Now, Patsie!

There are stories and then there are stories. We've all heard about Jessie Owens and his defiance in the face of extreme provocation, albeit subtly applied by the Kaiser. Many a bar room has hushed to Mass-like silence as the local Seanchai embellished Delaney's athletic achievements or Michael Collins' mastery of evasion from his nemesis, the British. There there are stories that'll never be told outside the parish. Stories so interwoven in the fabric that it belongs to them, is a part of them and will remain there.



In 1945, Patsie Mangan returned to Ulster with the ravages of war permanently visible on his honest shoulders. Forced to earn shillings to feed his burgeoning family (he had 7 sons and 6 daughters before he left, a round 14 when he returned) he went against the grain and put in a hard shift at the tail end of the second round of that destructive European rivalry. During the dying skirmishes, he was caught in no man's land when a Russian shell landed feet from his backtracking and tired limbs. Lucky for him, his life was spared unlike his fellow Ulster traveller. The downside to his continued existence was the complete loss of sight in both eyes.

Honourably discharged, he made the torturous journey back to mid-Ulster to break the mixed news. Patsie was home for good with shillings in his pocket, enough to see them through the next couple of years, but he'd never see no.14. Nor again would he set eyes on the others and his patient wife, Bernie. Days passed and having finally muted the stigma of his war efforts for the local 'enemy' he immersed himself in the local GAA club once again. Before his sight was destroyed by Russian artillery, he was a giant on the field at his club. A towering full back, the sight of his trademark manoeuvre puffed the local community full of pride as Patsie emerging from a mass of bodies to leather the ball upfield with a defiant roar. All that was in the past and Mangan embraced it by helping out at the club.

That was until the club were one player short for an important Junior game which would seal the fate for the year. Win, and they'd get playing Intermediate for the first time in their history. Lose and all was lost again, as it had been for 44 years previously. The officials made it clear that the game would be forfeited if the numbers didn't tally. It had to be done. Patsie, 100% blind, was asked to fill out the team sheet requirements. Initially they played him as a corner forward, hoping he could simply stand well out of the way. And so it transpired. But the soldier in Patsie couldn't be quoshed. Minutes into the second half, he slowly made his way downfield as the ball played around him. No one cared as the scores were nip and tuck throughout. The battle raged on.

Patsie finally stalled when he reached his customary full back line. He turned and faced play. An awkwardness fell upon his fellow defenders and they debated quietly who would approach him and move him out of the way. One man didn't. The one man who knew Mangan to a tee. The goalkeeper had faced the back of Patsie since they played ball for the youngsters in Feis games. He knew every flinch Mangan would make and what it meant. He knew what to do that day. A ball was hit in high and hard from the middle of the field as the opposition cruelly attempted to increase the confusion. From the depths of an uneasy silence, the keeper bellowed "Now, Patsie". The rest betters any tale of titanic feats from Delaney or Collins. Patsie leapt into the air above all men, caught it, and shoed the ball upfield with customary roar. For the last 10 minutes, they say Patsie claimed 14 high balls from 14 "Now, Patsie" bellows from the keeper.

His club won the game and never returned to Junior until the year after Patsie died tragically crossing a road outside his home. That's a story.