Large leads are often eradicated in short spells of play in hurling; part of the beauty of the game is that it can to and fro in such a manner. And so it was between Cork and Waterford, with Cork building a strong lead early on. Strangely, the turning point came for Waterford when they had a player sent off early in the second half: almost immediately, they knuckled down to their now more difficult task, showing more concentration and determination than their opponents. Ultimately they prevailed by the narrowest of margins: 25 points to 24. Cue scenes of mass hysteria, with what looked like the whole of the county of Waterford dancing for joy on the pitch.
To convey in words the thrill of witnessing a near-run, hard-fought hurling match, is an invidious task. Even television doesn't do the sport justice. I only learned this truth for myself two years ago when my girlfriend of the time dragged me along to the Munster final between Waterford and Tipperary, causing me to miss the World Cup Final. Having previously watched hurling matches from the comfort of my couch, I was unprepared for what followed. I can only compare the difference between TV viewing and being there to that between admiring the prose of John's Gospel and having a full-blown religious experience.
Central to the enjoyment of attending a hurling match is the discarding of all vocal inhibitions. I've watched international football matches at Lansdowne Road, Dublin, and have sensed a palpable degree of self-consciousness among supporters when it comes to singing and chanting. This doesn't happen at hurling matches: people scream their heads off regardless. I'm not sure if it fits with Carl Jung's definition of oceanic consciousness, but the prevailing atmosphere of licence does facilitate the communal sharing of an altered state. Perhaps people join Pentecostal congregations for the same reason.
When the teams take to the field, the roar which erupts from terrace supporters has a primal, pre-Christian edge to it. It's a battle-cry, a noise which comes not just from people's souls but also from the souls of their ancestors. It's impossible to be present at such an occasion and not be infected by it. When the game begins, there is no time to sing or chant – that would only be a diversion – as play happens at such a pace that spectators can hardly draw breath between incidents. (God knows what it's like to actually compete in one of these fixtures; they must sleep for days after.) At the end of the game, fans come away happily dazed, ready to tolerate once more the mundane reality of the 9 to 5 routine that fills the weeks between hurling matches.
Waterford now basks in the glory of a second Munster title in three years. Two years ago when the team won their first title since 1963, they enjoyed a prolonged celebration that ended with a mugging in the All-Ireland semi-final. Now they are different: still as skilful (it would be impossible to excel at this sport without skill), but with much more mettle. The city and county of Waterford will be buzzing all year.