Big time players make big time plays in big time games.
There’s a great quote in the movie Gladiator:
“The beating heart of Rome is not the marble of the Senate. It’s the sand of the Colosseum…”
Ireland is a different place when Croke Park is in full swing. When the stadium is bouncing and the noise is reverberating around north Dublin and coloured jerseys are streaming down through the streets, there’s no place like it on earth.
All the other games up ’til now are literally what they’re referred to in that film too – the provincial games. It’s only when you get to the capital though that it really matters – anything that went before isn’t important anymore. How you got here? It’s no longer relevant.
Lee Keegan took a bit of stick during last year’s qualifiers. He was too quiet, the narrative went. Sort of similar to what he’s been hearing through the back door again in 2017.
But Lee Keegan is a man who was born for this stage and, just like last season, he thrives under this spotlight, this pressure, and these historic stands.
You only really fully appreciate the magic of Croke Park on days like this. When two of the most passionate tribes in Ireland have descended on the road to Dublin from out west and they’re falling over themselves onto the hallowed turf trying to keep up with what was one of the most insane openings to a game of football in living memory.
Even towards the end, with everything on the line and the game hanging in the balance, the tension and the flow were breathtaking and a man draped in blue and yellow summed up the whole occasion and what it meant when he was jumping up and down, slamming his feet on the stone, screaming his head off – veins bulging, face reddened – “RELAX! For f**k’s sake, relax!”
In that white heat, in the manic chaos with what feels like the eyes of the world on you and the fate of your county resting literally in your hands, men like Lee Keegan come into their own.
That’s when you see the true mettle of a man. Croke Park is when you see all his athleticism and skill and all his cold-blooded bottle.
Enda Smith is a gem of footballer and, at 23, it’s frightening to think the heights he could reach but after his peach of a score in the first period, Lee Keegan went man to man on him in the middle of the field and he dominated the game, took it by the proverbial scruff when Mayo could’ve crumbled under the crushing momentum of Roscommon.
Up and down the green of Croker he strode (and the more yellowy, faded pathces beneath Hill 16). He didn’t let Smith out of sight and went on and kicked 1-3 in those initial 35 minutes alone.
So Kevin McStay reacted – he had to. Smith was thrown to the edge of the square after the break and Mayo wouldn’t risk leaving him be in there. Keegan went with him.
The one time the Westport man tried to venture forward, Smith won possession, cut inside Cafferkey and drew a free that notched Roscommon back in front. There was no-one else for the job, just Keegan.
Mayo needed him in midfield, they needed him at full back to man Smith and, eventually, Rochford had to roll the dice to release him when Mayo were running out of time. Keegan pushed out to the 45′ and he was no sooner driving back up the field, dragging his county back into the game and back into the championship.
Jesus, if Mayo are to make an All-Ireland semi-final, they’ll have played seven games by that stage. They’ve already drawn three of their six to date and every outing raises more and more question marks.
One of them was answered on Sunday though. When it seemed like Mayo’s big men were not firing like they’d not only expect to but need them to, Keegan announced his arrival to this year’s championship with an almighty rattle of the Hill 16 net. He was just priming himself for the big stage, just waiting for when it mattered most, for when 65,000 people were rubbing shoulders trying to get a glimpse of him in full flow.
Mayo needed him out and they needed him in but it wasn’t too much of an ask for Lee Keegan. He just needed the Colosseum to bring out the best of him.
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