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Diary of a Dub
Mi Familia.
It is so close
you smell it. Just over a week to go. It feels like an eternity since we last
played, but that’s what happens in the life of a Dub, in the run up to an All-Ireland
final. 21 sleeps feel like 2001. And in days speak,14 of those are long ass Groundhog
days, filtering through the ordinary chores and challenge of life, with one
eye, okay, maybe two, on the week that is now the eve of an All-Ireland
Final. Every Dub is just like every 3 year old child on that car journey, ‘Are
we bleedin’ there yet?’ This is the life pondering first thought of every day
question in the mind of every Dub as we inch our way towards the final
countdown, every bleedin day.
Alas, that’s
not why we are here. Not Today anyway. This one is a little different. Not your
normal story. Life is a strange old creature. And in life, things come along
and throw you a challenge, out of nowhere. 2019 has been that kind of year,
and as much as we look forward to what may be in the days to come, it’s
caused a reflection to occur. Did we see it coming? Not a chance. But here it
is, nonetheless. And in this reflection, the time has come to throw some pen
to these words and share this experience of mine.
A family
could be defined as a group of people who are related to each other, however
it is much more than that. It’s a connection, an experience. It
is an incredible and unbreakable bond, created by mothers, fathers, sisters
and brothers, extended family and of course, friends. And in Family, in this
context, I mean our Dublin Family. For me, the last 40 years have been a
journey and half of Dublin football. My Dublin family extends to many and crosses
continents, boundaryless and eternal. An ever present on this walk of life, we
all share a passion for Dublin football. Our bond is not just about family,
it is the love of all things Dub, and the shared dream of winning an All-Ireland.
These are
indeed special days, of that there is no doubt. Being somewhat of a geek for
numbers, on this forty-year road, I’ve witnessed Dublin win 8 All-Irelands. A
20% return rate. 6 of those have arrived in this decade. Prior to that, it
was slim pickings, with more near misses and hard luck stories than one could
ever imagine or care for. And as I reflect, there is nothing I would change
on this journey, yes, you could argue that you would want a few more
All-Irelands over that time, but I’m happy with what has been achieved. The years
we didn’t win, we weren’t good enough, and therefore it was destined to be
elsewhere, and deservingly so.
It is almost
impossible to describe, there is almost a Je ne sais quoi about this football
family of mine. We come from different backgrounds, we lead our lives in a
million different directions at a hundred miles an hour, but we are together.
Bonded not just by blood, but by that passion, that desire and absolute and
unconditional love of Dublin Football. Tested by time and by heartbreak, it
has faced into every heartbreak, every disappointment and always come back
for more. It has celebrated every success as if there is no tomorrow, like it
might be the last time we might ever get the sweet taste of victory. Even
now, we are grounded enough to not be carried away of talk of a Drive for
5, the days of our disappointment are not too far gone to be forgotten, in
fact, you never truly banish the disappointment of defeat. You compensate and
move forward, you learn, you become more resolved, more determined, and you
never give up. This is what our Dublin family does and will always do.
I’m fortunate
enough to share my love of Dublin football with family. My brothers, my sister,
my mother and father, my aunt and uncles, my cousins, we are all in this
together. We share the bond of being related, but more so the unbridled love of
our football. For me, and this is what it comes down to, this journey wouldn’t
be worth it without them. Sharing the agony and the ecstasy, the thrills and
the spills, those joys and those absolute fails. A passion for something is
only worthy if you’ve got others to share it with.
 
But as it’s
Kerry and Dublin again next week, it seems only fitting. This is what we call
the Blue Riband final. The Darlings of Gaelic football. A Gaa version of El
Classico. And this is almost history repeating itself. The 70’s has come back
around again 40 years later. And our 3rd final of this decade
awaits. It is, however, that lookback, to the 70’s and those 2 great teams
that produced some of the most epic encounters of all, that brought me to
thinking of how on earth I ended up being a Dublin Gaa fan.
Only one
person to thank for that. It’s one thing he sure did. Dublin at our core, and
his love for Dublin became ours. Hill 16 and Croke park became our altar of
worship so to speak. And something we experienced at a young age. A blooding
of sorts no doubt, without the devil worshipping. He did never tell us though
about the sacrifice, funny enough, and by that, I reference the 32 out of 40
years I’ve left Croker empty-handed and disconsolate.
His love of
Dublin is that of 60 years and more, and still going strong. And he may not
go anymore, albeit on medical grounds, no, and I don’t mean his current
battle, I’m talking more of the risk of an over worked cardio leading to a
medical intervention. Nerves fray the older you get apparently, and the heart
does not grow stronger. His love was of hurling and football, and came in the
50’s from following Cuala Boys and Dalkey Mitchells, who later formed to give
us what we know today as our Cuala. Football and more importantly Dublin
football, only really came to life in the 70’s, and it would be 1974 before he
would see that great team of the 70’s emerge. Prior to 1974, Dublin had won
only 2 All-Irelands in almost 30 years, a footballing famine indeed. By 1974,
myself and my older brother were successors in waiting for this love of
Dublin.
Trips to
Croker became a regular. A packed lunch sneakily brought to Hill 16, with those
chicken and stuffing sandwiches made by ma, the bottles of Harp he brought,
and a good dose of Tayto to add some flavor. Vivid memories of a day on the Hill,
of being lifted over the styles, and the roar of the hill, and its endless banter
and wisecracks. It is there that this love of Dublin began.
A gift given
to me of which I will always be thankful for.
In the years
gone by, there was there was Heffo’s army, 1983 and Hill 17, 1991 and that 4
game saga. The man who perfected Radio Silence before it was a thing. I remember
clearly when Dublin lost, there wouldn’t be a newspaper bought in our house. That
was a media blackout 80’s style. And then it came for him to retire. No more
trips to Croker, not before I recall the day a tout sold him and my brother a
dud ticket, and they went back and caught up with the tout. Needless to say,
they got real tickets in the end, although I’m not so sure it ended so well
for said tout. In these days, and on Sunday 1st it will be no
different. Doesn’t watch the game, doesn’t want an update, and only wants to
know the result when its over. He will watch it if we have won, and he wont
if we haven’t. Our Job is for one of us to give him a call a few minutes after
the game and give him a heads-up. He could be anywhere when these games are
on, but you won’t find him listening to a Radio, or watching a TV or
following a stream of any sort. That’s a level of willpower beyond my
comprehension.
And of 2019,
he has one simple wish, one desire, and its linkage is back 40 years in the
1970’s and that team that Mick O’Dwyer brought close to its own 5 in a row
and held court with one of the greatest Dublin teams of all time. His desire,
is go one better than Micko’s team and to put it in his words ‘I hope that fucker
doesn’t die this year, and he gets to see us do the 5, that fucker never gave
any Dublin any credit’……..nothing wrong with his memory clearly lol. Nothing like
holding a grudge over Kerry for 40 years!
There is so
much more to tell and time will allow us to tell all. But there is one
abiding memory I have of Croker and the man that gave me my love of Dublin Football.
In those early days, Hill 16 was a hill. Not like we know it today. Yes,
there was a terrace, but the far side was an actual hill, a bank of muck, and
getting down it after the game was considered taking your life in your own hands.
My dad, would grab the back of my jersey and ensure no harm came to me and
down the hill we would go. Safely and soundly. I will always remember that
more than any of those early games. Fitting now, that as this is the year of
his own greatest battle, that it is our turn to hold him and guide him safely
down his own hill of treachery. That is what family means and what family does.
Our Turn now.
And as for
the rest of my family, I save these words for you.
Thank you. For
being you and for being there. For walking those steps with me, with us, for
being family and being part of this great Dublin family. It would be nothing
without you all. You know who you are.
Mi Familia….
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COYBIB.
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