JUST as they will be this Sunday, St Eunan’s were hot favourites to win the Donegal title in the year 2000.
Ardara hadn’t won one for 19 years and hadn’t been in a final since ‘84.
Safe territory for a landmark celebration, Tony Blake thought.
The idea came to the Donegal goalkeeper about a month before the game, before they’d even qualified for the final.
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When the final whistle goes and St Eunan’s are champions again, he will get down on one knee and ask his girlfriend Rhona to be his wife.
Except when the whistle went, Ardara had beaten them well.
But wheels are already in motion.
No point going back now.
So in the town end goals in MacCumhaill Park, he collects the ring from a friend who kept it during the game.
Minutes after losing a county final, Tony Blake proposes in the town end goals of MacCumhaill Park.
It is hard to envisage Shaun Patton walking the same plank if Sunday goes wrong.
Patton and his team-mates have something invaluable that nobody in Dungloe has when it comes to the county final – experience.
County final day is the easiest day of the year to get wrong.
For instance, dear reader, did you know that yesterday was once known as the first day of Inches week, a kind of Ash Wednesday for GAA players.
GAA county final preparations account for roughly 9.5 million of the 10 million YouTube streams of Al Pacino’s famous Any Given Sunday speech.
Every Gaelic footballer in Ireland over the age of 30 could quote it back to you word for word.
One half-second too slow, you don’t quite make it.
One half-second too fast, you don’t quite catch it.
The inches we need are everywhere around us.
They’re in every break of the game, every minute, every second.
On this team, we fight for that inch.
The week of a county final are defining days in the life of a young adult.
When you’re not thinking of kicking the winning score despite being a corner-back with both your legs for standing on, you’re wondering if your one might give you the curt if you’re a county champion.
If you’re lucky enough to win, the post-match rush of adrenaline is something that you just cannot describe to someone that hasn’t experienced it.
No matter whether it’s senior, intermediate or junior, the sensation is the same.
It can last for days, allowing you to blissfully ignore your body’s needs for sleep.
This is the world’s greatest natural intoxicant, a multi-billion-pound business in the making if someone could just find a way to put it in tablet form.
In years gone past, only the captain had to worry about his post-match words.
Now they all have to.
Instagram posts have to be unique, witty and well-timed.
Win or lose, if you go too soon after the game, it looks too rehearsed. A major no-no.
Monday evening is acceptable either way. It creates the impression that you’ve either properly enjoyed the aftermath or you’ve taken enough time to let it settle before consuming those precious hearts that you can spend a few more hours combing.
Points may be added or deducted depending on the quality of the obscure quote from a 19th century internet philosopher chosen.
That’s all to be worried about next week.
It’s the days before the final that provide the real test.
At two different points almost exactly ten road miles apart, the River Bann splits Antrim from Derry.
On one side, 100 yards up from McCann’s garage on the Greenlough side, the black and yellow flags meet you at the first lamp-post on the bridge into Portglenone.
The main street is well togged out.
Black and yellow is not all that easily sourced so they’ve had to opt for a bit of amber and just hope nobody notices.
There’s a black Golf scooting around the place with the club crest painted on and flags attached.
The town itself is a busy sea of colour but the further out the Gortgole Road you go towards the club, the quieter it gets.
Portglenone’s base is half-a-mile from civilisation, a quiet retreat that they might come to be glad of this fortnight.
At the pitch, there is a solitary flag at the gate. Nothing else looks any different than it does any other week.
Toome is different but the same.
It’s equally well stocked for flags but their work is neater, more uniform, less excited.
One flag to every lamp-post hung at exactly the same height.
No bunting.
These things appear insignificant but when it comes to county finals, there is absolutely no substitute for knowing the ropes.
It’s often said that you have to lose one to win one. There’s method to that.
Managing the excitement and emotion around a county final for the like of Portglenone or Dungloe, fresh into a county final, is a tough balancing act.
It might never happen again. You want the players to embrace it, harness the energy of it, keep it in their memory box for life.
The trick is to not get carried away.
The red flags are easily spotted.
New jerseys, half-zips, kitbags. Even new footballs.
Training five nights this week.
Analysing and talking and over-thinking the thing to death.
Meeting up Thursday, Friday and Saturday.
The whole team gathering five hours before the game to go for food together.
Getting a bus when you normally drive.
Arriving to the venue two hours before the match.
Going through the warm-up at 100mph.
Tearful pre-match speeches.
Bolting out the doors ready to kill dead things.
Getting into a special formation for the anthem.
Any or all of the above can be disastrous.
An inch on Sunday will be the same size as an inch was last week and will be next week.
The teams that are able to properly treat it as just another game are the teams that win county finals.
And for those that lose, there’s always marriage.