mo thraenálaí glaoch orm go déanach ag insint dom go raibh áit faighte agam ar an bhfoireann ag an nóiméad deireanach. Lánchúlaí ar chlé.
Am I dreaming? Nineteen years old. This time last week, I was at my father's funeral. Now, I am sitting here on the team bus with the crowds outside. Flags flying, bands around wrists or tying back the girls' hair. In front of me is the massive stadium of Croke Park. Last night, my coach called me late to tell me that I had secured a place on the team at the last minute. Left corner-back.
Isteach sa seomra feistis linn. I mo shuí ar an mbinse agus an óráid ar siúl. An bhfuil aon rud atá á rá aige ag dul isteach i m'aigne? Táim ag crith. Amach tríd an doras. Camáin á lascadh i gcoinne an fhalla. Beireann sé greim orm.
Into the dressing room we go. Sitting on the bench while the speech is taking place. Is anything he's saying sinking into my mind? I'm shaking. Out through the door. Hurls being struck against the wall. He grabs hold of me.
"Ná tóg aon cheann don Súilleabhánach nuair atá sé ag labhairt leat, ok? Tá cáil air a bheith ag iarraidh leaideanna a chur as trí raiméis a rá leo i rith cluichí. Ná tóg aon cheann do na rudaí atá á rá aige. Tá's agam gur am deacair é seo duit agus maith thú as fanacht leis. Bheadh d'athair an-bhródúil inniu dá mbeadh sé anseo."
Lámh ar mo dhroim agus amach go dtí an pháirc chatha.
"Don't pay any attention to O'Sullivan when he's talking to you, okay? He's known for trying to throw lads off by talking nonsense to them during games. Don't take any notice of what he's saying. I know this is a difficult time for you, and fair play to you for sticking with it. Your father would be very proud today if he were here."
A hand on my back and out onto the battlefield.
Ochtó míle duine ag screadaíl. Tá mo chosa imithe i laige. Cúpla poc den sliotar. Anall leis an gcaptaen chugam.
Eighty thousand people screaming. My legs have gone weak. A few pucks of the sliotar. Over comes the captain to me.
"An traenáil ar fad atá déanta againne an bhliain ar fad ní fiú ach leath de inniu. Mar sin caithfimid céad caoga faoin gcéad a thabhairt. Tá gach leaid ar an bhfoireann seo ag tabhairt aire dá chéile agus seasfaidh gach duine acu sa bhearna bhaoil duit. Socróimid síos chomh luath is atá an sliotar caite isteach. Ardfhear. Ar aghaidh leat!"
"All the training we've done all year is only worth half of it today. So we have to give one hundred and fifty percent. Every lad on this team looks out for each other, and every one of them will stand in the breach for you. We'll settle down as soon as the sliotar is thrown in. Great man. Go for it!"
Suas go dtí an cairpéad dearg liom. An dtosnóidh an cluiche seo go deo? Ní cuimhin liom ainm an uachtaráin fiú. An pharáid anois. Buaileann na gártha mé ag siúl timpeall na páirce. Scaipeann an dream eile roimh dheireadh na paráide. Dímheas. Seasaimid go léir le chéile. Aontaithe. Nóiméad ciúnais do m'athair. An tAmhrán Náisiúnta.
Up to the red carpet I go. Will this game ever start? I can't even remember the president's name. The parade now. The cheers hit me as we walk around the pitch. The other team disperses before the parade ends. Disrespect. We all stand together. United. A moment of silence for my father. The National Anthem.
Gáir an tslua. Síos chuig mo chéile comhraic: an Súilleabhánach. "Hé, tusa. Féach suas ansin sa slua. Tá m'athair thuas ann ag féachaint ormsa inniu. Cá bhfuil d'athairse? Caithfidh go raibh aistear uaigneach agat aníos go Baile Átha Cliath ar an traein!"
The roar of the crowd. Down to my opponent: O'Sullivan.
"Hey, you. Look up there in the crowd. My father is up there watching me today. Where's your father? You must have had a lonely journey up to Dublin on the train!"
Réitíonn an réiteoir do chaitheamh isteach na liathróide. Faigheann an Súilleabhánach sonc de lámh mo chamáin isteach sna heasnacha agus titeann sé chun talún.
"An bhfuil tú ceart go leor? Ar bhuail an traein tú?"
Suas leis agus dorn i m'aghaidh. M'ascaill timpeall a mhuinéil. Slua fear isteach. Go leor soncanna isteach, amach, i ngach aon áit. Feadóg an réiteora á séideadh. Anall leis chugainn. Cárta buí an duine.
The referee prepares to throw in the ball. O'Sullivan gets a jab from the hand of my hurley into his ribs and falls to the ground.
"Are you alright? Did the train hit you?"
Up he gets and a fist to my face. My arm around his neck. A crowd of men piling in. Plenty of punches flying, in and out, everywhere. The referee's whistle blowing. He comes over to us. A yellow card each.
Tá an sliotar caite isteach agus tá sé faighte acu sin. Lasctar é isteach os comhair an tSúilleabhánaigh. Amach leis os mo chomhair. Preabann sé go hálainn dó agus isteach ina bhos. Ar chlé, ar dheis. Sleamhnaím. Ardaím mo cheann. Tá sé i mbéal an bháide. Raspar de phoc. Cúl! Pléascann Páirc an Chrócaigh. Amach leis chugam. Ardaíonn sé a mhuinchille.
"An aithníonn tú an uimhir seo?"
Cad é? Uimhir Áine atá ann. M'Áine. Racht feirge. Caithfidh mé ciúnú. Tabharfaidh mé freagra dó le linn na himeartha. An poc amach tógtha. Isteach i lapa an fhreasúra. Sliotar ard isteach. Suas le mo lámh san aer. Dorchadas. Tá an clip bainte de mo chlogad. Cúl agus cúilín anows ag an Súilleabhánach.
The sliotar is thrown in, and they have won it. It's struck inside in front of O'Sullivan. Out he comes ahead of me. It bounces perfectly for him and lands in his hand. Left, right. I slip. I lift my head. He's in front of the goal. A rocket of a shot. Goal! Croke Park erupts. Out he comes towards me. He lifts his sleeve.
"Do you recognise this number?"
What is it? It's Áine's number. My Áine. A surge of anger. I have to calm down. I'll answer him during the game. The puck-out is taken. Straight into the opposition's grasp. A high ball in. Up goes my hand in the air. Darkness. The clip has been knocked off my helmet. A goal and a point now for O'Sullivan.
Poc amach eile dúinne. Ceann mór ard fada i dtreo ár líne leathchúil. Tá sé faighte ag an leatosaí láir againne. Tosaíonn sé ar ruathar. Tá sé imithe thar an líne daichead slat, tríocha slat ón gcúl anois, tá sé ag dul i dtreo na líne 21. Buaileann sé raspar. Tá an líontán ag crochadh. Tá an taobh eile de Pháirc an Chrócaigh ag pléascadh.
Another puck-out for us. A big, high, long one towards our half-back line. Our centre-forward has it. He starts a run. He's past the forty-yard line, now thirty yards from goal, heading for the 21-yard line. He strikes a rocket. The net is shaking. The other side of Croke Park is erupting.
Tagann sliotar íseal isteach os ár gcomhair. É ag preabadh in ainm an diail ar an talamh. Rithim amach. Isteach i mo lapa. Sracfhéachaint taobh thiar díom. Poc mór fada síos an taobhlíne? Tá sé faighte againn. Pas láimhe trasna na páirce. Tá fear againn ann leis féin. Thar an trasnán leis an sliotar.
A low sliotar comes in front of us, bouncing unpredictably on the ground. I run out. It lands in my grasp. A quick glance behind me. A big, long puck down the sideline? We've won it. A hand pass across the field. We have a man free. Over the crossbar goes the sliotar.
Tá an sliotar ag eitilt isteach arís chugainn i dtreo na taobhlíne. Amach leis an Súilleabhánach ar cosa in airde. An rachaidh an sliotar amach thar an taobhlíne? An sroichfidh sé é in am? Sroichfidh. Tá sé ina sheilbh aige. Gualainn. Tá an Súilleabhánach ina chnap thar an taobhlíne. Impíonn sé ar an réiteoir. Croitheann sé a cheann.
The sliotar comes flying in towards us near the sideline. O'Sullivan sprints out at full speed. Will the sliotar go out over the sideline? Will he reach it in time? He will. He has it under control. Shoulder. O'Sullivan is in a heap beyond the sideline. He pleads with the referee. The referee shakes his head.
Poc taobhlíne dúinne. Tógtha agamsa. Tá an tseilbh fós againn. Pas trasna na páirce. Iarracht ar phoc. Tá sé blocáilte. Poc taobhlíne eile dúinn. Tógtar é – féach air sin! Tá an sliotar imithe caol díreach thar an spota dubh ar an trasnán agus tá an slua ag béiceach. Cad é mar chúilín!
Sideline puck for us. I take it. We still have possession. A pass across the field. A shot attempted. It's blocked. Another sideline puck for us. It's taken – look at that! The sliotar has gone straight over the black spot on the crossbar, and the crowd is roaring. What a point!
Séideann an réiteoir an fheadóg agus tá leatham sroichte. An bhfuil sé i ndáiríre? Féachaim suas in airde ar an scáileán. Seacht nóiméad is tríocha atá air. Tá an ceart ag an réiteoir mar sin. Níor bhraith mé an t-am ag imeacht in aon chor.
Ar ais isteach linn faoi Ardán Uí Ógáin. Féachann mo thraenálaí díreach idir mo dhá shúil.
The referee blows the whistle, and halftime has been reached. Is he serious? I look up at the screen. Thirty-seven minutes have passed. The referee is right, then. I didn't feel the time passing at all.
Back in we go under the Hogan Stand. My coach looks me straight in the eyes.
"Tá an Súilleabhánach tar éis cúl agus ceithre chúilín a fháil ón imirt. Sin fear atá faoi do chúramsa. Má leanann tú ar aghaidh mar sin beidh tú i do shuí ar an mbinse laistigh den chéad deich nóiméad. An dtuigeann tú mé?"
"O'Sullivan has scored a goal and four points from play. That's the man you're supposed to be marking. If you keep going like this, you'll be sitting on the bench within the first ten minutes. Do you understand me?"
Tá an dara leath tosaithe. Sliotar ard isteach i dtreo an tSúilleabhánaigh. Beidh mé os comhair m'fhir an uair seo. Gheobhaidh mé an chéad cheann. Sleamhnaíonn sé os mo chomhair go tapa, áfach. Uillinn im bholg. An ghaoth imithe óm sheolta. Preabaim san aer pé scéal é. Tá sé ina lapa aige. Ritheann sé caol díreach i dtreo na cearnóige bige. Mise ag caitheamh scátha air. Sracfhéachaint taobh thiar dá ghualainn ar chlé. Táimse ar an ngualainn ar dheis. Iarracht ar raspar. Húcáil déanta. Sliotar agamsa. Buille mór ard amach i dtreo lár na páirce agus béiceann an slua.
The second half has begun. A high sliotar is sent in towards O'Sullivan. This time, I'll be in front of my man. I'll win this one. But he slips past me quickly. An elbow to my stomach. The wind knocked out of me. I jump in the air anyway. He has it in his grasp. He runs straight towards the small square. I'm shadowing him closely. A quick glance over his left shoulder. I'm on his right. He goes for a rocket of a shot. Hooked. The sliotar is mine. A big, high clearance out towards midfield, and the crowd roars.
An sliotar ar ais isteach sa chúinne eile trasna uaim. Ta ár lánchúlaí ar dheis á chlúdú go maith. Tá sé ag an lántosaí ar dheis go fóill. Buaileann sé poc ón taobhlíne. Ar fóraoil. Poc amach gearr chugam. Ní raibh siad ag súil leis sin. Lascadh ard, álainn suas i dtreo na líne leatosach. An bhfuil? Níl. Tá sé imithe níos faide ag preabadh os comhair na líne lántosach. Tá sé inár seilbh. Ritheann sé i dtreo an chúil. Tá sé i mbéal an bháide. Cúl!
The sliotar is sent back into the far corner across from me. Our right corner-back is marking well. The right corner-forward still has it. He strikes a shot from the sideline. Wide. A short puck-out to me. They weren't expecting that. A high, beautiful strike up towards the half-forward line. Is it? No. It's gone further, bouncing in front of the full-forward line. We have possession. He runs towards the goal. He's in front of the net. Goal!
Faigheann an Súilleabhánach an comhartha ón taobhlíne. Imíonn sé suas i dtreo lár na páirce. Tá an lámh in uachtar faighte agam. Féachaim i dtreo mo dhream ar an taobh líne. Ordóg suas. Comhartha tugtha dom fanacht socair san áit ina bhfuilim.
O'Sullivan gets the signal from the sideline. He moves up towards the centre of the field. I have gained the upper hand. I look towards my team on the sideline. Thumbs up. A signal given to me to stay put where I am.
Tá an poc amach tógtha. Tá clibirt i lár na páirce. An sliotar faighte acu. Tá an Súilleabhánach ag dul ar ruathar aonair isteach thar an líne lánchúil. Rithim amach chun bualadh leis. Gualainn. An Súilleabhánach caite ina scraith ar an talamh. An ghaoth bainte amach as a sheolta agam. Feicim súile an réiteora. Níl sé sásta. Caithfidh mé rud éigin a thosú chun an aird a tharraingt uaim. Stánaim ar uimhir a 11 le miongháire.
The puck-out is taken. A scramble in midfield. They've won possession. O'Sullivan is making a solo run past the full-back line. I sprint out to meet him. Shoulder. O'Sullivan is sent sprawling to the ground. I've knocked the wind out of him. I see the referee's eyes. He's not happy. I need to start something to draw attention away from myself. I stare at number 11 with a grin.
Cuirim amach mo lámh chuige. Lámh i m'aghaidh. Slua mór istigh anois. Doirn á gcaitheamh, camáin san aer. Cúpla nóiméad troda agus tá cúrsaí ciúnaithe arís. Níl dearmad déanta ag an réiteoir. "Bú!" ón slua.
I extend my hand towards him. A fist to my face. A big crowd piles in now. Punches flying, hurleys in the air. A few minutes of fighting, and things settle down again. But the referee hasn't forgotten. "Boo!" from the crowd.
"Rud amháin eile anois agus gheobhaidh tú an taobhlíne."
"One more thing now, and you'll be on the sideline."
Seasann an Súilleabhánach os cionn an tsliotar. Seo ceann éasca dó. Ardaíonn sé é agus cuireann sé caol díreach é idir na cuaillí thar an trasnán. Amach leis arís go lár na páirce. Tá orduithe faighte agam m'fhód féin a sheasamh agus fanacht taobh istigh.
O'Sullivan stands over the sliotar. This one is easy for him. He lifts it and sends it straight between the posts over the crossbar. Out he goes again to midfield. I've been given orders to hold my ground and stay inside.
An poc amach gearr chugam. Lascáilte go hard sa spéir agam suas an pháirc. Cé a chuireann a lámh in airde chun é a fháil ach mac Uí Shúilleabháin. Pas trasna na páirce go dtí an líne leatosach. Coimeádaim leathshúil air agus leathshúil ar an sliotar. Imíonn uimhir 12 ar ruathar aonair. Feicim an Súilleabhánach ag rith isteach cliathánach. Níl aon duine tar éis é a phiocadh suas. Screadaim amach chucu. Ní chloiseann siad mé. An Súilleabhánach fós ag rith. Screadaim arís. Dada. Ó Súilleabháin feicthe ag uimhir 12. Pas trasna chuige. Amach liom chun bualadh leis. Casann sé ar dheis. Casann sé ar chlé. Tá sé buailte aige. Tá sé blocáilte agam. Isteach i mo ghlac. Lascáilte arís suas an pháirc agam. Gáir ón slua. Dorn san aer i dtreo an tSúilleabhánaigh. Dhá mhéar i mo threosa.
A short puck-out to me. I strike it high into the sky up the field. And who puts his hand up to catch it but O'Sullivan. A pass across the field to the half-forward line. I keep one eye on him and one on the sliotar. Number 12 breaks into a solo run. I see O'Sullivan running in sideways. No one has picked him up. I shout out to them. They don't hear me. O'Sullivan is still running. I shout again. Nothing. O'Sullivan spotted by number 12. A pass across to him. I sprint out to meet him. He turns right. He turns left. He takes the shot. Blocked. It lands in my grasp. I strike it up the field again. A roar from the crowd. A fist in the air towards O'Sullivan. Two fingers pointing my way.
Laistigh de dheich nóiméad fágtha sa dara leath. Tá na foirne ar comhscór. Isteach leis an Súilleabhánach chuig an líne leatosach arís. Súile an réiteora iompaithe an treo eile. Lámh a chamáin isteach im easnacha. Táim i mo chnap ar an talamh. Isteach leis an physio leis an mbuidéal draíochta. Tá draíocht ann go deimhin. Éirím i mo sheasamh. Féachaim sa tsúil air. Caochaim mo shúil leis. Féachann sé an treo eile. Bogaim i ngaireacht dó. Tugaim póigín dó mar ó dhea.
Less than ten minutes left in the second half. The teams are level. O'Sullivan breaks forwards towards the half-forward line again. The referee's eyes are turned the other way. A jab of his hurley into my ribs. I'm in a heap on the ground. The physio rushes in with the magic bottle. There's definitely magic in it. I get back on my feet. I look him in the eye. I wink at him. He looks away. I move in closer to him. I blow him a little kiss, just for good measure.
"Stop é sin."
"Stop that."
Póigín eile.
Another little kiss.
"Táim á rá leat é sin a stopadh."
"I'm telling you to stop that."
Póigín eile agus beirim greim láimhe air go bog. Bos an chamáin san aghaidh. Táim ar an talamh arís. Tá sé feicthe ag an réiteoir. Cárta dearg. Adiós, a mhic Uí Shúilleabháin, tá súil agam go bhfuil d'athair bródúil asat!
Another little kiss, and I gently take his hand. The base of the hurley to my face. I'm on the ground again. The referee has seen it. Red card. Adiós, O'Sullivan, I hope your father is proud of you!
Tá an t-am geall le bheith caite. Táimid in am cúitimh ghortaithe. Na foirne uair amháin eile ar comhtharrac. Tá teannas san aer. An poc gearr amach chugam. Tá an t-am agam duine a phiocadh amach. Pas deas suas go dtí mo chaptaen. Táim traochta. Tá na cosa imithe uaim. Tá duine éigin ag cogarnaíl liom. Deir sé liom leanacht ar aghaidh ag rith suas an pháirc. Táim rólag. Go tobann tagann fuadar ó áit éigin fúm. Iompaíonn sé mé suas an pháirc.
Time is almost up. We're into injury time. The teams are level once again. Tension fills the air. A short puck-out to me. I have time to pick someone out. A nice pass up to my captain. I'm exhausted. My legs are gone. Someone is whispering to me. They tell me to keep running up the field. I'm too weak. Suddenly, a surge of energy comes from somewhere inside me. It drives me forwards up the field.
Tá mo shúile dírithe ar ár gcaptaen agam. Tugann sé pas ar aghaidh. Ritheann sé chun cinn. Glacann sé le pas ar ais. Tá beirt timpeall air. Tá triúr timpeall air. Tá sé á bhrú sall i dtreo na taobhlíne acu. Níl aon duine tar éis mise a fheiceáil go fóill. Ligim liú amach. Cloiseann sé mé. Pas faighte agam. Lascadh amháin deireanach ar an sliotar. Tá sé go hard. Tá sé go cruinn. Tá sé ann. Tá an t-am istigh. An poc amach tógtha. An fheadóg séidte. Tá Craobh na hÉireann buaite againn! Féachaim i dtreo na spéire. Tá na deora ag titim.
My eyes are locked on our captain. He plays a forwards pass. He sprints ahead. He collects the return pass. Two players surround him. Three players now. They're forcing him towards the sideline. No one has noticed me yet. I let out a shout. He hears me. The pass comes my way. One final strike of the sliotar. It's high. It's accurate. It's over. Time is up. The puck-out is taken. The whistle blows. We have won the All-Ireland! I look up to the sky. Tears are falling.
Go raibh maith agat, Daid. Bhí tú ann ag féachaint orm.
Thank you, Dad. You were there watching me.
