Singing the blues

In the immediate aftermath of Dublin’s rather tame surrender to Armagh in the football qualifiers the other week, several questions raised themselves. What the hell has happened to Alan Brogan? How did Armagh finish the match with even 14 players? Why did Dessie Farrell, in his last ever inter-county game, still look the most potent of Dublin’s six forwards? Should Stephen Cluxton be shot?

The most pertinent query, however, involves Tommy Lyons’ distinctive brand of media-friendly ebullience, his approach to man-management, and whether he has advanced the Dublin cause any further than his predecessor, Tommy Carr. After two campaigns at the helm, now is a good time to take stock of what Lyons has achieved – and what he hasn’t.

The 2002 campaign, which delivered a first Leinster title since 1995 and got people talking about the team again, is starting to look more and more like a one-season wonder, a flash in the pan, beginner’s luck, whatever you wanna call it. The Dubs are still, in real terms, no nearer to winning Sam than they were when they almost edged out Kerry in Thurles two years ago, in Tommy Carr’s penultimate match in charge. They still don’t have a freetaker, they still don’t know where to put Shane Ryan, they still haven’t found anyone better than Jonny Magee at centre-back, and they still haven’t seen Ciaran Whelan make capital out of his boundless potential (and probably never will).

Purely in terms of technical ability, and notwithstanding the cleverness of Armagh’s forwards, overall Dublin should have been able to handle a side like them. And if you don’t buy this argument, then just watch the footage of the first half again: the Dubs should inarguably have gone in at the interval with a bigger lead than four points.

So why were they horsed out of it in the second half? Because Dublin, in their current incarnation, simply haven’t the stomach for a scrap. In games against Meath and Kildare last year, they were able to stand firm and turn the tide back when it began to run against them. This year, when the same thing happened against Laois and then Armagh, no fortitude was forthcoming (with the courageous exception of Darren Homan, whose fragile shoulder was disgracefully targeted by certain Armagh players, not all of whom were sent off).

You could blame Dublin’s overall dire summer on the forwards, and their apparent predilection for conjuring up wides where none seem possible. Because if they’d scored even a small fraction of their 16 wides against Laois, they would have beaten Mick O’Dwyer’s solid but hardly dazzling outfit, reached the Leinster final, and thereby avoided the abyss of the qualifiers, where the Armaghs of this world lurked in wait for the unwary.

Now Dublin stand exposed for what they are: a team with any number of half-decent players, but with very few guys who can make the difference. They have Paddy Christie, who has now eclipsed Darren Fay as the finest full-back in the country; Cluxton, probably the best keeper (not saying much); a good corner-back in Paul Griffin; one or two reasonable forwards; and that’s it. On the debit side, they have no midfield, a predictable attacking strategy, and seemingly little in the way of moral courage.

Still, it could be worse for the Dubs. Meath could still be there.