By Noel Dundon
Time for Tipp fans to answer the clarion call and fill Semple with blue & gold.
Perhaps now, at long last, the faithful in Tipperary will awaken to the splendour of what Liam Cahill has carefully sculpted—a team worthy of admiration, a team deserving of deep, unreserved credit. True, there have been dark days, painful to witness, where crushing losses left spirits flattened and hearts heavy. Yet no one—absolutely no one—can question the fire in the bellies of these men or the relentless toil they’ve poured into the jersey.
Anyone who has wandered into Dr Morris Park and stood quietly by as the evening fog crept in will have seen the blood, sweat, and belief etched into every movement. And while it’s all very well to drop by now with the season in full, let’s see you there on a bitter January night, when the gales scream through the hedges, the pitch is a mire of sludge, and the players’ faces are carved with grit and grimace as they battle on.
But there is something almost poetic in the way that struggle bloomed into triumph at Zimmer Biomet Cusack Park on Saturday. Clare had them pinned, the tide rising fast—but Tipp refused to be swept away. They dug in, flipped the script, and emerged from the chaos not only unscathed but victorious. That defiance? It’s born in the bleakness of winter.
Just like John McGrath’s exquisite second goal against Limerick—a movement so sharp, so rehearsed, so divine it could only have sprung from the coaching ledger—it all speaks to a project gaining shape, bit by patient bit. The journey is far from over, as Cahill himself candidly conceded post-match, but from barren ground, green shoots now unfurl. The mission? To ensure the roots run deep. That means bulking up the fresh faces—strength and conditioning is a slow art; it means trialling the hungry young bucks, testing their mettle; and yes, making the gut-wrenching calls to let some stalwarts go—an agonising but essential piece of leadership.
So this week, let us savour the spoils of war hard-won in Ennis—a venue that has, of late, been generous to the Premier men. Four goals, all blasted home in a riotous first half, sent shockwaves—and yet this wasn’t just about fireworks and flair. No, this was a celebration of industry, of unity, of an unbreakable will. The Tipp lads hurled with ferocity, soaked up yellow cards, dragged Clare attacks to a standstill, and took punishing hits that would have broken lesser teams. But still they rose. It was thrilling, beautiful in its orchestration, and left the soul singing with pride.
Every duel was owned, every tactic woven with intent, each player a cog in a machine set to beat his man and beat him well.
And what of Rhys Shelly? Just a day after laying his beloved grandmother to rest, his majestic ice-cold distribution were daggers to the heart of the All-Ireland holders.
Now, the Deise march toward Thurles this Sunday. We need it all again—the ferocity, the precision, the hunger, the belief, the refusal to yield, and above all, the result. The clarion call sounds—let us fill Semple to its rafters and bathe it in blue and gold. Let these warriors feel the roar of a county behind them. Because, truth be told, they’ve earned it.
Mini camogie crisis continues.
Last week THE VIEW dared to shine a spotlight on the brewing storm within the Camogie Association, and suddenly found itself not alone, but at the very heart of a national conversation. What was once dismissed as manufactured fuss has erupted into a tidal wave of opinion. Save for the selection of Pope Leo XIV, no topic burned hotter across the land. So maybe, just maybe, THE VIEW wasn’t poking the hornet’s nest after all—perhaps it simply held up a mirror to the sentiment already simmering among players. Imagine that!
U20 Munster Final.
All eyes turn to Limerick this Wednesday, where the Tipp U20 hurlers stand on the cusp of glory. A Munster final clash with Clare awaits, and the tantalising prospect of back-to-back titles hangs in the air like a midsummer dream. Such a feat would be more than silverware—it would roar affirmation that Tipperary’s hurling engine continues to hum with promise.
Under the steady stewardship of Brendan Cummins and James Woodlock, boys are being shaped into men, potential into prowess, and raw talent into refined steel. It’s not without its bumps, but the journey is unmistakably forward. And forward it must go—because in this relentless game, the wheel turns ever on, and the future is always just a puck away.