Cavan, I love you. What a day. Ulster champions!

The ceiling in Minard House, on the Sligo Road outside Longford, is very high. Minard was the headquarters of Shannonside/Northern Sound radio where I cut my teeth. In 1997, when the final whistle blew and Cavan had won their first Ulster title since 1969, I am convinced I jumped so high I touched that ceiling. I wasn’t at the game, as I was anchoring in studio.

I wasn’t there. None of us were there in this mad year

I jumped just as high last Sunday evening. Again, I wasn’t there. None of us were there in this mad year. But all over the world, the collective energy from the jumps and screeches of Cavan supporters will have been enough to power a whole country. For the second day in a row, tears flowed down my cheeks. On Saturday night, I sat, spellbound, watching the Bloody Sunday commemoration as Brendan Gleeson read out the names of those who perished in Croke Park on 21 November 1920. One hundred years on, when the championship is being played in the winter, Dublin and Tipperary win their respective provincial titles. Whatever about Dublin, this was Tipperary’s first title since 1935. The texts were flying around after they beat Cork. “In 1920, the four provincial winners were Dublin, Mayo, Tippeary and Cavan – what are the chances?!”

We had no hope. “Will Cavan win?” I was asked several times, while out for a pre-match walk in the Phoenix Park. “We might win the toss,” was my pessimistic stock in-trade response each time. Des Cahill texted me: “Hope springs eternal, Damo.”

I took a swig of a beer at half time. And then I stood for the entire second half

And, suddenly, we are five points to two ahead. At least we won’t be hammered again. The referee issues a dubious black card to Killian “The Gunner” Brady and during that 10 minutes, Donegal kick seven points to Cavan’s one. The ref’s ears must have been burning.

I took a swig of a beer at half time. And then I stood for the entire second half; my nose almost touching the television – shouting, jumping, cursing. There is a shot, before Cavan got the goal, when the game was still in the melting pot. It was Mickey Graham on the line. He looked steely, and it was then I prepared myself for the unthinkable – that they were actually going to win. Patrick captured the moment on video. This middle-aged man in a Cavan jersey, jumping so high he could touch the ceiling again – like he did 23 years ago.

How could people not be enthralled by this magnificent sport we have to ourselves?

I rushed to my parent’s house. My mother was busy putting all the calls for my father in order. The phone never stopped. Everyone wanted to ring Paddy O’Reilly because they knew what it meant to him, and people wanted to share in the happiness and joy. My phone hopped, too.

It was a break away from the doom and the gloom which 2020 has foisted upon us. How could people not be enthralled by this magnificent sport we have to ourselves? Cavan captain Raymond Galligan captured what it means. He cried as he remembered those from his own parish and community who have been lost to the pandemic.

When you play GAA, you play for your county. No transfers. You play for where you are born.

John Joe O’Reilly, “the gallant John Joe” (arguably Cavan’s most famous-ever player) died at the age of 34 in 1952, the last year Cavan won the All-Ireland. John Joe died on 22 November that year. It was 22 November last Sunday. That is the year 2020 for you, folks. Bring on the Dubs.

Take a look at the bigger picture

People demanding that schools be closed or school holidays extended must think the parents of all school-going children sit at home all day and have no jobs.