The Green and Red

(Photo by John Mee)

About three weeks ago, I was sitting right here where I am now, at my desk, in my room, on my PC, when I started to become aware of a strange faint noise. It was a fluttering of sorts, soft but insistent. At first, I thought a bird had got itself trapped in the attic or in the eaves. It was than kind of noise. I went outside to investigate.

It was bunting. Red and green triangular bunting. My next-door neighbour had hung it out quietly, along with flags and, as I saw when it got towards dusk, lights that flashed in those same home colours.

It was that time again. Mayo had won the All-Ireland Semi Final and were on their way to meet God Knows Who in the final in two weeks’ time. The ‘God-Knows Who’ turned out to be Kerry. A highly formidable adversary, a practically unstoppable force.

Mayo’s excellent manager, Andy Moran, set the tone for the encounter in a candid press conference.

"Does anyone here think we're going to win the All-Ireland final?” he asks, “No. Thank you.”

The question he had been asked concerned the Mayo fans and whether they would now get caught up in the hype. Andy was unequivocal.

"Our county has been starved the last four or five years. If they go a bit nuts, let them.”

And it started there. With two weeks to go until the final.

But here’s the thing, or my view of the thing at least: Mayo fans are exceptional. They don’t ‘go nuts’. They never ‘go nuts’. What they do is they support their team. Through up and down, thick and thin, they support the team.

And that’s what happened.

Mayo, where I have been pleased to live for the last 29 years, went into full-on support mode. Nobody went nuts. The task ahead was undeniably difficult, a positive outcome unlikely. But the good people of Mayo got behind the mule. And they pushed.

Two feelings existed simultaneously. Firstly, there was a sense of realism. This excellent young team had already exceeded expectations in this formative year. To reach the final was a colossal achievement in itself. Maybe there wouldn’t necessarily be more this time but it would still be a great year.

That was the first thing. The second thing… well, that was hope. But also something more than just hope, something intangible: a feeling, a sense that maybe, just maybe, this team, these men, could actually pull it off.

Nobody went nuts. But the town of Castlebar along with, I’m sure, the rest of Mayo moved into a fifth gear of support mode. Every discussion had was peppered with amateur analysis and prediction and good sense and, yes, hope. Every conversation ended, like an amen at the end of a prayer, with the exact same sentiment; “Have you any tickets?”

I put out my own flags. Two red and green fabrics looking a little apologetic next to my neighbour’s bonanza. I have never been talented with flags. I think they are a little like dogs; they sense when you are uncertain about them. While other flags on the street waved proudly, ours hung limply and projected only a sort of mild dejection.

The day arrived...

You may be reading this in another part of the world. That happens sometimes, I know. You may not be aware of how it all played out last Sunday, on the day of the All-Ireland Football final, but if you’re in this hemisphere, you probably know.

We won.

Mayo won.

Context is everything. Mayo had not won for a very, very long time. This is not so terrible for some counties, like my own, where the expectation of a win is hardly ever realistically there. But it’s different here in Mayo. Here, the team have been contenders to once again win the Sam Maguire Cup for the longest time. And many times they have come tantalisingly close. Within an inch. But always, in the living memory of most people alive today, the coming close has ended the same way; in heartbreak.

But not this year. After Seventy-five long years of Championship drought, the bright young team of Mayo stalwarts brought it home.

Mayo won.

So now, in the week that just was, so many Mayo people have had something that they never had before in most of their memories. At least outside of marriages, children being born, and lottery wins. They have had a taste of unbridled joy. Nobody knew what would happen if and when Mayo finally won again and what happened did not disappoint. Tens of thousands of people took to the streets, the bars, and the public places and their faces all beamed with delight. Horns were blared and car roofs were ridden upon by ecstatic youths waving huge flags. Old men, stuffed into their team jerseys, were linked through the crowds by over stimulated granddaughters, telling anyone who would listen, in quavering voices, that they had been there the last time, only they had been very small back then.

These young victors stand on the shoulders of those who have gone before, some of whom earned well-deserved medals from the sideline, some of whom commentated on the match, some of whom watched infirm from their rooms, some of whom who are now gone. The ones who went before showed that the power and the skill and the talent were all there, it only required one final unbridled effort to make the impossible real again.

It’s been quite the week here in Mayo. To tell the truth, I’ve been a tiny bit divorced from it myself. As a 29-year resident of Mayo, but originally from up the road, I feel a little bit of an outsider in the midst of all the melee. But then, wherever I’ve been in my life, including home, I have always felt the same. But enough of that. I burst with pride and joy for the team, and I celebrate with my friends in the town. Anything else is just down to me.

As I look out of my window now, trying to think of my next sentence, a stray breeze catches my own meagre flags out in the front garden. Like one more small miracle, the red and green material raises itself off the grass and billows confidently out in the bright air.

Bravo, Mayo.

Bravo indeed!