Posted by

 

Diary of a Dub…for the greatest Jack there ever was.

A heartfelt tribute to a lifelong Dublin supporter, father, mentor, and proud Cuala man, spanning 60 years of GAA memories from Hill 16 in the 1960's to a five‑in‑a‑row. The traditions, humour, and love that bind a Dublin family

The Greatest Jack There Ever Was

In hallowed words of wise old Frank, the end is indeed near. All good things must come to an end. Fifteen years later and it feels like the road has run its course. I never for once thought how long this road might be when it began all those years ago. However, it feels right, and it feels right now. A chapter closing so to speak. And like all chapters, as one ends, a new one begins.

It has taken me over a year to muster the courage to write these words, and it’s been over two years since the Diary last published. A lot has transpired in that time. 2024 saw me spend months writing a eulogy that I never spoke, and, on reflection, that was part of the healing process, front‑loaded so to speak. And then he was gone. Just like that, just like a Tommy Cooper punchline. We blinked and his living life was over.

These words are for him. The greatest Dublin supporter I ever knew. The man who gave us it all, and then some. This is from my perspective, you all have your own stories and memories. These are merely mine, cherished and treasured.

Sallynoggin to Cuala: A Love Begins

Born in Sallynoggin in 1943, he wasn’t born into a time when Dublin football was thriving, nor into a typical GAA community. Sallynoggin would be more famous for its soccer than anything else. His attraction to the GAA would not begin until 1958, when Dublin won the first of 17 All‑Irelands that he would witness in his life; another followed in 1962. It was in the 1960s that he was drawn to club football, and drawn he would be to the Cuala Boys of Dalkey. Formed in 1962, Cuala Boys would merge over the next twelve years with Roger Casements and Dalkey Mitchels to ultimately form what we now know simply as Cuala.

And what’s in that name? Cuala (or Cualu) was the name of an old Gaelic territory in south Dublin and north Wicklow, a regional name referring to lands stretching from Dundrum down to the Sugarloaf. It’s a heritage word, and it suited him, rooted in place, proud of the past, and always looking forward.

The Early Days: Small Crowds, Big Hearts

In the late ’50s and early ’60s, Dublin football wasn’t what we know today. There was no swathe of county following, no sense of a movement with hype and headlines. Attendances were miniscule. Hype? There was none. But in those days, a love was forged for the Navy and Blue of Dublin, and the Red and White of Cuala. These were the early days of his growing love for football, a prelude of sorts to what was coming in the ’70s.

Remarkably, alive to see 17 of Dublin’s 31 titles, he bore witness to two golden generations of Dublin football: the 1970s and the 2010s.

Heffo’s Army & Hill 16: Our Rite of Passage

But it’s the original Decade of the Dubs back in the ’70s when everything changed. Heffo’s Army was born, and that love of Dublin football went into overload as the hype machine kicked in and a county turned blue inside and out. A decade of swashbuckling, champagne football, and a rivalry with Kerry that lives strong to this day, a decade that saw Dublin win 3 and Kerry 4. Arguably two of the greatest teams ever to grace the game.

This is where I first had my own Dublin experience. Game day meant a drive into town; a six‑pack of Harp for the grown‑ups; Tayto and ham sambos for the rest of us as we headed for Hill 16. The women with pram tops and breadboards that converted into mini shops with the “Get your Mars bars, 4 for 50p, and if you don’t want them, don’t maul them, son!” Then the rite of passage: being lifted over the turnstile in Croker as only you could do in those days. A packed Hill, and my Da grabbing the scruff of my neck on the way down after the match, back when it was a muck bank and not for the faint‑hearted.

Oh God, those were the days, if only we realised it at the time.

Legends & The ’83 Final

The ’70s birthed legends: Jimmy Keaveny, Kevin Moran, Brian Mullins, Paddy Cullen, Tommy Drumm, Tony Hanahoe, Bobby Doyle, Anton O’Toole—and more. The decade of the Dubs spawned a generational fan base, my Da included.

Into the ’80s and that famous 1983 final, remembered for Dublin’s 12 apostles (three players sent off) and THAT Barney Rock goal. I was too young at ten to be at a final. The crush on the Hill was insane in those days but I can still feel the blue flowing through my veins watching it on TV in Ballybrack with my mam. Not forgetting the semi‑final replay in Páirc Uí Chaoimh, the birth of the phrase Hill 17. He even made the RTÉ Guide cover the following week in a crowd shot, sure you wouldn’t miss the head on him!

The 1990s: Near Misses, Rituals & Dublinisms

From 1983 to the 1990s. 1991, a year he would never forget. Those four games with Meath left their mark and it took him an age to get over it. Then the near misses of 1992–1994, losing to counties beginning with D (Donegal, Down, Derry) before Sam was wrestled back to the capital in 1995 in a contentious final with Tyrone.

By then he’d turned 50. His love never waned in 81 living years, but his body and nerves were well tested. I can relate, the emotional investment only the GAA can give you: heart rate spikes, the rush. He knew his days on the terrace were numbered. 1996 was a washout as All‑Ireland champions; Pat O’Neill had gone and the team was in transition. It felt like the right time to stop going, for his own health. In hindsight, a good call; it would be 2011 before Sam returned, beginning the second Decade of the Dubs, my decade.

We witnessed what we perceived as the greatest Dublin teams of all time, and manys a conversation was had. I miss those chats a lot. Sometimes we were Dunphy and Giles, other days fully aligned. Jaysus, there wasn’t a week we didn’t talk football, even up to 2024. Such was our bond, Father and Son, and two stalwart followers of the Boys in Blue.

Dublinisms he coined will live forever:
“The Jacks are Back.” “Get up ya bowsey.” “Jaysus Christ.” “Jonah.” “Radio silence.”
Jonah was a special one, someone would come to a Dublin game with us for their first time(usually one of my mates). If Dublin lost, the Jonah tag was applied and a match ban followed. Radio Silence came from his refusal to read a paper for two weeks after a loss. Sales in Ryan’s newsagents in Ballybrack would tumble whenever Dublin were beaten. These traditions live on through us today in our Dublin family.

The 5:15 Tradition & 2019’s Miracle

When he stopped going, life became blanket media bans during Dublin matches. He’d leave the house for hours, off walking in Shanganagh or climbing the Sugarloaf, anywhere to get far away from knowing the score. He wouldn’t watch or listen. Mobile phones complicated it, so the 5:15 tradition was born: one of us would ring him the moment the match ended to give him the score, and you’d be in trouble if you were late. Some of my best conversations were in my decade of the Dubs in the 2010s at 5:15. Etched into my memory forever.

He never liked Kerry, especially Mick O’Dwyer. Red rag to his raging bull was Micko. That four‑in‑a‑row rankled for years, and Micko brought out the sailor in him with some of the best Dublin cursing you’d ever hear. Fast‑forward to 2019. He got very sick, he almost checked out, but by the grace of God he didn’t. By the final he was in chemo, excitement tempered. Dublin had matched Kerry’s four‑in‑a‑row, and Kerry stood in the way of a historic five‑in‑a‑row.

Dublin came back from the dead in the first game, down to 14 and losing in injury time to rescue a draw, before seeing Kerry off in the replay. Cue 5:15 and that phone call. Tears of joy from both of us. I was so happy he was alive to witness history, the one who gave me this love of Dublin football. I can’t print what he said, but I’ll summarise: “I hope that C— F— chokes on that, that f— so and so… stick your four‑in‑a‑row up yer hole.” And we laughed. His love never tapered, and he never forgot.

Cuala’s Rise, Dublin’s Records & A Lasting Legacy

After 2020, Dublin declined, but the 2023 win, and the history‑making boys of nine All‑Irelands gave him great satisfaction. They had overtaken great Kerry players in writing records he believed would never be beaten (only time will tell).

And in 2024, despite his health deterioration, Cuala rose again. Narrowly beaten in a Dublin County final in 2023, they went one better in 2024, winning a first ever football title in the club’s history, something I know he took great pride in. He didn’t make it to January 2025 to see them deliver a first ever All‑Ireland club football title, but I’m guessing he knew the outcome and let the rest of us ride the emotional rollercoaster.

Sixty years of Dublin football in one lifetime. What a journey. Two decades of generational teams, 17 All‑Ireland titles, and a lifetime of memories created. He will be remembered for his love of the Dubs, his passion, his commitment to all things blue. His sarcasm, sense of humour, and Dublin wit. He left a legacy of Dublin love in his sons and daughter and their families. He showed us the way; he led the way. Flags, jerseys, programmes, superstitions and rituals. All in or not in, and he was all in. His legacy of Dublin football lives on through us all.

I started this 15 years ago to find a way to express how it felt to be a Dublin fan, family and connection at the heart of it. We are a big family and community of Dublin football lovers, and our stories are simply expressions of how we feel. It’s been extraordinary, full of highs and lows, no different to life itself. With the passing of my Da, as sad as we are sometimes, it’s also an opportunity to celebrate who he was and what he did for us in gifting us this love of all things blue.

Croke Park will never be the same; gameday will never be the same, as he took a big part of me with him last year. But I am eternally grateful that he gave me this, 50 years of memories that will last a lifetime and beyond.

Thank You, Da

So, to the greatest Jack there ever was, thank you for giving me this. Thank you for having the scruff of my neck coming down Hill 16, I know you still do. And thank you for who you were, and who you’ll always be to me, and to all of us.



Comments

Post a Comment