Memories of the Páirc, my father, and Micheál Ó Muircheartaigh's kindness

Growing up in Cork, one of my fondest memories is the time spent with my father, Jack McCarthy, at Páirc Uí Chaoimh.

My father, a dedicated employee of Post and Telegraphs, played a crucial role in connecting the Irish national broadcaster, RTÉ, to the rest of the world.

His work laid the foundation for countless broadcasts that brought the excitement of Gaelic games into homes across the country.

For me, however, it was not just about the matches; it was about the experiences we shared together, the lessons learned, and the indelible mark left by the legendary commentator, Micheál Ó Muircheartaigh.

From a young age, my father introduced me to the vibrant world of Gaelic sports.

Páirc Uí Chaoimh was more than just a stadium; it was a sanctuary of tradition, pride, and ion. Whether it was a county match, an inter-county clash, or a provincial showdown, the atmosphere was always electric. The roar of the crowd, the scent of fresh-cut grass, and the sight of players were enough to make any young man’s heart race with excitement.

My father’s job with Post and Telegraphs meant that he was often behind the scenes, ensuring that the connections for RTÉ were flawlessly set up. I ired his dedication and precision. He took pride in his work, knowing that it allowed fans from all corners of Ireland to tune in and experience the magic of the matches. His role was critical, and he approached it with the same ion that the players brought to the field.

One of the highlights of our visits to Páirc Uí Chaoimh was meeting Micheál Ó Muircheartaigh, the voice of Gaelic games. Micheál was more than a commentator; he was a poet with a microphone. His ability to weave stories and paint vivid pictures with his words was unparalleled. He had a unique talent for capturing the essence of the game, the spirit of the players, and the emotion of the moment. Every encounter with him was special.

Micheál had a remarkable presence, and his kindness left a lasting impression on me. 

Whenever we met, he would always take the time to chat, making me feel like the most important person in the stadium. What made these interactions even more memorable was his use of the Irish language.

As I grew older, my appreciation for these experiences deepened. I began to understand the significance of the connections my father laid and the impact of Micheál’s commentary.

The matches we attended were more than just games; they were moments of bonding, learning, and growth. Each visit to Páirc Uí Chaoimh was a chapter in a story that spanned generations, a story of love for the sport, for our culture, and for each other.

One match that stands out vividly in my memory was the fiercely contested Munster Football Final in 1983 against Kerry. The tension was palpable, and the stakes were high. My father and I arrived early to soak in the pre-match atmosphere. As we walked through the gates, the familiar sounds and sights greeted us like old friends. The stadium buzzed with anticipation, and the energy was infectious.

We found our way under the covered stand and up the steps that led to the highest point in the stadium and across the rickety planks of the gantry. Jack pointed out the intricacies of the field setup, explaining how the connections he worked on played a crucial role in the broadcast. His pride was evident, and I felt a surge of iration for him. The game itself was a rollercoaster of emotions, with moments of brilliance, despair, and sheer determination from both sides. The fact that one of my teachers from Togher Boys National School, the great dual player John Allen, was playing at full-forward added to the expectation.

As the final whistle blew, signalling a hard-fought victory for Cork, the crowd erupted in jubilation. A late goal by Tadhg óg Murphy saw the Rebels win a Munster for the first time in a long time. It was a moment of pure joy, a celebration of our team’s triumph. 

Amidst the euphoria, I spotted Micheál Ó Muircheartaigh making his way across the gantry. He caught sight of us and made his way over, his face breaking into a warm smile.

“Dia dhuit, a bhuachaill,” he greeted me, his voice as melodic and captivating as ever. We exchanged pleasantries in Irish, and he asked about my thoughts on the match. His genuine interest and encouragement meant the world to me.

A few weeks later, Cork drew with Dublin in the All Ireland semi-final. The replay was to be held in Cork. The first time that a game of this magnitude was to be held outside the capital. Cork had chances to put the first game away and was full of confidence going into the replay. The Dubs had our number though and stormed through to win well.

When the game ended, the brilliant Barney Rock was brought up to do a post-match interview. I gave him a death glare as he made his way across the platform but he came over to me in my Red Jersey and said graciously ‘I thought ye had us last week bud. Don’t worry, ye’ll be back.’ Magnanimous in victory was hard to fight.

Reflecting on those days now, I realise how much they shaped me. The lessons learned from my father about dedication, hard work, and the importance of preserving our heritage have stayed with me. The kindness and eloquence of Micheál Ó Muircheartaigh inspired me to appreciate the beauty of language and the power of storytelling.

Páirc Uí Chaoimh remains a place of cherished memories, a symbol of a bond between father and son, and a testament to the enduring spirit of Gaelic games.

The echoes of the past still resonate in the stadium’s halls, carrying the voices of ionate fans, dedicated workers, and legendary commentators.

As I on these stories to my own children, I hope they too will find their place in this vibrant community.