| Christy Ring | Christy Ring |
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| Christy Ring | Christy Ring* |
| Do thriail sé an ní dodhéanta formhór gach Domhnach ar an bpáirc, is uaireanta rith leis. Ar leathghlúin dó teanntaithe i gcúinne nuair las a shúil - réamhchríostaí, leictreonach - ’s gur dhiúraic an liathróid uaidh thar trasnán, chrith an t-aer le hiontas. Nuair thug gan coinne aon ráig ghlan fiain trí bhulc na bhfear ’s gur phléasc an sliotar faoi smidiríní solais sa líontán, do liúigh an laoch san uile dhuine. Aon neomat buile amháin in earr a ré is é Cúchulainn bhí ’na ionad ar an bpáirc - d’at a chabhail i radharc na sluaite, do bholgaigh súil ’s do rinc ar mire … |
He aimed at the impossible each Sunday on the pitch; sometimes he succeeded. Down on one knee, trapped in the corner of a field, when his prechristian electronic eye lit up in combat, and the ball, a missile, sped from him straight above the bar, the air shook in awe. When a driving lunge brought him clear beyond the ruck of men, and the ball, propelled, self-destructed in the net to smithereens of light, our cheering became a battle cry. In one moment of raw frenzy as his playing days ran out, he summoned Cú Chulainn to aid him on the pitch: his trunk swelled up in sight of thousands, one eye bulged and danced, demented … |
| * Christy Ring was the Babe Ruth of hurling | |
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Seán Ó Tuama |
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| Ealaíontóir/Artist: Peannaire/Calligrapher: Aistritheoir/Translator: Ainmníodh ag/Nominator: |
Robert Ballagh Frances Breen The Author The Editorial Panel |
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