NOTHING happened in the Donegal Galway game. Just two dull defensive formulas competing soullessly, with all the emotion of a game played on X-Box. In this type of game, a mistake or a fluke decides things. Galway got the fluke, a weird goal that gave them three points out of thin air that they didn’t have to work for.

Nothing else happened after that until the 64th minute, when Oisín Gallen missed a straightforward enough free that would have put Donegal a point up and put the pressure on Galway. Instead, Galway got the next point and the pressure shifted to Donegal. In that last ten minutes, when they went behind, Donegal were unable to break out from their endlessly rehearsed routine. By then, no one outside of Donegal cared.

The problem with this type of football, as we see week in, week out, is that the players have to force themselves to conform to the system. They have to restrain their emotions. They are preoccupied with not making mistakes. Which is why the actual contest is compressed into the final five or ten minutes. It has become like soccer, where the key is not to lose and where taking the game to penalties is a good outcome. The bookies are already realising this, which is why the odds on a draw in the bigger games are becoming less and less generous.

The only reason Armagh are in the final is that in the 54th minute, an event occurred that suddenly caused them to release their fanaticism.

For the first half, Armagh played to the system – the one that lost them the last two Ulster finals. By half time it was 0-10 to 0-6 and without doing very much, Kerry were four up. In the 53rd minute, Sean O’Shea scored a free of the highest artistry to put Kerry four points up. A minute later, Rian O’Neill miscued a shot for a point, it was punched out by the Kerry goalie and Barry McCambridge, who has probably been the best player in Ireland this year, scored an extraordinary, improbable goal.

As it bounced back towards him, he punched it to the net. It was a brilliant goal, and more importantly it reminded the Armagh players that an All-Ireland semi-final is for most of us a once in a lifetime experience. Up until that moment, Armagh had been playing to exactly the same script that was used by both teams in Derry v Kerry, Mayo v Derry, Dublin v Galway (until Galway sparked to life in the final quarter) Donegal v Armagh (Ulster final), Donegal v Galway, Donegal v everyone, Galway v Mayo and so on.

The goal caused a guttural roar from the Armagh supporters and electrified the Armagh players. Suddenly, they were alive. Suddenly, they were human beings, revelling in their skill and power and the thrill of the battle. Like life, when football is played, actually played, the outcome is uncertain and maddening and joyful and breathtaking. And so it was that in Croke Park on Saturday night against Kerry, these Armagh players finally discovered why they started playing football in the first place.

They let themselves go. They absorbed themselves in the moment. Their ferocity and precision and composure was the opposite of Kerry’s panic. David Clifford kicked a ridiculous shot into the thin air, Paudie was blocked down, then hand-passed a ball straight to an Armagh defender. Sean O’Shea blasted a shot wide off the outside off his boot, something he has probably never done in training. Panic makes you do strange things.

David Clifford kicked another ball up into the air. A Kerry sub hand-passed a ball into the net. They were blind. Armagh meanwhile, were seeing everything clearly. Stefan Campbell barrelled through Kerry, kicking two terrific points. Jarly Óg Burns, our president’s son, kicked a superb point before going on to make more decisive contributions. Paudie Clifford kicked the ball into the ‘keeper’s hands. Then Ross McQuillan, whose Da played against me, made it 1-17 to 1-14. Rian O’Neill scored a monstrous point and took a magnificent high catch on his own goal line. It was epic and heart throbbing.

By half time, David Clifford had scored two frees. Which is a bit like Taylor Swift coming on stage, singing ‘Ba Ba Black Sheep’, then leaving the rest of the concert to her backing singers.

David is taking a year off, whether he knows it or not. And when David takes a year off, Kerry are in trouble. On Saturday night, he kicked balls up into the air, hand-passed them away and generally looked like Tiger Woods when he became distracted. This is inevitable for even the greatest ones. Like Michael Jordan getting bored and deciding to switch to baseball. With David not looking remotely interested, Armagh were in the game, even if it took them 50 minutes to realise that. When he doesn’t play, it’s like Maradona with the flu. Like Maradona, he will be back, though he must be bored stiff and fiercely frustrated by the way Kerry play.

For the Derry v Mayo game a few weeks ago, I sat with a Roscommon friend, who was loudly cheering Derry on.

When we scored, he punched the air. When Mayo did, he cursed and shook his head. In the North, we are northmen, northmen, comrades all.

Armagh can win the All-Ireland. There is nothing wrong with these players.

They have power, skill, finishing, tackling, high catching, free taking, huge desire and every possible qualification.

But to win Sam Maguire they must release their fanaticism. Systems do not win All-Irelands. Human beings do.

On the 12th of July, an orange band passed my house led by a young woman wearing a bowler hat, a skimpy pair of knickers and nothing else. Belfast was a giant vomitorium for the day.

Thankfully, there are some orange men with culture. Armagh abu.