I'm sitting on a plane, which is taking off 20 minutes late. Ryanair as usual. Most of my family don't know I'm coming back for the week and I'm hoping they'll be happy to see me. I've got butterflies in my stomach, my head is full of confused anticipation and there's a green and red headband tied to the handle of my suitcase, which I'm parading with a glowing pride. It's quite convenient this surprise trip is coinciding with the All-Ireland Final.
Being from Galway and supporting Mayo football has always been a little controversial; to the point that I tell Irish people abroad I'm from Mayo so I don't get a grilling. I think of myself as quite a unique supporter. In our house, my dad had no interest in GAA, with the local soccer club being his lifelong love. All my mother's family are from Shrule, Co Mayo and all dedicated supporters, as Mayo men and women tend to be.
From as far back as I remember, I’ve had the red and green paraphernalia encompassing my life, be it flags, hats, jerseys, face-paints or teddies. There was no escaping the red and green.
Living in London, my pride in and dedication to the Mayo team has certainly grown in the last three years. When it’s match day, there’ll be messages flying around to pick the best pub to gather in. Everyone will have brought their own analogies of how they think they’ll play, what the tactics will be this time, and whether or not the opposition will manage to control the beast that is Aidan O’ Shea. We’ll have a few pints, there’ll be banter and shouting, and after every match we’ll discuss “whether or not it’s their year”.
There is nothing like a Mayo match to bond all the other emigrants sitting there in their red and green jerseys , as we do the usual “and where are you from yourself?” “Ah Jesus, my cousin is from there, do ya know such and such?. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, but we’ll find the connection and then inevitably go our separate ways and perhaps bump into each other again for the next match.
London played Mayo this May in Ruislip, with over 20,000 people from all walks of life in attendance; half of Mayo,expats from all over London and many English people that would never have seen a GAA game in the flesh before, my boyfriend being one of them. He was fascinated by the crowd and the enthusiasm for an amateur sport that was from outside England.
All these people gathered for a GAA match, in England... It makes your heart sing to see so much pride taken in our Irish games, at home and abroad.
When living overseas, supporting Mayo feels even more precious to me than it did before. The connection to home is brought alive on match days, meeting fellow supporters from an array of age groups, some moved over 30 years ago and some three weeks ago. It means I can have my piece of home in the hustle and bustle of London.
The journey home today is filled with an excitement similar to a friend’s wedding or a huge family event. I’m usually hundreds of kilometres away wearing the jersey, but on Sunday I’ll be surrounded by family and friends in Gibbons’s pub in Shrule.
Regardless of what happens in the final, I’ll always be there for Mayo, embracing all Mayo GAA has done for me in keeping me connected to home.
