June 2025

June 15th, 2025. Hyde Park. Mayo v Donegal. One kick. One chance. And then; silence.

Another chapter written in this long, bruising, beautiful saga that is following Mayo GAA.

Defeat stings. Always has. Always will. But when that final whistle blew, and the crowd slowly filtered out of Hyde Park, a sea of green and red dulled by the weight of loss it wasn’t just about the game. It was Father’s Day. And for me, it was a day of layers of love, grief, pride, and that ever-persistent hope that refuses to die no matter how many times we’ve had to start again.

We throw the word resilience around a lot these days. But Mayo people, we’ve embodied it long before it was fashionable.

This team, this county, we show up year after year, heartbreak after heartbreak, because we believe. Maybe stubbornly. Maybe naively. But also, maybe wisely because belief is where it all begins.

As a wheelchair user and lifelong supporter of Mayo GAA, I’ve come to understand that resilience isn’t just about bouncing back. It’s about belonging to something bigger than yourself, even when you can’t physically be on the pitch. It’s about showing up, over and over, because hope, by nature, is repetitive.

I wrote about this almost a decade ago, in a piece for the Western People, not long after my dad passed away. My dad was that guy, the man who brought the heart to every Croke Park day out. He passed on more than just a love for football. He passed on a sense of what it meant to back your team and your people, no matter what!

Growing up with a physical disability meant I never got the chance to wear the jersey on the pitch, but I’ve worn it with pride every single match day since I was a child. The sideline was my place the roars, the chants, the emotional rollercoaster. You don’t need to play to be part of it.

Mayo GAA has always made space for people like me not through grand gestures, but through that quiet kind of belonging that grassroots GAA offers. The local club, the community, the nod of recognition from someone who knows your story that’s the gold.

It all starts local. The underage teams training in the rain. The tea being poured at half-time in clubhouses. The GAA pitch that doubles as the community hub.

Grassroots GAA has shaped who I am. It’s in the shared rituals, pulling on the colours, lining the roads with flags, listening to Mid West Radio for match updates. As someone living with a disability, I often feel like the world was built for someone else. But at the Ardnaree GAA local pitch? I feel seen.

It’s not always perfect; access can still be an issue, physical space doesn’t always equal emotional space. But when it works, it’s a masterclass in connection. GAA brings us together in ways policy never could.

Father’s Day is tricky. It brings up all the love, all the loss. I thought I’d feel it less sharply as time went on. I was wrong.

I was in Hyde Park with Mayo on Sunday. The heartbreak was fresh. But the ache that sat heavier was the absence of the man who made me fall in love with this team in the first place. The man who brought me to Croke Park in the ’90s when accessibility was a fantasy and parking a nightmare.

My dad passed in 2010. That was the last time I felt fully at home in the stands. Now, every game is laced with a quiet missing. I still look to the seat beside me. Still reach for the words he would have said: “We’ll be back again next year.”

And we always are.

People often say, “It’s only a game.” But it’s never just a game. It’s identity. It’s history. It’s the one place where class, ability, and background blend into something shared.

Mayo GAA, for me, is a tether to family, to friends, to community, to a belief that we’re never done yet. The wins are sweet, but it’s the commitment that truly counts. The willingness to rise again, even when we know how much the fall can hurt.

June 15th, 2025 ended in heartbreak – again. But here’s the thing: heartbreak only exists because of hope. And we’ve never run out of that.

This team, these players, they carry the weight of our dreams. And they do it with class. I couldn’t be prouder to support them.

To the Mayo team thank you. For giving us something to believe in. For taking the hits and coming back stronger. For carrying us with you, season after season.

The road to Sam Maguire is long. Sometimes punishing. But our strength is longer. And so is our spirit.

Mayo ’Til I Die.