Steel, Skill and Survival: Tipperary dig deep in Ennis

By Noel Dundon

Yes, goals win games. But in the furnace of Munster championship hurling, goals are only part of the story.

At a sunsplashed Zimmer Biomet Pairc Chiosog on Saturday evening, it was grit, graft, and a defiant refusal to yield that pushed Tipperary over the line. Liam Cahill’s men didn’t just hurl—they battled, outlasted, and out-thought rivals Clare in a cauldron of hostility, history, and neighbourly spite.

This wasn’t just another game. This was knockout hurling with old-school edge. You could feel it in the air: tension, tradition, tribalism. Ennis was bristling, every seat filled, every cheer or jeer crackling with the urgency of do-or-die. Only a team forged in fire could survive here—and from the opening whistle, it was clear Tipperary were ready to take the heat.

From back to front, the match-ups were spot on. Ronan Maher dogged Peter Duggan like a shadow, smothering his every move. Robert Doyle clamped down on Tony Kelly—scoreless from play, no less—and Craig Morgan thrived in the half-back line, turning defence into attack with laser-sharp distribution. It was measured, it was manic, and it was magnificent.

But what really set Tipperary apart was the middle third mayhem. Alan Tynan, Conor Stakelum, and the relentless Sam O’Farrell swarmed every Clare move like bees to honey. They didn’t give them time to breathe, let alone build. And when Clare did wriggle free? Tipp were cynical when they had to be—chopping down runners, conceding frees but denying goals. Clare ended with 1-14 from placed balls, but many of those fouls were necessary evils. Smart fouls. Team-first decisions. Controlled aggression at its best.

Tipperary’s first-half punch was clinical. They tore into Clare with precision, bagged the goals that mattered, and just when the hosts looked like mounting a comeback with 1-2 in a flash, Tipp coolly responded with three of the next four points to kill the momentum stone dead. That surge before the break was everything—ruthless, composed, cold-blooded.

Clare shuffled the deck at half-time, tried to rattle the cage. They won the second half 1-12 to 0-9, but that doesn’t tell the full story. Because when the game was creaking toward chaos, when the crowd roared and the pressure mounted, Tipperary struck four points in a row in injury time. That wasn’t luck. That was steel. That was championship character.

Tony Kelly did bury a penalty in the 55th minute, and Shane O’Donnell’s late cameo offered flickers of danger, but Clare were running on fumes. Tipp had spun them in circles, kept their shape, and when they needed to see it out, they did just that. Job done. Statement made.

And let’s take a moment for Rhys Shelly. Less than 24 hours after burying his grandmother, he stood tall between the posts and delivered a composed, near-flawless performance. The defence in front of him rarely allowed a clean look at goal, but Shelly’s puckouts were crisp and clever, especially vital when Clare’s half-back line began to muscle in on Tipp’s restart plans. When panic could have crept in, Tipp stuck to their structure. Cool heads all over the pitch.

When the analysts pull this game apart in the review room, there’ll be plenty to smile about. Tipp’s shot selection, movement, tackling, goal creation, and overall execution were sharp. Crucially, they played right up to the edge—four defenders on yellow cards—and never tipped over it. Controlled fire. That’s what you need in Munster.

And work rate? Off the charts. Tipperary didn’t just hurl Clare out of the game. They outworked them, outran them, outlasted them. Against the reigning All-Ireland champions, this was no small feat. It was a performance with intent. With bite.

Of course, Clare had their problems. John Conlon’s absence left a gaping leadership void. O’Donnell wasn’t fully fit. Kelly was stifled. Duggan faded. Mark Rodgers kept them in touch with a flurry of frees, but Tipp’s scores came more easily, more naturally. When it came to crafting chances from open play, it was one-way traffic.

Still, this can’t be Tipperary’s peak. Not yet. Two big performances in the bank now—this one, and the earlier win over Limerick. The Cork game? A washout. Forget it. But what matters now is that Tipperary arrive in Thurles next Sunday ready to hit those heights again. Waterford are waiting, and they will ask hard questions.

This team has earned the right to shape its own fate. They hold the keys to the knockout stages in their own hands. But if they drop those keys—if they falter, even slightly—it could all come undone. No room for sentiment. No second chances.

We’ve seen this before, haven’t we? Promise, then heartbreak. That can’t be the case this time. Not with momentum like this. Not after a performance of such conviction.

On Saturday morning, thousands of Tipperary people took part in the "Darkness into Light" fundraiser across the county. A few hours later, in Ennis, it felt like the hurlers did the same. They stepped out of the shadows, into something brighter. Something better.

Now, that light has to blaze against Waterford. Tipp need that same fusion of savvy and spark, old heads and fresh legs, coolness, and courage. Cahill and his team have nurtured something potent—and next week, they must unleash it again. The cake is on the table. Tipp have the knife. Cut it cleanly, and they march on. Slip up, and it’s back to the dark.

Sunday in Thurles awaits.