WHATS IN A KISS?

If she said, ‘It’s Waterford or me!’ Would you miss her?

Ever been put in the position where your future happiness depended on either keeping the woman in your life happy, or supporting a football team you’d much rather grow old with?

1980 was a crunch year for me. A 12-month period that started being footloose and fancy-free, and ended in personal turmoil and the destruction of love’s sweet dream thanks to a love of Waterford FC and the music of a certain Gilbert O’ Sullivan.

I was reared on the melodic ditties of Mr. Ray O’Sullivan. Before he left Emerald Isle, and changed his name to Gilbert, Waterford’s favourite son lived on my housing estate, where his mother ran a sweet shop and his father worked in a meat factory.

I first met his infectious brand of melancholy music in the winter of 1970. Considering myself a music aficionado I warmed to his debut single, ‘Nothing Rhymed’ and continued to be impressed with his poetic masterpieces that raged up the British singles charts for the next few years.

It was one of the joys in my life, the other of course Waterford Football Club. I watched my first game at Kilcohan Park , home of the “Blues” on March 17^th, 1975. It would be a Saint Patrick’s Day like no other. I was told to bend down going through the turnstiles (so my uncle could save 50p) and took my place at the top of the main stand which was open to all the elements. And we always got that in Kilcohan Park.

Hail. Rain. Snow.

But it was memorable because my first visit coincided with Waterford contesting a major trophy. The Texaco Cup was a tournament featuring clubs from Ireland and Northern Ireland. It was a time of “the troubles” and teams, music artists and Irish organizations ran the gauntlet crossing the border. It was just under a few months before the 1975 Miami Showband massacre which killed three of the band and sectarian killings and peace was a long way off.

But on the field, it was a welcomed olive branch between both the League of Ireland and the IFA. Jim Craig’s Waterford would play Linfield in the final. The first leg at Kilcohan Park on that faithful Saint Patrick’s Day saw a paying crowd of £1900 watching the Blues edge a tight game courtesy of new £1500 signing Frank O’Neill (who had joined the club from Shamrock Rovers that summer) with an opportunist’s goal to set Waterford up nicely for the return trip to Belfast.

Even now, 51 years later, I can name the team. Thomas, Bryan, Dunphy, Finucane, Buck, Doran, McGeough, O’Grady, O’Neill (f), O’Neill (j), Matthews.

The elation at the end of the game saw the crowd run onto the pitch and surround the eleven heroes in blue. And trust me a paying crowd of £1900 paid was about 5,000 people at the game. We didn’t have to wait long for the second leg. I thought my uncles were joking when they said they’d be travelling to this midweek game at Windsor Park, home of Linfield FC, but as it turned out they weren’t! Four of my uncles, Ray, Noel, Jessie and Christy drove seven hours in two cars to see could Waterford win this title for the very first time.

A crowd of 4,000 seemed very confident of overturning that one goal deficit but Linfield fans watched in frustration as Waterford completely controlled the first half with a polished performance. In the second half, Peter Thomas came into his own making outstanding saves at point blank range from Barry Brown and Martin Malone. He was then quick to foil substitute Eddie Patterson in the closing stages and in the last 30 seconds his amazing cat-like reflexes denied Hunter. With sheer relief the Waterford players celebrated the scoreless draw giving them a 1-0 aggregate score and winners of the 1974/75 All Ireland Texaco Cup.

It was a well-earned victory. Back then we all needed something off the field to give us something to cheer about.

Outside family and football there wasn’t much else. Ireland was also akin to a third world country at the end on the Seventies. In 1979 alone there had been a postal strike, a train strike, a huge shortage of petrol and a long line of people signing on at the local dole office. Even those that did work had to pay 65p in an Irish pound.

I’ll say that again. 65p in an Irish pound.

The next four years would hurt though. Because expectations were high on the field, Waterford were expected to contest the First Division championship each year. But that never really happened. One such kick to the groin came on the 22^{nd of} April 1979 when Dundalk won the FAI Cup with a 2-0 win over a Waterford side now managed by former Northern Ireland international Tommy Jackson. It proved particularly cruel on Peter Thomas who made an uncharacteristic mistake for Dundalk’s first goal. It’s one the late, great Thomas would lament as he was always Mr. Dependable.

By now I was 14 and something else was catching my eye.

Girls. Well, I should say girl.

I had my eye on Angela, who lived two doors down from me. I’d been head over heels with her for quite some time now, though I was painfully shy. One night, after half a bottle of Buckfast, I plucked up the courage to ask her out but only succeeded in getting sick on her mother’s front porch. The mixture of sheer nerves, combined with a drink that would lay a horse out, meant I coughed up the contents of my stomach the moment Angela came to the front door.

It was the start of the 1979/80 season and when you’re 14 there’s not many places you can go so in my infinite wisdom, I thought it would be a good idea to ask Angela if she wanted to go see Waterford play. It would be the opening game of the season at home to Bohemians. But that didn’t seem to be of any interest to the paying customer on August 17^th. A mere £52 was take at the turnstiles and for a club like Waterford who depend on money so much (the club had a number of professionals on the books in a league that was almost all part-time) it was worrying. Two days of constant rain didn’t help the paltry attendance as Waterford would lose 2-1. Mich Leech scored from the penalty spot but missed a sitter at the end.

A date in the howling wind and rain, even though I forked out nearly £2 to see the game, should have meant the end for me and Angela, but she sighed, gave me a quick hug and we walked home. It was a hug of pure pity, but I welcomed it less.

The key to my relationship with Angela rested on the shoulders of his mom. Now I knew getting on the good side of Maureen would earn me brownie points so if there was any chore I could help out with, I didn’t hesitate to do. Cut the lawn. Plant some seeds. Go to the shop for some cigarettes (yes obviously that didn’t work) but I was there at any event.

It would lead to another date.

This time I took her to an awful 0-0 draw against League of Ireland newbies, UCD and attended by less than 400 supporters. It was a far cry from the Blues sides of 1968-1973 that won 6 titles in 8 years. Back then Waterford were a joy to watch and not only by the Waterford faithful. Their style of football on God-awful pitches with laced leather balls had drawn admiration from fans up and down the country.

It should not have worried me though. Mid table anonymity beckoned that season but anyone would tell you the Blues were a cup side and, on their day, could beat anyone. When the draw was made in January it paired Tommy Jackson’s men with new league side Thurles Town which I made the journey to on a freezing cold 10^th of February 1980.

It was a small ramshackle of bus that I put my feet on the ground would have resulted in the entire floor beneath me coming away.  I had written my last will & testament as I feared there was absolutely no way I was getting to the pitch in one piece. On the day Waterford were superb, winning 5-0 with goals from Al Finucane, Brian Gardner, Ger O’Mahoney and a brace from Paul Kirk.

I was happy to get a lift back from none other than Angela’s father. A lifelong Blues fan he was convinced Waterford would bridge the 47-year gap and win the 1980 FAI Cup but for me it was a chance to impress him as the potential husband to his daughter that he would surely give her hand in marriage to me in the hopefully not too distant future.

One thing I had done back then was associate music with the humdrum of my 14-year-old life. The first record I ever bought was Eric Carmen’s classic “All by Myself” after finishing last in a prestigious school 100 metre race that I had been winning but tripped over a pair of laces you could tie up King Kong with. In 1980 I bought Roxy Music’s superb take on John Lennon’s “Jealous Guy” after I contracted the measles later in life than any person I knew in my entire world, spending a week on what I thought was my deathbed (you know us guys can’t handle any sort of illness) and “Don’t You Want Me Baby” from the Human League applied to me regarding any girl I met. I’ll also mention Waterford’s own Gilbert O’Sullivan and his classic “Alone Again, naturally” which was basically me for the first loveless decade of my life.

But by the time Tommy Jacksons men played their second round FAI Cup tie with Waterford against Cork United I had got Angela to go to the football match at Kilcohan Park. It was a cool, crisp Sunday afternoon (28^th of February) with a crowd that I hoped was a few more hundred but was surprised to see an official attendance of 2,155. On that day, Waterford were superb. Amazingly it had been 18 years since the Waterford side knocked a Cork club out of the FAI Cup. You had to go back to 1962 and a 2-1 victory over Cork Hibernians for that. A win was expected to be fair. Cork United were having an awful league season, losing 20 of 30 games. The Blues did not disappoint.

After 16 minutes Mick Madigan scored the opening goal. In an action packed second half Cork took hold of possession for the first twenty minutes and a back four of Dunphy, Finucane, Gardiner and O’Mahoney had to be on their toes. The game was still in balance but that was until Phil Neiland pulled down Sid Wallace in the area and Mr. Mulhall from Dublin had no hesitation in awarding a penalty. In the perusing argument over the award of a spot kick, Punch was sent off for the Cork side and Larry Murray finished the spot-kick with aplomb to double the Waterford lead. The crowd of just under 2,000 saw Murray scores his second late on, giving Waterford a handsome 3-0 and a place in the third round.

The next few months saw us frequent Kilcohan increasingly as a bona fide couple. Angela tried her best to smile and pretend she was interested, whilst I remained blissfully unaware of the ever-widening gap between our once blossoming relationship. While no more than 500 fans would attend Waterford’s league games, the FAI Cup was a different scenario.

By now Waterford were in the Quarter-Finals and had a favorable draw against a limited but tough Athlone Town.

The buzz around a potential April date in Dalymount Park for the FAI Cup final made sure that a could of 4,100 attended this game.

Now prices on the turnstile had gone up for the cup games. Cynically yes but I understood and having forked out £10 on a Christmas present for Angela I was feeling the tightening of the belt, financially! I had raised the money as I worked my ass of at my grandmothers, digging out weeds, cleaning gutters and brushing the tangled knots out of Ranger, the angriest dog in the world, so I could afford to spoil my other half. The gunge in the gutters, and thorn and thistles I could handle, but having to deal with Ranger was another story.

This was terror on a whole new level.

An utter bastard of a dog.

Ranger never wagged his tail in the 15 years he was alive. It wasn’t just me. He hated everyone. In the summer of 1978, he single-handedly foiled the robbery of Mrs. Foil’s sweet shop down the road by chewing the arm off the middle-aged robber and pinning him to the ground until the police arrived. Ranger was hailed as a hero, and the bandit was incarcerated for his troubles.

But that money had also given me a chance to buy the latest record from one of Waterford’s own – Gilbert O’Sullivan. Thinking of myself somewhat of a music expert, I admired O’Sullivan’s combined flair of Beatlesque popcraft with an old-fashioned nostalgia. His astonishing early 1970’s success (three UK number 1 singles and “Alone Again, Naturally spend 6 weeks topping the Billboard charts and selling two million records stateside) was unheard of but by March 1980 the hits seemed to have dried up. Which is why I was delighted he had brought out a brand-new single “What’s in A Kiss?” which entered the UK charts on March 4^th at number 34.

But even Gilbert took a back seat when Tommy Jackson’s side took on visiting Athlone Town, managed by Turlough O’Connor (he would transform an Athlone Town side that won the League Championship in 1981) on March 9^th, 1980.

The atmosphere was electric from the start. For the first time ever, I was a bag of nerves. Being a mere 14-year-old I had missed out on the golden years of Waterford Football Club that saw the Blues win six league titles between 1966-1973 so I was clinging to any possible cup success for dear life.

It was a scrappy affair with both sides frequently giving the ball away too easily. On 12 minutes Sid Wallace thought he had scored the opening goal, but Tom Conway managed to head off the line. Just after the half-hour mark, Waterford had a big let-off. From a corner, Harry McCue headed just past Peter Thomas and although the keeper got his hands to the ball, it ended up in the back of the net. Luckily the ref had seen that McCue had pushed Kirk into Thomas and a collective sigh of relief could be heard from the crowd of over 4,000 at Kilcohan Park.  Tommy Jackson then accidentally wiped out his own player Vinny McCarthy who was replaced by Brendan Carey which I shouldn’t have found funny but I thought it was absolutely hilarious.

The winning goal came on the hour. A Mick Madigan corner was sent over and struck the crossbar, the rebound fell straight to Gardiner and the defender placed his header back over Smyth and into the visitors’ goal. Athlone had a lot of possession afterwards, but Waterford held on to the 1-0 win to secure a place against Limerick United in the semi-finals.

It was around this time I noticed Angela was becoming very friendly with Richie McDonald from four doors down. I’d often find her chatting to him in school, and every second Sunday he had an incredible knack of turning up at her doorstep the exact moment I kissed Angela goodbye and headed out to watch the Blues.

The bastard had even done his homework and professed a severe disliking to Gilbert O’Sullivan’s new single “What’s in a Kiss?” knowing Angela would approve.

On April Fools Day, Waterford took to the field with Limerick United standing in their way of a second consecutive FAI Cup final. The pain of losing to Dundalk in 1979 final still hurt and Jackson’s men were playing a Limerick side who under the management of Eoin Hand who were on the verge of winning the 1979/80 League of Ireland Premier Division title.

Both sides played out a thrilling game of football when they met. I was well aware of the day and hoping the 5,000 Waterford fans that travelled to this semi-final at Dalymount Park would be the fools that day but this was never going to be a tie settled after just one game.

Strangely, Limerick were very pedestrian and slow out of the blocks with Waterford the better side in the early exchanges on a rough, bumpy pitch so it was a surprise when they took the lead just after the hour. Pat Nolan’s right wing free was headed away by Mark Meagan but Tony Meaney headed the ball back over the static Blues defense for Johnny Walsh to seize the opportunity and put Limerick ahead against the run of play.

Instead of licking their wounds Waterford responded with fire and passion, embodied by Mark Meagan who was having a barnstormer. It would be his run into the Limerick penalty area where Eoin Hand sent him crashing. Mr. Farrell, the referee, pointed immediately at the penalty spot. Larry Murray stepped forward, but his effort was brilliantly saved by Kevin Fitzpatrick.

Was it going to be one of those days? It certainly felt like it!

Thankfully redemption arrived 16 minutes from the end when Waterford again won a penalty when Mark Meagan again was sent tumbling by Noel O’Mahoney. This time player manager Tommy Jackson took the spot kick and successfully converted it for 1-1 which stayed the way until the end.

The replay a mere four days later was even better.

This time the venue was Milltown – home of Shamrock Rovers. Not only was the atmosphere fantastic at a tight ground, stand and terraces right up on the pitch and boasting probably the best playing surfaces anywhere it made perfect sense. That afternoon really produced the proverbial “game of two halves” as Waterford raced into a 3-0 lead only to nearly see it all evaporate in front of them. Strikes from Sid Wallace, Tony Dunphy and Paul Kirk saw the Blues race into a 3-0 lead but the Shannonsiders came back with goals from Des Kennedy and Johnnie Walsh made it a nervy last 20 minutes but the Blues held on to book a FAI Cup Final place were they would play Saint Patrick’s Athletic on the 20^th of April, 1980.

I called into Angela’s house after the long trip home from Dublin, but her mom told me she wasn’t at home. I found it strange that her mom wouldn’t know the whereabouts of a young impressionable 15-year-old girl, but my best friend Ollie Winters had none of it and swore over the body of his dead dog Dougal, that she was hiding in the sitting room.

I knew this was serious, as Ollie wouldn’t have lied about such an insinuation when it involved the recently deceased corpse of his beloved mongrel Dougal, who’d just lost his life, after been accidentally run over in his own driveway by Ollie’s dad.

It was an accident that could have happened to anyone, though the fact Daddy had 15 rum and cokes in him, and was travelling at the speed of sound down his driveway kind of takes sincerity out of his ‘son, he came out of nowhere’ speech.

I paid Ollie in sweets for the next week to keep an eye on Angela and Richie McDonald in my strange love triangle, but I would believe everything my friend Ollie would tell me.

Sunday April 20^th 1980 came around quickly. I was still lonely and loveless. There was no progress on Angela as Ollie just got tired and gave up, but I was on a bus and off to see if Waterford could finally bridge a 43-year gap and win the FAI Cup.

There were 18,000 jammed into Dalymount Park for the game.

The day produced high drama- but not on the field of play!

My sweetheart Angela came along to the game alright, just not with me.

Having made a solemn promise to accompany me to this if we got there, the most vital of games she’d ever be likely to attend, she reneged and arrived through the turnstiles with that lecherous leech Ritchie McDonald from four doors down.

Bitch.

To make matters worse she was arm in arm with the treacherous toe-rag and acting like she was in the first flushes of love. She had absolutely no interest in Waterford FC and what her new soulmate knew about football you could write on the back of a stamp. This was a guy who thought you’d get action replays after a goal was scored.

It was Kilcohan Park. It was 1980. It was a local club.

Ritchie McDonald - an utter tit if ever there was one.

Luckily, I had more pressing matters to attend to.

The first few exchanges were tentative. Wallace and Kirk up front wouldn’t get much spare change from Saint’s Roche and Murphy. Murphy seemed to win everything in the air that afternoon. Finucane was given the task of looking after the mercurial Jameson. He stuck to Jackie like a rash in that opening half. Soon after, Tony Dunphy went in the book making it awkward for the towering defender for the rest of the game - another booking and it was a red card in a cup final.

Playing against the wind the Dubliners had the first real chance of the afternoon. Jameson managed to lose Finucane for a moment, rode two tackles and set up Tony Higgins, but Peter Thomas dived to smother the ball. It would be the first of many important saves the veteran would make that day. Waterford countered with Sid Wallace’s header from a Mick Madigan cross, but it was high, wide and handsome. Then in the 22nd minute the goal that would end the famine arrived.

Larry Murray was going like a train down the right-hand flank but was fouled by Munnelly. Murray still had possession, but referee O’Sullivan from Cork hauled the play back and was awarded a free kick. Bodies were thrown in the box. Brian Gardner made his way forward. Man-to-man marking. Shirts being pulled, moves being made, positions being taken. Murray looked into the box, took a few steps and delivered the ball high into the area. A sea of heads went towards the white leather object in the sky. They all missed. Except Gardner. Coming up from the back, the 21-year-old Preston man with a knack for important goals rose high to place a superb header which cracked the upright before resting in the net past the helpless Jim Grace in the Saint Pat’s goal.

Waterford 1-0 Saint Patrick’s Athletic.

The rest of the game was simply about looking at my watch every 34 seconds and at intervals, getting on my knees and praying to heaven the God would put an end to my misery and have the ref blow up at least 30 minutes before the end!

The Saints came straight back with Peter Thomas making an outstanding vital save from Jackie Jameson seven minutes before the break. You could see the heartbreak written over the faces of the Athletic fans. A couple of minutes into the second half Thomas made a crucial save from Niall O’Donnell as Athletic kept knocking on the door. With 20 minutes left top goalscorer Carthy came off for Mick Wright and Blues manager Tommy Jackson threw himself into the fray replacing Vinny McCarthy and then Eamon Coady replaced Wallace with seven minutes left. And the men playing uncharacteristically in white that day would not buckle. Time eventually ran out on Saint Patrick’s as Waterford celebrated finally ending a gap of 43 years to win the Blue Riband.

Al Finucane lifted the famous old trophy soon after and 20,000 people turned out to see the team come back of the bridge FAI cup champions for only the second time ever.

Finally, relief! It put the cap on a wonderful game and display from Waterford. The evergreen Peter Thomas, the main link to the 1966 first ever League of Ireland title winning side, was clearly man of the match. To boot “What’s in A Kiss?” made it into the UK Charts, getting to Number 19.

I never went back with Angela. Fortunately, she’d only been using Ritchie McDonald as a pawn in her evil game of teenage heartbreak, which although I felt betrayed over, I applauded her excellent work at making me a simmering pot of raging jealousy.

When the bickering and slanderous allegations of unfaithfulness died down, my childhood sweetheart confided in me it was the mixture of standing on a freezing cold terrace, with a man who constantly harped on about a nonsensical Gilbert O’ Sullivan song that had driven her to the brink of insanity.

Looking back, I can see her point. Freezing your tits off watching a game you’ve no interest in, alongside a person whose idea of a romantic gesture was paying half your entrance fee and splitting a mars bar at half time, is not exactly the type of actions that will have the opposite sex queuing up to be your date.

Still, we parted as friends with my pride, though somewhat bruised, still intact.

Good thing she ended it when she did.

A week later Gilbert O’Sullivan released his Greatest Hits!

BRIAN KENNEDY