His voice was birdsong at the first blush of a Croke Park dawn, July waves lapping against Kerry’s Atlantic shore, the high-season thwack of sliothar against ash. Summertime. A Celtic symphony.
A hymn to the long days. A postcard from the very soul of Gaelic games. Mícheál Ó Muircheartaigh’s richly coloured and dulcet tones were the national flag of the Irish summer.
He was and will forever remain the Carrauntoohil of commentators, a Kingdom landmark who towered above even the very best of the rest. Like the aroma of freshly cut grass, his first championship commentary of the season carried in its saddlebags a promise of longer days, cloudless skies, a sunburst of mischief. His symphonic west Kerry lilt was a sonic Riverdance: a traditional, vibrant, soaring, stirring, joyous, emerald rhumba.
READ MORE: Mícheál Ó Muircheartaigh - A life in pictures READ MORE: Tributes as RTE GAA legend passes away aged 93 A celebration of Irishness. A hosanna to the enchantment Gooch or Joe Canning or Brian Fenton might bring to a season of Sundays. As with Michael Flatley’s feet of flames, an uncontainable wildfire blazed when a spark of excitement ignited Mícheál’s vocal chords.
As an All-Ireland or Munster final soared toward its epic crescendo, a million Red Adairs would be impotent to douse his passion. His commentaries were perfectly pitched concerts, conversations, oratorios, to games he loved as much as life. Long before the world was introduced to Taylor Swift.