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24th April 2016
03:19pm BST
Two teams from Ulster, headed for Division One, took for Croke Park and set their respective game plans up immediately. 13 and 14 behind the ball, spaces closed down, tackling hard and relentlessly. Forwards were shut out, fouls were made and, somewhere in this defensive minefield, a cracker unfolded.
It was almost as if 'defensive' wasn't another adjective for bad.
Anyone who sat in Croke Park and didn't appreciate what was happening, they don't appreciate football.
Anyone who didn't get a buzz out of how quickly both teams were attacking, how waves of blue and white streamed forward the minute a turnover was even sniffed at, they just weren't watching the game.
Anyone who didn't recognise the mountainous shift of Colm Cavanagh didn't deserve to witness it.
The Moy man planted himself in the heart of the Tyrone defence and anything that moved near him - ball or man - was gobbled up ferociously. He played with head and he played with body - without regard for his own body, more like - and he plugged holes left, right, and centre to act as the perfect launchpad for a slick Red Hand outfit.
Anyone who didn't look on in amazement at the pace and bullishness of Tiernan McCann and Rory Brennan charging upfield from half back must be damn hard to please.
And anyone who saw Killian Brady's absolute nailing of poor Mark Bradley and didn't join in with the Cavan roar that followed must've been asleep.
Amidst the numbers swarming back in defence, text book tackles were made, frightening shoulders were dished out and the vicious Justin McMahon was patrolling around with the kind of bite that's going to set this Tyrone team apart come August. Because that's where they're headed. At least.
Cathal McCarron was striding forward the length of the field, Jason McLoughlin was doing it at the other side too and, all the while, wee Peter Harte was jinking in and out, weaving through tackles, always going straight, always looking for his inside forwards.
Terry Hyland and Mickey Harte are shrewd operators. Neither would've been happy with how many they conceded on Sunday but neither would've refused to take any satisfaction from the drama that unfolded.
Neither would've turned their noses up at the Seán Cavanagh jinks, his bulldozes forward, and his dead-eye accuracy in front of the posts.
Neither would've begrudged Gearóid McKiernan or that beautiful left foot of his and neither - not even Hyland - would've taken anything away from Connor McAliskey or Ronan O'Neill running bloody riot inside the Tyrone full forward line.
Yes, both teams filed back as soon as they could.
Yes, both teams were guilty of a cynical foul here and there and, yes, both teams are from that awful place they call Ulster where they'll be trialing the province for the death of football in a month or two again. Because they'll have more numbers in defence than a few pundits might like.
But the next time someone just automatically associates defence with bad, show them the David Givney crossbar effort. Show them the Connor McAliskey volley. Show them the Colm Cavanagh high catches and, yes, show them the tackles, the blocks, the raw power that men needed to go straight through a blanket defence. Show them the fights, the cards, and show them the near misses.
Show them the sweeping counter attacks, the pace, the energy and all the kick passing that went on in there too.
Show them how not even Ciarán Branagan's fussiness could stop this one unfolding into a serious spectacle of serious football.
Firstly, just remind them that teams are allowed to defend - if it's shit or not.
But then just show them Tyrone's 1-17 to 0-15 win over Cavan as yet another example of how defensive football is not bad football.
Football is football. And Tyrone football is good football.
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