My colleague, Ken Early, was at Arrowhead Stadium in Kansas City on Tuesday night/Wednesday morning for the return to the World Cup of Lionel Messi, three-and-a-half years after his crowning moment in Qatar. Out of deference to the great man (and to Messi), we endeavoured to stay up through the night to watch in Ireland. Norway and Iraq did their best to keep us awake in the “early” game, but what was of more immediate entertainment value was Ken’s horrified reaction via WhatsApp when he got to the immaculately appointed press area in the stadium. He walked to his assigned seat only to discovered that he and his colleagues were encased behind sound-proofed glass. The volume of the prematch entertainment in the ground was ear-splitting, but from his vantage point it sounded like being three doors away from a middle-aged house party that was going on an hour later than the babysitters employed by those involved would have preferred. He took it as a sign that 21st-century Americans had a fundamental misunderstanding of what attendance at a sporting event was really about. My reaction was rather more nuanced: “Hmmm, that sounds like being at a match in Castlebar.” Ken lasted five minutes before he abandoned protocol and found a position out in the open to watch Messi’s masterclass; who knew Fifa apparatchiks would be easier to manipulate than your average GAA steward? Westmeath manager Mark McHugh at Sunday's SFC game against Galway at Salthill. Photograph: James Crombie/INPHO The GAA beat-writer is often not so lucky. Omagh, Armagh, Salthill and Ballyshannon, among others, all require the assembled press to do their work while encased behind concrete and glass. I can’t get used to watching games behind glass, so I avoid it whenever I can. And Sunday in Salthill, for Galway and Westmeath, was not a day to be out of the fray. I had got a text from someone at 10.04am saying there were already Westmeath people queuing outside the ground awaiting entry for a 2pm throw-in. By the time we reached the city, it became clear the message had got out to all comers from the midlands that the best idea was to park in Galway city centre and walk out. As we drove out along the docks and around the Claddagh it looked like a full-scale infantry invasion. They had crossed the Shannon like the American adventurers of old putting the Mississippi behind them and were striking out west on foot. It was a complete sell-out in Salthill, with a big home crowd too. When you consider that a resurgent Galway against Kilkenny attracted a crowd of barely 10,500 to the same ground eight weeks ago, a self-evident truth occurs again: this football championship, already one of the best we’ve seen, has fired the public imagination to an unprecedented degree. You’re contractually obliged to reference traffic when going to Salthill for a match, but what’s seldom, if ever, mentioned is what a gorgeous part of the world it is. One can easily imagine Westmeath people getting to see the beach for the first time in years or gazing out to the broad Atlantic and declaring it to be “a shocking size of a lake, lads”. A prematch pint in Lonergan’s, looking out across Galway Bay to the Burren, is about as good as it gets for fans attending a GAA game. Galway’s Shane Walsh with fans after the victory. Photograph: James Crombie/INPHO Every teenager in Westmeath appeared to be in attendance. By the time 12.30pm came, a full 90 minutes before throw-in, word reached the Prom that the stand was full. After that, some tantalising decisions presented themselves: whether to walk into the stadium there and then to try to optimise your position on the terrace or have another pint, another ice-cream, or both, and luxuriate in a beautiful summer’s day by the seaside. Many chose the latter. You could hardly blame them. It might be a pain to get out of if you’re in a hurry, but on a day like Sunday why would you want to leave? The terraces were aflame by the time the ball was thrown in – aflame with expectation and sunburn. Opinions were offered as freely as the suncream. Galway eased into a 2-9 to 1-4 lead, before four points in a row prompted a Westmeath man in front of us to turn to his companion and say: “For a team that’s not playing well, we’re playing pretty well.” Matthew Tierney’s late goal in the first half, which padded Galway’s lead out to seven, looked like a turning-point, but Ray Connellan’s injury directly from the throw-in after half-time was the really decisive moment. Thereafter Galway were able to put a squeeze on the Westmeath kick-out and possession became a scarce commodity. At one stage Brandon Kelly found himself jumping for a kickout with Cein Darcy. Our friend on the terrace complained bitterly that Kelly could have made a better fist of it, but it was something akin to asking him to catch a kickout over a bus shelter. Despite a late charge, Galway always looked in control; and after the final whistle there was no rush to the exit. The designated drivers looked destined to have a rough afternoon and evening of it. And both teams were still in the championship. Galway had avoided a shock, unlike some of the other main contenders, and I’d avoided sunburn. Getting out from behind the glass and into the fresh air is never a mistake, no matter what country you’re in.