COLUMN: Hearts break and dreams come true across Mayo
THE past nine days have been an emotional roller-coaster. We thought we knew what it would be like to win Sam Maguire, but we were wrong. The celebrations have known no bounds and the outpouring of pure joy has been a joy to behold.
Now that the dust is beginning to settle we're finally getting the opportunity to sit and recall the happenings of a day, which will be forever etched on our collective souls.
I've heard so many wonderful tales of the moments after the hooter sounded in Croke Park to certify the 2026 All-Ireland champions. Thousands of tales of unbridled joy and innumerable recollections of bear-hugs and big, bright, beautiful celebrations.
My story is a little different. When Croke Park shook on its foundations and the greatest celebration known to man was unleashed, I was elated and heartbroken in equal measure.
Elated that the most intriguing story in sport had delivered a fitting finale, but devastated that our daughter, Aisling, wasn't in the stadium to celebrate with the rest of us.
Aisling has lived the Mayo dream every day of her life. The love of the Green and Red has played a huge part in her life and the two of us travelled the length and breadth of Ireland on good days and bad. On many occasions she experienced ridicule from her peers for dreaming the Mayo dream but she persisted – always believing that one day we'd win it all.
Like thousands of other young Irish people Aisling is in the mines around Perth trying to make enough money to come back here and get on the property ladder. She and her associates have been forced from this land after successive governments created this unfair, unbalanced society we exist in.
In the moments after the final whistle, with Croke Park going absolutely wild, my phone rang. Aisling's face appeared on the screen. She was crying bitter tears. Her beautiful face contorted in devastation that she wasn't with us on the greatest day. I couldn't hear a word she was saying – she couldn't hear a word I was saying – all we could do was look at one another and cry. We were heartbroken, but Mayo had won and we were going to make the best of it.
THE LOVE OF FOOTBALL
THERE were countless others not in Croke Park to see the gates to The Promised Land finally blown open. The many, many loved ones who had gone to their Eternal Reward were surely gathered on the ramparts of Heaven in those final moments roaring on Mayo while thousands more watched from their sick beds at home and in hospital.
My father was one of those. He has been struggling with his health in recent times and was at home by the river as Mayo powered to victory in Dublin. Dad loves football – always has, always will – and has a particular admiration for Belmullet and Mayo's Ryan O'Donoghue.
Dad coached Cumann na mBunscol into his eighties. One evening, almost 20 years ago he phoned me and told me about a 'Buckyeen from Shraigh' who had been brilliant in a schools' game against Dad's side, Drumgallagh. He was mesmerised by the skill of the little boy who had lit up the game.
He knew the family; they were immersed in sport, so the lineage was good – and the mother was from football-people in Down - the signs were promising.
Dad watched that young lad like a hawk through Cumann na mBunscol, mighty days with Belmullet and Our Lady's Secondary School, Sligo Rovers, Ireland and in the boxing ring.
Dad never stopped talking about the little boy he saw playing Cumann na mBunscol that day all those years ago. He watched Ryan arrive in the Mayo team and set the world alight. He saw him have good days and bad, happy and sad, but he never stopped talking about Ryan and his dancing feet.
Four days before the All-Ireland Dad managed to write a good-luck card to Ryan; and while the rest of us felt Mayo might not get over the line on Sunday, Dad believed in Mayo, but most of all, he believed the little boy from Shraigh National School would power Mayo to Sam Maguire.
ON THE BORDER
ON Wednesday evening, Dad waited patiently on the bridge in Bellacorick. The setting is a sacred one for all of us with Erris passports. It's the border between our sacred land and the rest of the world. It's the gap through which thousands of us have left in search of work and survival and it's the place where every triumph is celebrated when teams and individuals come home with titles won.
Dad didn't say it, but he was praying that the bus would stop and Ryan, Seamus Howard and Martin McIntyre would walk Sam Maguire across the bridge and over the border between Erris and the World.
The crowd waited patiently all evening as word came through of the team's progress through Ballina and on into Crossmolina. Then, with excitement at fever-pitch two helicopters appeared in the sky, sirens sounded across the plains and the flashing lights ahead of the team buses came into view.
Ryan, Seamus and Martin were at the front of the bus and when the cavalcade came to a stop they stepped off with Sam Maguire held high over their heads.
The people of Erris surged towards them as they approached the middle of the bridge and for a moment there was joyous chaos. Everyone wanted to touch the cup. It was almost God-like. Then, Ryan saw Dad out of the corner of his eye and moved towards him through the crowd. He planted Sam in Dad's hands, and Seamus and Martin followed Ryan to pose for a picture.
The photographers captured the moment and Dad's life's dream had been realised.
The 'buckyeen from Shraigh' had given him the thrill of a lifetime and the joy was unconfined.
Ryan O'Donoghue the finest footballer in Ireland was home. It was time to celebrate.
In Perth, Aisling was back at work in the mines, wishing with every atom of her being that she was back home celebrating with the rest of us. The roller-coaster of emotion never stops rolling.