If you’ve been frequenting this piece of webspace for any length of time, firstly thank you, but if have, you will also be aware of the amount of occasions upon which yours truly was docked in Brady’s in Dunboyne when major world events were going down. From the Omagh bombing to the Iraq war starting (second time around), to the 9/11 attacks in 2001 and the inauguration of President Barack Obama.
On a more personal basis, it was there that the first romantic inclinations of life manifested themselves too. Though on a less dramatic, if you will, note, it was also where one of the most treasured friendships life has ever been bequeathed with threw in. That with none other than current Meath senior football manager Robbie Brennan.
He, like so many before him and since, was given what is the standard initiation for anybody coming into our club. That is to say, brought to Brady’s to wet the whistle and meet the late Sean Nealon Snr and indeed Tom Yourell, the founding father and guiding light of Gaelic football, and, in all honesty, probably yours truly given how much of a safe haven the beloved tavern has been for yours truly and, though it is perhaps in a different way to what would be preferred nowadays it’s still dear to my heart and forever will be.
Anyway, when Andy McEntee was finished giving Robbie the ‘sales’ pitch, the three of us spent a couple of hours together and, in one of those situations which you can’t explain but equally doesn’t need explaining, Robbie and I just clicked immediately.
Though not to the same extent as was the case with some folk as time would tell! However, he made his debut for in an SFC encounter against Dunderry in which we were beaten by a point and therefore eliminated. Despite kicking 19 wides.
Thankfully, it obviously didn’t put the new lad off because, with him playing well enough to attract the attention of Sean Boylan that winter, we made it all the way to the semi final only to be undone when wily Declan Murray manufactured a free for Trim with the last play of the game.
However, aside from the fact it was obvious we’d got ourselves a gem of a footballer, over time I began to notice a new face appearing at our matches when Robbie was playing. A man always immaculately dressed, soft spoken but whom you just knew had the air of sophistication about him. Somebody you’d expect to be more at home on the golf course or at a midsummer Flat meeting in Leopardstown than on a mucky sideline somewhere in Meath in the depths of winter.
Robbie’s dad Pat. Or Paddy, or Pongo as he would become known to those of us blessed to have him in our lives as the years went on. And not just him, but his wonderful wife Betty, other son Stephen, daughter Jean – though based in Australia – and the grandkids as the years went on.
Back then, though, he tended to stand on his own at matches. Until one day he ended up beside, well, me. So began something which, much like my relationship with his son, would be difficult to put a definition on. Other than it quickly became obvious that I was going to have a bit of a job convincing this fine, well spoken gentleman of the merits of his son transferring into our fold.
Because whomever we were playing on the evening in question had given us a right pasting. Which prompted our new supporter to turn to me and muse “My God, how could we have left Kilmacud for this”? Whatever charm offensive yours truly engaged in obviously did the trick because not only did the new recruits hang around, friendships blossomed that became incalculably treasured and will be ever more poignantly so now following Pat’s peaceful passing last week.
However, from the moment Robbie became properly settled in our setup – on and off the field as it happened – it simply became habit for Pat to end up beside me at whatever match he’d be at. Until one day I noticed he wasn’t. That, combined with the sight of Robbie emerging from our dressing room in tears – even though we’d won the match – told me there was something seriously wrong.
Naturally, thoughts automatically dive to the worst possible outcome. Though it did hover with the cloud over us for a long time, as was to become standard practice blessedly for so many years thereafter Pat defied logic, medical expertise and everything else in between by bouncing back to such a point that it wasn’t all that long until we were reunited at a match once again.
Albeit on the occasion of our first reunion he watched on from the passenger seat of his then soon to be daughter-in-law Liz’s car. But once these wheels drew up alongside and the window was opened down, the big hand came out and the grip and handshake were as strong as ever. Also accompanied by what was to become the trademark wink in an “I aint going anywhere” sort of nod to the assembled audience.
So began the new routine of Pat – firstly with Betty when Robbie was still playing – and then with the latter himself, joining me in the wheelchair ‘Shed’ in Pairc Tailteann. Not that he needed wheels himself, but, with reduced mobility, it was the shortest conveyance from the carpark. And I certainly wasn’t going to object to the company!
Indeed, it was in the midst of those many happy hours spent in the Shed that the other side of Paddy’s life was learnt of. That is to say that not only was he a staunch and very proud Meath man, he was something of a legend out by Navan racecourse.
All one needed to do was ask for Pongo. Don’t ask me where the affectionate name originated from, but, when one day after one of his health setbacks I heard the late Ultan Fitzpatrick telling then Meath Co Board Chairman of the time, Fintan Ginnitty (RIP) “That’s Paddy Brennan, that’s Pongo, captained St John’s, remember? “
At which point the departed and much missed county official softened the often terrifying scoul, which had germinated out of a curiosity as to how the ‘newcomer’ had ended up thence and a steadfast resolve that those of us whose need of the facilities was greatest were not impeded.
Once identifications and reintroductions had been completed, it was time for yours truly to embark on a fact finding mission. Out of which were gleaned the revelations that (a) St John’s were a forerunner to what we now know as Wolfe Tones and (b) Pongo was indeed held indeed held in the highest of esteem having captained the Johns to win the Meath IFC in 1973 and a meeting with Tom Keegan the following year.
Little did we know that, over the course of some unforgettable days and nights entertainment Pongo would not only see those who followed in the stud prints of himself and his colleagues emulate their achievements but better them.
After all, not only did the modern incarnation of the purple and gold win the intermediate and senior within rapid succession of one another, they had literally just lifted the county Junior championship prior to annexing the middle grade and then went on to win the top gong, completing the hat-trick of titles in 2004,’05 and ’06.
Of course, in the midst of all that, Dunboyne did win their second SFC title in 2005, but matters off the field not nearly, absolutely, attracted more attention than what went on between the white lines.
Well, some of it did. There was actually far too little made of the absolute travesty which saw Robbie actually sent off after three minutes for an action no more than swatting away a fly, only for the ‘offended’ party to hit the deck as if flattened by a wrecking ball having sideswiped him. Though personally I think he was put out about his hair being ruffled!
Anyway, unless you’ve been under a rock for 20 years you know how that circus turned out. Thus a very proud dad finally conceded (in gest) that transfering this way wasn’t such a bad thing after all! Plus, the Keegan Cup was a very special guest when Robbie and Liz got married!
Thereafter is what I like to think of as phase two of Robbie’s career. Where the jersey and boots were swapped for the Bainisteoir top and baseball cap. A few things which didn’t change were Pat being there for as long as was physically possible and the reality that success was never too far behind.
To my utmost regret, in a material sense, it never did happen for him in his spell as Dunboyne senior manager, but he did – ironically with the assistance of current Summerhill manager Dave Clare – do a lot of ground work with younger players within the club who are now beginning to make their mark on adult teams. Including his own lad Tadhg.
Which of course was another huge source of pride (and therapy) to grandad Pongo. Though perhaps there was something inevitable about Robbie’s managerial ‘break’ coming with Kilmacud Crokes.
Boy how he showcased his undoubted talents when the opportunity arose. Taking that version of purple and gold to the highest peak a club team can reach.
Which, inevitably, gloriously, meant the call for inter county management eventually. The only thing which may have caught a lot of people out was that it was with Meath and not Dublin.
But remember, Pongo was a very proud Meath man to the last, bringing his son to Colm O’Rourke Sports back in the day as a birthday ritual – what a Mecca that place was back in its time – and to Crokes training at Pairc De Burca or Glenalbyn clad in Kepak emblazoned green.
So now, how poignantly fitting it will eternally be that his son was bequeathed with the most important job in Meath football while Pat was still with us to see it. And how bursting with pride he must have been at seeing his son’s initial attempts at skippering the voyage forward. To my utmost heartbreak now, I actually can’t remember the last occasion I got to spend time in his company. I knew he was unwell around the time my own mother’s journey was entering injury time but never thought Pat would be that quickly behind her into the retirement village up top.
Robbie, have no doubt how proud he was of you and your achievements and how much of a lift they gave him and kept him going. This part of your journey is only beginning and he will be with you every step of the way. We all will.
Rest easy Pongo, Lord knows you’ve earned it. So many times I wondered how you kept going, but keep going you did. And that was so inspirational to me and so many more than you ever knew. Sleep well old friend. #UpTheTones
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