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23cm x 29 cm. Baldoyle Dublin Atmospheric photo of Brian Mullins of Dublin following Paidi O Se of Kerry on a rain sodden Croke Park in 1978 Con’s description of Kerry player Mikey Sheehy’s free in the 1978 All Ireland Football Final between Dublin v Kerry is still the stuff of legend and is worth quoting again. Con wrote: “Dublin were like climbers who had been driven down the mountain by a rock fall – they had to set out again from the plateau not far from the base. And now came the moment that will go into that department of sport’s museum where abide such strange happenings as the Long Count and the goal that gave Cardiff their only English FA Cup and the fall of Devon Loch. Its run-up began with a free from John O’Keefe, deep in his own territory. Jack O’Shea made a flying catch and drove a long ball towards the middle of the 21 -yard line. Mikey Sheehy’s fist put it behind the backs, breaking along the ground out toward Kerry’s right. This time Paddy Cullen was better positioned and comfortably played the ball with his feet away from Sheehy. He had an abundance of time and space in which to lift and clear but his pick-up was a dubious one and the referee Seamus Aldridge, decided against him. Or maybe he deemed his meeting with Ger Power illegal. Whatever the reason, Paddy put on a show of righteous indignation that would get him a card from Equity, throwing his hands to heaven as the referee kept pointing towards goal. And while all that was going on, Mikey Sheehy was running up to take the kick-and suddenly Paddy dashed back towards his goal like a woman who smells a cake burning. The ball won the race and it curled inside the near post as Paddy crashed into the outside of the net and lay against it like a fireman who returned to find his own station ablaze. Sometime, Noel Pearson might make a musical of this amazing final and as the green flag goes up for that crazy goal he will have a banshee crooning: “And that was the end of poor Molly Malone.” And so it was. A few minutes later came the tea-break. Kerry went into a frenzy of green and gold and a tumult of acclaim. The champions looked like men who worked hard and seen their savings plundered by bandits.” . -
30cm x 26cm
1934 GAA 2d on a small cover from Dublin to Colorado, USA dated 27th July 1934 – the first day of issue
1934 GAA 2d bottom marginal single on a small cover from Dublin to Colorado with neat slogan cancel machine cancel USE THE TELEPHONE
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25cm x 35cm Durrow Co Laois Michael Collins was a revolutionary, soldier and politician who was a leading figure in the early-20th-century Irish struggle for independence. He was Chairman of the Provisional Government of the Irish Free State from January 1922 until his assassination in August 1922. Collins was born in Woodfield, County Cork, the youngest of eight children, and his family had republican connections reaching back to the 1798 rebellion. He moved to London in 1906, to become a clerk in the Post Office Savings Bank at Blythe House. He was a member of the London GAA, through which he became associated with the Irish Republican Brotherhood and the Gaelic League. He returned to Ireland in 1916 and fought in the Easter Rising. He was subsequently imprisoned in the Frongoch internment camp as a prisoner of war, but was released in December 1916. Collins rose through the ranks of the Irish Volunteers and Sinn Féin after his release from Frongoch. He became a Teachta Dála for South Cork in 1918, and was appointed Minister for Finance in the First Dáil. He was present when the Dáil convened on 21 January 1919 and declared the independence of the Irish Republic. In the ensuing War of Independence, he was Director of Organisation and Adjutant General for the Irish Volunteers, and Director of Intelligence of the Irish Republican Army. He gained fame as a guerrilla warfare strategist, planning and directing many successful attacks on British forces, such as the assassination of key British intelligence agents in November 1920. After the July 1921 ceasefire, Collins and Arthur Griffith were sent to London by Éamon de Valera to negotiate peace terms. The resulting Anglo-Irish Treaty established the Irish Free State but depended on an Oath of Allegiance to the Crown, a condition that de Valera and other republican leaders could not reconcile with. Collins viewed the Treaty as offering "the freedom to achieve freedom", and persuaded a majority in the Dáil to ratify the Treaty. A provisional government was formed under his chairmanship in early 1922 but was soon disrupted by the Irish Civil War, in which Collins was commander-in-chief of the National Army. He was shot and killed in an ambush by anti-Treaty on 22nd August 1922. -
30cm x 25cm Cork Michael Collins was a revolutionary, soldier and politician who was a leading figure in the early-20th-century Irish struggle for independence. He was Chairman of the Provisional Government of the Irish Free State from January 1922 until his assassination in August 1922. Collins was born in Woodfield, County Cork, the youngest of eight children, and his family had republican connections reaching back to the 1798 rebellion. He moved to London in 1906, to become a clerk in the Post Office Savings Bank at Blythe House. He was a member of the London GAA, through which he became associated with the Irish Republican Brotherhood and the Gaelic League. He returned to Ireland in 1916 and fought in the Easter Rising. He was subsequently imprisoned in the Frongoch internment camp as a prisoner of war, but was released in December 1916. Collins rose through the ranks of the Irish Volunteers and Sinn Féin after his release from Frongoch. He became a Teachta Dála for South Cork in 1918, and was appointed Minister for Finance in the First Dáil. He was present when the Dáil convened on 21 January 1919 and declared the independence of the Irish Republic. In the ensuing War of Independence, he was Director of Organisation and Adjutant General for the Irish Volunteers, and Director of Intelligence of the Irish Republican Army. He gained fame as a guerrilla warfare strategist, planning and directing many successful attacks on British forces, such as the assassination of key British intelligence agents in November 1920. After the July 1921 ceasefire, Collins and Arthur Griffith were sent to London by Éamon de Valera to negotiate peace terms. The resulting Anglo-Irish Treaty established the Irish Free State but depended on an Oath of Allegiance to the Crown, a condition that de Valera and other republican leaders could not reconcile with. Collins viewed the Treaty as offering "the freedom to achieve freedom", and persuaded a majority in the Dáil to ratify the Treaty. A provisional government was formed under his chairmanship in early 1922 but was soon disrupted by the Irish Civil War, in which Collins was commander-in-chief of the National Army. He was shot and killed in an ambush by anti-Treaty on 22nd August 1922. -
32cm x 24cm Caherciveen Co Kerry Framed print of one of there greatest Gaelic Footballers of all time - the legendary Mick O'Connell. Michael "Mick" O'Connell (born 4 January 1937) is an Irish retired Gaelic footballer. His league and championship career with the Kerry senior team spanned nineteen seasons from 1956 to 1974. O'Connell is widely regarded as one of the greatest players in the history of the game. Born on Valentia Island, County Kerry, O'Connell was raised in a family that had no real link to Gaelic football. In spite of this he excelled at the game in his youth and also at Cahersiveen CBS. By his late teens O'Connell had joined the Young Islanders, and won seven South Kerry divisional championship medals in a club career that spanned four decades. He also lined out with South Kerry, winning three county senior championshipmedals between 1955 and 1958. O'Connell made his debut on the inter-county scene at the age of eighteen when he was selected for the Kerry minor team. He enjoyed one championship season with the minors, however, he was a Munster runner-up on that occasion. O'Connell subsequently joined the Kerry senior team, making his debut during the 1956 championship. Over the course of the next nineteen seasons, he won eight All-Ireland medals, beginning with lone triumphs in 1959 and 1962, and culminating in back-to-back championships in 1969 and 1970. O'Connell also won twelve Munster medals, six National Football League medals and was named Footballer of the Year in 1962. He played his last game for Kerry in July 1974. Recollecting his early years on RTÉ Raidió na Gaeltachta and Radio Kerry, O’Connell spoke of how he was introduced to Gaelic football.He also revealed he had regularly played soccer with Spanish fishermen on his native Valentia Island. “Well, I remember I was 11 or 12, my father bought them (boots) in the shop in Cahirsiveen. I remember playing beside the house at home and I remember the first day I got those from the shop I was delighted. But after that there wasn’t a lot of people with football boots. “We would play barefoot often during the summer — and we were happy to play barefoot — that’s the way it was back then. “My father bought us a ball, a size 4. It wasn’t too big but it was fine. We would play at home and coming home from school a lot of people would come in playing with us, schoolboys, and often, very often, the Spanish would come in taking shelter from the weather, they would come in and play soccer with us. “If there was bad weather, they’d take shelter here in the harbour. They wouldn’t have a penny but a drop of wine in bags but they had no money and they’d come in and play. It was nice to watch them. I was practicing left and right but we had no trainers or coaches at the time. It was just a case of practicing between ourselves, nice and gently. There were no matches but games between ourselves and that’s all we had at the time.” It was O’Connell’s father Jeremiah who helped begin his son’s love of Gaelic football although he himself had no background in the game. “My own mother (Mary), she was never at a match and my uncle who was born in 1880 or that, he was living with us on Valentia Island, he was never at a match.“My father had an interest every now and again going to the matches. I remember them coming from Portmagee, Derrynane and Cahirciveen to play. That’s when I remember feeling that was something special about playing sport. “I remember going to a game on a boat with my father. The Islanders were playing, that was in 1945, and those memories from long ago come back to me every so often. And a lot of those players and a lot of the inter-county players are dead now. But I remember the first time I played in a Munster final in Killarney, in 1956, and only two of those players are still alive (Tom Long and Seán Ó Murchú).” But for a job in which he worked at for most of his Kerry playing days, O’Connell said he would never have worn the green and gold. “Between 1956 and ‘66, I worked for the Western Union company on Valentia Island, five full days and a half day on Saturday. It was a very useful job; it facilitated me in a great way. Otherwise, it was a job that would be too demanding and it also meant I was free at the weekends. “Any person playing amateur sport without an appropriate job would find it very hard to find perfection in it. Otherwise, I would never have played for Kerry.” O’Connell has questioned the Government’s grants scheme for inter-county Gaelic players. The Valentia Island man believes the funding mechanism, which will rise to €3 million per annum by 2018, has been signed off without the authority of the Irish tax-payers.Interviewed by Raidió na Gaeltachta on his 80th birthday yesterday, O’Connell criticised the Government for what he determines as directing remuneration towards county footballers and hurlers. “I have no involvement in the games today, except for watching it, but something I don’t agree with... it’s okay for the GAA to generate money in Croke Park and to spend it on the players if they want to, but I don’t agree at all that Government money, money of the Government of Ireland collected through taxes from the ordinary person, is being paid to the players. “I don’t think they have any permission to do that. That money should be spent on health and education rather than what’s being done now that I read in the paper, which is the way it is now.” In a wide-ranging interview with Helen Ní Shé on the An Saol ó Dheas programme, O’Connell also took a dim view of outgoing Kerry minor footballer Mark O’Connor’s switch to AFL club Geelong on a two-year rookie contract. “I’m not too impressed with that game in Australia at all. If Gaelic football was played properly, without pulling and dragging out of each other, and things like that, it would be a much better game than the game in Australia. “But again, in this country, the money isn’t in this country to give money to the players professionally at all and people have jobs now. If they had a good job and time to train, it’s a pastime. It’s a pastime. “Sport is a pastime. And people are saying there is pressure on them because they have to train... it’s a pastime for the trainer too, meeting and in contact with people the same age as them and things like that. That’s a great thing.” O’Connell doesn’t buy the idea more Gaelic players want to be involved in a full-time sport“Ah, that’s the kind of talk the media presents before them, that there is pressure on them. Give it up if you’re not happy, that’s the way it should be. To be good at anything, you enjoy anything that you’re good at, and practice that, you understand.” He marvels at what modern day players are provided with. “They have the facilities now. The facilities weren’t there long ago. But they have a lot of facilities now. Look at Fitzgerald Stadium in Killarney, there wasn’t a stand, there wasn’t a dressing room or anything when I started playing. As far as I remember, I don’t know what you called it, the mental hospital, we had a room in that place where we togged out. Every place throughout Kerry and throughout Ireland, the facilities are at a very high standard now in comparison to years ago.” Speaking to Jerry O’Sullivan on Radio Kerry’s Kerry Today programme, O’Connell bemoaned where Gaelic football was going and the negativity attached to it.“The (current) game doesn’t appeal to me. For me anyway it was always ball first, man second. To try and negate the other player it wasn’t my style.” O’Connell insisted he wasn’t criticising current players but the game itself and how it was taken too much from other codes. Although the mark has been championed as a means of safeguarding the high-fielding O’Connell was renowned for, he sees it as another example of a foreign rule. Even in my own time, there was no clear-cut set of rules stated in print for a referee. “I always thought as a player that a referee’s job should be almost to mark the scores and players playing the game should know what the game was and play accordingly.O’Connell continued: “Gaelic football has been played for about 120 years or whatever so and there is no bit of original wisdom within it to have your own game and to be powerful of your own game and not to be borrowing from other (sports), mark or no mark, red card, yellow card. It’s borrowing from other codes and that’s the negativity. It’s been always there, especially so now.” In an at times awkward conversation on Newstalk’s Off The Ball last night, O’Connell played down the significance of his sporting accomplishments. “Winning the game was not triumph and losing the game was not disaster. It was winning and losing games and that was all part of sport.” He remarked he had no passion in life. “Passion in life? None. None whatsoever. Playing football afforded me the chance to do exercise and play games locally and sometimes in Dublin. It was a nice way of associating with other people and so on. “It wasn’t a passion as such. Some people might think because living on an island (that it was) but it just happened that I occurred to be very good at it and got my place on the county team and got some games in Dublin.” He admitted his reluctance with the adulation he has received over the years. “That’s only comment. There’s no such thing as one player being better than the next because football is about a style of play. Some people have different styles and if one style satisfies some people other people might like the do-or-die effort. “Beloved? I don’t know what that means. If your style of play satisfies, all well and good but maybe I wasn’t ruthless enough. I wouldn’t do anything to win. The end to me wasn’t as important as the means. The means in which I played was a justification and if it won all well and good. “When I see people talking about Kerry beaten and a disastrous result, there is no such thing in the game of sport. Win or lose, you take your win or your beating in your stride, that’s it. “Another thing, coming from Valentia Island, I was kind of unique. Being an islander, it was unusual and that was why a lot of attention was put on me. It was difficult because you had difficult, bad weather sometimes here and you could never really practice to your extent. “That was often attributed to me, being in a kind of an unique and odd situation, that there must be something strange about a person to play from an island. It wasn’t. It was the game, the code of the area, and I played from an early age. “It wasn’t the be-all and end-all because in my household there was no discussion on football.” ‘Any day if I caught a few good balls and kicked a few good balls, that was success’ Mick O’Connell says the simple satisfaction of having “caught a few good balls and kicked a few good balls” is what remains with him most from his playing time with Kerry. Looking back, he doesn’t like to use the word “career” and when asked if the battles with the famed Galway of the 1960s were what come back to him most he replied: “I enjoyed all games whether it was here in Cahirsiveen, Tralee, Fitzgerald Stadium or New Ross, Tuam or any other place I was. “Any day if I caught a few good balls and kicked a few good balls that was success. “I played in 10 All-Irelands and lost a bigger percentage than I won (four victories). So be it, I had involvement. Success is a bit sweeter when you taste a bit of defeat as well. “That was my view. Looking back on it, it gave me a great association with people from different parts of Kerry and different parts of Ireland and abroad as well. Sport was a great dimension to my life but not everything.” O’Connell also returned to 1959 when he captained Kerry to an All-Ireland crown and left the Sam Maguire Cup in the dressing room. “I got the cup from Dr (Joseph) Stuart who was the president of the GAA at the time and my knee was injured the same day. I left the cup in the dressing room and I came home on the train and people asked me the reason I didn’t take the Sam Maguire with me. It was the team’s cup, I was no bigger than any other member of the team. The people who were in charge should have taken it home. It came home to the island a few weeks or so afterwards.”He doesn’t know the location of his four Celtic Crosses. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know. I gave one of them to somebody. There was a raffle or something on years ago.”“The purpose of the game was to deliver it (the ball) as distinct from now when carrying the ball, running with it and passing with it. That’s the big change. I don’t blame the players at present. It’s very confusing. Even in my time, the elders never clearly stated a rule about obstruction or anything like that. It’s very hard in Ireland to get a discussion on the game.” -
Atmospheric photograph of a moustached Michael Collins meeting the Kilkenny hurling team in advance of the 1921 Leinster hurling final, played at Croke Park on September 11, 1921. Dublin won the match on the score of Dublin 4-04 Kilkenny 1-05. 30cm x 40cm Durrow Co Laois Michael Collins was a revolutionary, soldier and politician who was a leading figure in the early-20th-century Irish struggle for independence. He was Chairman of the Provisional Government of the Irish Free State from January 1922 until his assassination in August 1922. Collins was born in Woodfield, County Cork, the youngest of eight children, and his family had republican connections reaching back to the 1798 rebellion. He moved to London in 1906, to become a clerk in the Post Office Savings Bank at Blythe House. He was a member of the London GAA, through which he became associated with the Irish Republican Brotherhood and the Gaelic League. He returned to Ireland in 1916 and fought in the Easter Rising. He was subsequently imprisoned in the Frongoch internment camp as a prisoner of war, but was released in December 1916. Collins rose through the ranks of the Irish Volunteers and Sinn Féin after his release from Frongoch. He became a Teachta Dála for South Cork in 1918, and was appointed Minister for Finance in the First Dáil. He was present when the Dáil convened on 21 January 1919 and declared the independence of the Irish Republic. In the ensuing War of Independence, he was Director of Organisation and Adjutant General for the Irish Volunteers, and Director of Intelligence of the Irish Republican Army. He gained fame as a guerrilla warfare strategist, planning and directing many successful attacks on British forces, such as the assassination of key British intelligence agents in November 1920. After the July 1921 ceasefire, Collins and Arthur Griffith were sent to London by Éamon de Valera to negotiate peace terms. The resulting Anglo-Irish Treaty established the Irish Free State but depended on an Oath of Allegiance to the Crown, a condition that de Valera and other republican leaders could not reconcile with. Collins viewed the Treaty as offering "the freedom to achieve freedom", and persuaded a majority in the Dáil to ratify the Treaty. A provisional government was formed under his chairmanship in early 1922 but was soon disrupted by the Irish Civil War, in which Collins was commander-in-chief of the National Army. He was shot and killed in an ambush by anti-Treaty on 22nd August 1922. -
Vintage wooden clock from 1995 commissioned to mark Clare's historic All Ireland win in 1995.cm x cm Scarriff Co ClareViewed from a distance of two decades, maybe the most remarkable thing about the hurling summer of 1995 is just how unpromising it was roundly agreed to be at the get-go. The previous year had been airily dismissed as something of a freak – never more freakish than in that harum-scarum end to the All-Ireland final when Offaly overturned Limerick with a quickfire 2-5 in the closing minutes.Put to the pin of their collars, most judges shrugged and presumed the Liam MacCarthy would find his way back around to the blue-bloods in the end – probably to Kilkenny who had just beaten Clare in the National League final, maybe to Tipperary if they got their act together. If there was going to be a yarn, Limerick might provide it. But nobody had an inkling of what was around the corner. Or if they did, they weren’t shouting about it. Nobody was shouting about very much of anything. Hurling was what it was – guarded like the family jewels in certain parts of the land, barely amounting to a rumour in others. Tipp, Kilkenny and Cork had split five of the previous six All-Irelands between them and in a given year, you could just about half-rely on Offaly or Galway to keep them honest. For everyone else, the door looked shut. For all the sweet words and paeans that followed the game around, the championship was reduced each year to four or five games. This was pre-qualifiers, pre-back door of any kind. Galway walked into the All-Ireland semi-final each year and Antrim did the same before providing whoever they met with more or less a bye into the final. The Munster championship had its adherents but they weren’t all just as committed as they let on – when Clare met Cork in Thurles in June 1995, they did so in front of just 14,101 paying guests. The game needed shaking up. If not everyone admitted as much at the time, it didn’t escape the notice of the association’s then general director Liam Mulvihill. In his report to Congress earlier that year, he had scratched an itch that had been bugging him for most of the previous 12 months. The 1994 football championship had been the first to benefit from bringing on a title sponsor in Bank of Ireland and though an equivalent offer had been on the table for the hurling championship, Central Council pushed the plate away. Though the name of the potential sponsor wasn’t explicitly made public, everyone knew it was Guinness. More to the point, everyone knew why Central Council wouldn’t bite. As Mulvihill himself noted in his report to Congress, the offer was declined on the basis that “Central Council did not want an alcoholic drinks company associated with a major GAA competition”. As it turned out, Central Council had been deadlocked on the issue and it was the casting vote of then president Peter Quinn that put the kibosh on a deal with Guinness. Mulvihill’s disappointment was far from hidden, since he saw the wider damage caused by turning up the GAA nose at Guinness’s advances. “The unfortunate aspect of the situation,” he wrote, “is that hurling needs support on the promotion of the game much more than football.” Though it took the point of a bayonet to make them go for it, the GAA submitted in the end and on the day after the league final, a three-year partnership with Guinness was announced. The deal would be worth £1 million a year, with half going to the sport and half going to the competition in the shape of marketing. That last bit was key. Guinness came up with a marketing campaign that fairly scorched across the general consciousness. Billboards screeched out slogans that feel almost corny at this remove but made a huge impact at the same time . This man can level whole counties in one second flat. This man can reach speeds of 100mph. This man can break hearts at 70 yards Of course, all the marketing in the world can only do so much. Without a story to go alongside, the Guinness campaign might be forgotten now – or worse, remembered as an overblown blast of hot air dreamed up in some modish ad agency above in Dublin. Instead, Clare came along and changed everything. In the spring of 1995, Clare were very easy to stereotype. These were the days when the league wrapped around Christmas and in the muck and the cold and the drudgery, Clare had a fierceness to them that took advantage of any opposition that fancied a handy afternoon with the summer well off in the distance. A pain in the neck if you met them on a going day in the league but not to be relied upon on the biggest days. They had a recent, ill-starred record in Munster finals to bear that out. Heavy beatings from Tipp and Limerick in 1993 and ’94 were bad enough on their own; piled on decades of hurt going all the way back to their last title in 1932, they were toxic. On the day before the league final, new manager Ger Loughnane outlined what the coming summer would mean to them. “I’d swap everything for a Munster title. The whole lot. My whole hurling life. These fellas today, they have the chance. They can get out there and realise that this is what it is all about, that this is what you play hurling for. They can build on that and win their Munster title. That means so much to us all. They won’t have to look back and regret.” When Clare promptly lost 2-12 to 0-9 to Kilkenny in that league final, you didn’t have many takers for Loughnane’s assertion that this could be the group to turn everything around. Loughnane had been involved in 12 Munster finals as a player and selector at various levels down the years and he’d lost them all. Big talk was fine and dandy but what was there to believe in? Come the Munster championship, Clare were quietly but firmly dismissed by all and sundry. Cashman’s bookies in Cork priced their championship opener thus: Cork 2/5, Clare 9/4. A bar in Ennis had sent the Clare squad a cheque for £250 so they could have a pre-championship drink together. Anthony Daly took it instead and slapped it down on Clare to win the Munster championship at odds of 7/1. Anyone with half an interest in the game knows the rest. Or at least knows bits and pieces of it. That summer was a blazing one, the hottest for decades, and in the mind’s eye Clare’s summer is a jigsaw of sun-scorched fables and legends. Seanie McMahon and his broken collarbone, playing out the last 15 minutes against Cork at corner-forward. Ollie Baker’s bundled goal to win that game in injury-time. Limerick swept aside in the second half of the Munster final. Bonfires across the county on the Monday night. Galway put to the sword in the All-Ireland semi-final. Offaly just squeezed out in the final. Eamonn Taaffe’s goal, whipped to the net with his only touch of the sliotar all summer. Daly’s 65, Johnny Pilkington’s reply just flicking the post and missing. A first Clare All-Ireland senior title since 1914. It was all just so unlikely. After the Cork game, the cars heading home for Clare were stuck in traffic. A group of Cork teenagers stood at the side of the road as they passed, chanting Tipp, Tipp, Tipp – presuming Clare would meet and be beaten by them next day out. The notion that this was the beginning of a golden era, or that these Claremen were about to popularise the sport as never before, would still have felt ludicrous And yet here they were, All-Ireland champions in a year when hurling caught the wider imagination in a way it rarely had up to that point. The Guinness campaign had made its mark and allied to Clare’s rise, the sport was grabbing people again. Not before time. “The game had gone stale,” wrote Jimmy Barry-Murphy in The Irish Times in the run-up to the final. “This All-Ireland was one that game needed very badly. Interest was waning and this was reflected in the attendances at finals. “There was no comparison to football where the arrival of the Ulster counties as major powers generated enormous interest and a new awareness of the game. Clare have had many setbacks but they have kept battling and are now being rewarded. They have done hurling a great service.” The depth and breadth of that service became more and more apparent as the decade wore on. Attendances at the hurling championship matches ballooned. From an aggregate total of 289,281 in 1994, they rose to 543,335 in 1999. There were plenty of factors, of course – more counties with more hope, more matches with the introduction of the back-door, a growing economy, those Guinness ads. But it was Clare’s summer of 1995 that sparked it all. They weren’t a pebble in a pond that caused a few ripples. They were a boulder that landed from the clear blue sky and left a crater on the landscape. Everything changed after ’95. Not forever, just for a while. But for long enough for the game to stretch itself and grab hold of imaginations outside the usual places of worship. On the Monday night they brought Liam MacCarthy home, one of the towns that got a good rattle was Newmarket-On-Fergus. In the bedlam, the home club put up a stage and stuck any living Newmarket man who ever put on a Clare jersey up there as the backdrop while Daly and Loughnane grabbed the mic out front. One unusual face cloistered at the back of the stage was then Wexford manager Liam Griffin. Of the multitude of stories excavated by Denis Walsh for his towering book Hurling: The Revolution Years, maybe that night in Newmarket captured the giddiness of the time the best. Griffin’s father was from Clare and he’d lived there for a time in his early 20s, long enough to play club hurling and get called up to the Clare under-21s. Thus were his bona fides established for an appearance – however reluctant – up on-stage. Griffin had been in charge of Wexford for a year at that point and their summer had ended with a limp exit against Offaly away back in June. By the skin of his teeth, Griffin had survived an attempted county board putsch in the meantime and was almost certainly the only man alive who thought that the riches showering down upon Clare heads could be Wexford’s 12 months later. “Clare came and I thought, ‘This is fantastic,’” Griffin told Walsh. “I thought, ‘Jesus, the team I have are as good as these,’ and I went through them man for man. There’s no way we’re not as good as these guys. Then Clare won the All-Ireland and I went straight to Clare the following morning because I wanted to see the homecoming and now I understand why. I wanted to drive it into my own psyche.” As the speeches finished and the stage began to clear, Loughnane turned and caught Griffin’s eye. “It could be you next year,” he said. Whether he meant it or not, Griffin’s mind was made up already. He drove home convinced that Wexford could reach out and grab some of that for themselves. The next day he rang around and organised training, 51-and-a-half weeks shy of the 1996 All-Ireland final. In a world of endless trees and branches and roots, it’s obviously simplistic to say that Clare’s All-Ireland begat Wexford’s which begat all the rest of it. But what is inarguable is this – in that sun-drenched summer of 1995, everything felt possible. -
Iconic GAA photograph of a Hurley holding Michael Collins with Harry Boland in Croke Park in 1921 with an unknown gentleman. 30cm x 35cm Bantry Co Cork Michael Collins was a revolutionary, soldier and politician who was a leading figure in the early-20th-century Irish struggle for independence. He was Chairman of the Provisional Government of the Irish Free State from January 1922 until his assassination in August 1922. Collins was born in Woodfield, County Cork, the youngest of eight children, and his family had republican connections reaching back to the 1798 rebellion. He moved to London in 1906, to become a clerk in the Post Office Savings Bank at Blythe House. He was a member of the London GAA, through which he became associated with the Irish Republican Brotherhood and the Gaelic League. He returned to Ireland in 1916 and fought in the Easter Rising. He was subsequently imprisoned in the Frongoch internment camp as a prisoner of war, but was released in December 1916. Collins rose through the ranks of the Irish Volunteers and Sinn Féin after his release from Frongoch. He became a Teachta Dála for South Cork in 1918, and was appointed Minister for Finance in the First Dáil. He was present when the Dáil convened on 21 January 1919 and declared the independence of the Irish Republic. In the ensuing War of Independence, he was Director of Organisation and Adjutant General for the Irish Volunteers, and Director of Intelligence of the Irish Republican Army. He gained fame as a guerrilla warfare strategist, planning and directing many successful attacks on British forces, such as the assassination of key British intelligence agents in November 1920. After the July 1921 ceasefire, Collins and Arthur Griffith were sent to London by Éamon de Valera to negotiate peace terms. The resulting Anglo-Irish Treaty established the Irish Free State but depended on an Oath of Allegiance to the Crown, a condition that de Valera and other republican leaders could not reconcile with. Collins viewed the Treaty as offering "the freedom to achieve freedom", and persuaded a majority in the Dáil to ratify the Treaty. A provisional government was formed under his chairmanship in early 1922 but was soon disrupted by the Irish Civil War, in which Collins was commander-in-chief of the National Army. He was shot and killed in an ambush by anti-Treaty on 22nd August 1922. -
30cm x 38cm Westport Co Mayo On 17 December 1916, the week before Christmas, a Mayo team stepped onto a frost-bitten Croke Park pitch to break new ground not only for themselves, but for their province – somewhat remarkably, in the already storied history of the Gaelic games, no Connacht county had previously climbed to such a rarefied heights. Mayo’s maiden final was played on a day that was winter raw. As snow, hail and rain fell in turns, the low temperatures left the ground underfoot little short of treacherous. Already, the belt of miserable weather had taken chunks out of England’s soccer programme the day before and in Dublin, on the morning of the final, hospitals filled with those presenting with injuries from falls on ice-glazed pavements, many of them worshippers walking to and from Sunday services. There was tragedy, too, when three residents of the Peaumont Sanitorium drowned when treading the frozen surface of a pond that cracked and gave way beneath them. In ordinary circumstances, most likely, the All-Ireland final meeting of Mayo and defending champions Wexford wouldn’t have gone ahead. But these were not ordinary circumstances and this was no ordinary time. The backdrop was one of international war and domestic upheaval and for the GAA, the struggle to maintain a semblance of normality – to operate a schedule of fixtures free of disruption and delay – was a constant. It didn’t help that the official Commission of Inquiry into the April Rebellion identified the Association as a contributory factor in its outbreak. It was a finding that the GAA leadership robustly refuted, their cool-headed pragmatism leading them not only into a denial of any involvement in the Rising, but to openly enter into negotiations with the British authorities in an effort to fend off threats to their sporting operations. What the GAA sought to secure as priorities was an exemption from a new entertainment tax that was to be levied on sporting and recreational bodies across Britain and Ireland; and an end to the curtailment of special train services to GAA matches. If the actions of the GAA emphasised the primacy of play, those of the British authorities – in London and Dublin – laid stress on law and order, and on the monitoring and the suppression of anything, or anyone, who might undermine it. Towards that end, in the months following the Rising, police reports tumbled into Dublin Castle evaluating the political temperature in each county and detailing the organisational strength of the various social, cultural and political groupings within.
Statement issued by the GAA in May 1916 in response to allegations made by the Rebellion Commission, set up by the British to investigate the Rising, that the GAA was involved in the planning and staging of the Easter Rising. In this statement the GAA strenuously expresses its non-political constitution. Click the image to read the statement in full. (Image: GAA)
Reports from Mayo in the summer of 1916 revealed a county in a ‘peaceable’ condition and with, amongst other things, a thriving GAA community: in all, the county was said to have boasted 18 clubs with just over 1,000 members. The strongest of these clubs was undoubtedly Ballina Stephenites. Founded in 1888, they had dominated the local Mayo scene since the turn of the 20th century, and spent years scorching all Connacht opposition at a time when champion clubs also served as county representatives in provincial and All-Ireland competitions. In 1908, they even secured national honours when defeating Kerry in a Croke Memorial Cup final. This was a day when at least one journalist – a reporter for the Western People – parked his professionalism in favour of partisan self-indulgence. Disabusing his readers of the expectation that they might receive anything in the way of actual reportage, he wrote: ‘I put my notebook away when Andy Corcoran (the captain) won the toss, and thereafter, along with hundreds of others, I abandoned myself to an hour’s delightful cheering and yelling.’ If this was primarily a Ballina triumph, the joy was by no means confined to the town. In Crossmolina a tar barrel was set alight to honour a moment that created ripples of excitement across the county. By 1916, the Mayo team was still backboned by Ballina men, though it was bolstered – as was then commonplace – by select players from rival clubs, including Balla, Ballyhaunis, Kiltimagh, Lacken and Swinford. It appears not to have been the most harmonious of mixes. When they took the field in Castlerea against Roscommon for the Connacht final at the start of October, they were a seriously depleted outfit – seven of those selected to travel failed to show up and a further two refused to tog out. As it transpired, the team was plagued by unwanted controversy. Later, when they defeated Cork in the All-Ireland semi-final, they were forced to do it all over again – on a day so sodden the referee wore his Mackintosh throughout – after an objection was lodged that they had played an illegal player in Bernard Durkin, a Mayo native who had earlier the same year played in a Cork County Championship for Youghal. For all that the extra game stood to Mayo, it also exposed weaknesses that could only be addressed, many believed, by better preparation. The message that went out was clear-cut. As one GAA writer put it starkly: ‘The war cry for the present Mayo team is – Train! Train! Train!' There was nothing particularly sagacious in this advice; most of the top teams were already doing this as a matter of course. However, the problem for Mayo was that, whatever way you looked at it, they appeared to be starting from a poorer position than their final opponents. Nowhere was the disparity more striking than in the resources available to the two sides. Wexford had raised £100 in subscriptions and secured a grant of £25 from the Leinster Council before a cash-strapped Mayo had gotten out of the fundraising blocks. It was late November, less than a month before the final, when the county eventually launched a training fund to help defray the costs of organising trial matches against their provincial neighbours and to ensure, as one contributor put it, that they didn’t suffer from a ‘lack of the sinews of war’. Clubs and the county board established committees to solicit money and commitments were given that all contributions would be dutifully acknowledged in the local press. That they were, but the purpose of publication was as much to shame as name. Indeed, slackers were unrepentantly called out. So while the people of Ballina and Crossmolina won plaudits for their efforts, those from Foxford stood indicted: ‘There’s an old saying that “apples will grow again”’, one scribe observed. ‘When they do they won’t ripen in Foxford.’
The Wexford (Blues & Whites) team that won the 1916 GAA Football All-Ireland title. (Image: GAA)
The final, when it finally arrived, disappointed in every way. Despite the temporary easing of train restrictions that had already forced the deferment of the hurling decider until late January 1917, it was played before a small crowd of 3,000 and on a pitch that barely cut muster. The conditions undoubtedly conspired against good football, yet the match itself was, as one report had it, remarkable only for its ‘tameness’. It’s perhaps sufficient to say the outcome was never in doubt and that the Wexford-men won, on a 3-4 to 1-2 score-line, easing up. The Mayo players were not exactly crestfallen at the result. There was no wailing, no recrimination, no burning regret at perhaps a once in a lifetime opportunity squandered. Theirs was not a house of pain. On the night of their final they happily joined with the Wexford players at an ‘all night dance’ at Conarchy’s Hotel on Dublin’s Parnell Square. And their captain, Frank Courrell, expressed himself pleased with his team’s performance. The players, he felt, had acquitted themselves well as individuals if not as cohesive unit. In any case, as Courell himself confessed, they had never come to Dublin ‘with the idea of beating Wexford’. Not a bit of it. ‘We came with one object’ Courrell said, ‘to fight every inch of the ground and go down gamely, and we did. We Connachtmen pride ourselves on the fact that we entered the final for the first time, and we are not a bit downhearted on our defeat by such a splendid side.’ -
45cm x 35cm Thurles Co Tipperary The 1913 All-Ireland Senior Hurling Championship Final was the 26th All-Ireland Final and the culmination of the 1913 All-Ireland Senior Hurling Championship, an inter-county hurling tournament for the top teams in Ireland. The match was held at Croke Park, Dublin, on 2 November 1913, between Kilkenny, represented by a club side from Mooncoin, and Tipperary, represented by club side Toomevara. The Munster champions lost to their Leinster opponents on a score line of 2–4 to 1–2.Summary
J. Murphy opened the scoring with a goal for Tipperary and Matt Gargan replied with a Kilkenny goal. Kilkenny's vital second goal was scored by Sim Walton. It was Kilkenny's third All-Ireland title in-a-row and a remarkable seventh All-Ireland title in ten championship seasons. It was also the first all-Ireland final in which teams of 15 took part. A matchday programme from the game sold at auction in Kilkenny for more than €2,000 in 2018.Details
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45cm x 35cm Tipperary and Kilkenny met for the fourth successive year in the Minor final, with Kilkenny completing their third victory in a row. For the Senior match, Tipperary (captained by legend Jimmy Doyle) were looking to avenge their shock defeat when they last met Wexford (led in 1962 by Billy Rackard) in the 1960 All-Ireland. Dignitaries present to witness the final included: President of Ireland, Éamon de Valera, Former President Seán T O Kelly, An Taoiseach Seán Lemass, Minister of Industry and Commerce, former Cork hurling star Jack Lynch, and renowned actor Noel Purcell. Tipperary started explosively with two goals from Tom Moloughney and Theo English. Padge Keogh scored Wexford’s first point and they eventually clawed back into contention with Ned Wheeler drawing them level with a goal and a point. However, Tipperary went in at half time three points ahead with scores from Jimmy Doyle and Seán McLoughlin and it could have been more only due to the great goalkeeping display by Wexford’s Pat Nolan. The second half was tense and tough with Wexford drawing level again with Jimmy O Brien scoring a goal and Billy Rackard drawing them level. The sides were level three more times in a keenly fought encounter. Jimmy Doyle was a big loss to Tipperary having to go off injured, however a goal from the substitute Liam Connolly and points from Donie Nealon and Seán McLoughlin meant that Tipperary just pulled ahead and took the title by a two-point margin. Tony Wall deputised for the injured Tipperary captain and accepted the Liam McCarthy Cup. -
Fantastic piece of Tipperary Hurling Nostalgia here as we see a very young Jimmy Doyle being presented with a Thurles Schoolboys Streel League Trophy. 45cm x 35cm. Thurles Co Tipperary "Jimmy Doyle would have seen many things, and watched a lot of hurling, in his 76 years. But the Tipperary legend, who died last Monday, was possibly most pleased to watch the sumptuous performance of his native county, against Limerick, just the day before. Simply put, the way Tipp hurl at the moment is pure Jimmy Doyle - and no finer compliment can be paid in the Premier County. Eamon O'Shea's current group are all about skill, vision, élan, creativity, elegance: the very things which defined Doyle's playing style as he terrorised defences for close on two decades. Indeed, it's a funny irony that the Thurles Sarsfields icon, were he young today, would easily slip into the modern game, such was his impeccable technique, flair and positional sense. There may have been "better" hurlers in history (Cork's Christy Ring surely still stands as the greatest of all). There may even have been better Tipp hurlers - John Doyle, for example, who won more All-Irelands than his namesake. But there was hardly a more naturally gifted man to play in 125 years. The hurling of Doyle's heyday, by contrast with today, was rough, tough, sometimes brutal. His own Tipp team featured a full-back line so feared for taking no prisoners, they were christened (not entirely unaffectionately) "Hell's Kitchen". While not quite unique, Doyle was one of a select group back then who relied less on brute force, and more on quick wrists, "sixth sense" spatial awareness, and uncanny eye-hand co-ordination to overcome. During the 1950s and '60s, when he was in his pomp, forwards were battered, bruised and banjaxed, with little protection from rules or referees. It speaks even more highly, then, of this small, slim man ("no bigger in stature than a jockey", as put by Irish Independent sportswriter Vincent Hogan) that he should achieve such greatness. What, you'd wonder, might have been his limitations - if any - had he played in the modern game? Regardless, his place in hurling's pantheon is assured; one of a handful of players to transcend even greatness and enter some almost supernatural realm of brilliance. This week his former teammate, and fellow Tipp legend, Michael "Babs" Keating recalled how Christy Ring had once told him, "If Jimmy Doyle was as strong as you and I, nobody would ever ask who was the best." Like Ring, Jimmy made both the 1984 hurling Team of the Century, compiled in honour of the GAA's Centenary, and the later Team of the Millennium. We can also throw in a slot on both Tipperary and Munster Teams of the Millennium, and being named Hurler of the Year in 1965 - and that's just the start of one of the most glittering collections of honours in hurling history.
