Drom roll Continues, ‘Cross challenge for the Champs; Survival of the fittest in relegation; Tipp TV demand.
By Noel Dundon
The stage was set for a grand weekend of quarter-final hurling, two days thick with promise, the Saturday billing heralded as the banquet that would surely reveal the juiciest morsels of the feast. Yet, when the curtain rose, the opening courses proved little more than under-seasoned appetisers. Holycross Ballycahill against Cashel King Cormacs, followed by reigning monarchs Loughmore Castleiney squaring with Toomevara, conjured anticipation aplenty but delivered a fare that was disappointingly tepid — morsels without spice, bread without salt — leaving the true flavours for Sunday’s richer spread.
The fault lay not in the design of the fixtures but in the ruthless majesty of the victors. Holycross and Loughmore, like merciless chefs, carved their opposition with cold precision, while Cashel and Toomevara, flat of palate and dull of edge, proved themselves unable to match the pace or fire demanded by such company. The result was as one-sided as it was sobering — a banquet where the diners were left hungry, craving substance.
Cashel’s woes were compounded by Eoghan Connolly’s dismissal in the second act — though, truth be told, nowadays the flash of red is too easily brandished. Even with that caveat, the King Cormacs never once threatened the flaming guns of Holycross Ballycahill. Their arsenal blazed brightly, leaving the Cashel men scorched and scrambling, their belated pair of goals nothing more than crumbs brushed from the Cross’s loaded table. For all their grit, they could not stem the tide.
Toomevara, meanwhile, fell further from grace. Having reached last year’s grand stage, they limped through this season with neither rhythm nor ferocity, failing to summon the brimstone many believed they would unleash in a repeat clash with Loughmore Castleiney. Instead, they sat deep, passive, allowing the champions’ sweeper to dictate the dance.
Regret will gnaw at them in the quiet of winter, for they never once dared to gamble, never once pressed high when urgency demanded it. Their meek retreat leaves Loughmore poised on the brink of history, chasing a third crown in five years — a dynasty in the making, an echo of Sarsfields’ great reign and Toomevara’s own golden era. Should they clasp the Dan Breen Cup once more, their dominance will be beyond dispute.
And fate, with its mischievous grin, drew Saturday’s victors against each other in the semi-final — Holycross and Loughmore, a mid-Tipperary showdown, a fixture already luring the cameras of RTÉ, a clash brimming with promise of real fire at last.
Sunday’s theatre offered more drama, though it took its time to ignite. Moycarkey Borris and Drom-Inch served up a pedestrian hour, the game plodding, until suddenly Drom-Inch’s appetite for goals erupted like a dam bursting. At forty minutes, the Drom tally stood at a meagre 0-8. In the wild storm that followed, including extra time, they devoured 7-15, a blitzkrieg of green flags that tore the script to shreds. The Tipp goalkeeper, an All-Star in waiting, was humbled seven times, four by substitutes, two of those hammered home by David Butler — a super-sub who turned tormentor-in-chief of the Moycarkey defence. It was chaos, delirium, and wonder, all rolled into one unforgettable carnival of hurling.
Drom-Inch, momentum coursing through their veins, now march boldly toward FBD Semple Stadium, where Nenagh Éire Óg await. Nenagh, ever steady, had already handled their quarter with assurance, leading from the gun and never loosening their grip. At the year’s dawn, who would have wagered on either of these sides reaching the threshold of a county final? Yet here they are, the cookie crumbled sweetly in their favour, eyes gleaming at the scent of silver. The decider beckons, and both will relish their tilt at destiny.
A final word on the weekend action – the magnificence of the sideline cut was there for all to see over the course of the weekend, but particularly on Saturday where five cuts were sent between the posts. Having a sideline cut wizard in the camp is a real weapon in the modern game.
Other matters.
Beyond the roar of the senior stage, the Premier Intermediate championship has woven its own tapestry of intrigue, echoing the pattern of its loftier sibling. Once more, three proud representatives of the Mid stand tall in the semi-finals, joined this time by the ever-resilient Carrick Swans. Upperchurch Drombane, Boherlahan Dualla, and Gortnahoe Glengoole have all carved their names into the next chapter, setting the scene for a festival of hurling that promises thrills and fireworks. Another weekend of semi-final splendour lies ahead, and the air hums with anticipation of battles that will test sinew, spirit, and steel.
Meanwhile, in the darker shadowed corner of the Championship — the crucible of relegation — the drama deepens. Clonoulty Rossmore and Roscrea secured survival, fending off the challenges of Lorrha Dorrha and Mullinahone, leaving the latter pair staring down the abyss together. Now, fate has decreed that they must meet in one final, fateful duel. For both clubs, it is nothing short of do-or-die. The stakes are colossal: survival on one side, the bitter sting of relegation on the other. The clash will not be for the faint-hearted; it will be taut, tense, and fraught with consequence — a crucible where hearts will tremble, hopes will teeter, and heroes must be forged.