An All-Ireland victory transforms everything. External pressures shift, internal standards evolve and, perhaps most perilously, the memory of success itself becomes an obstacle to overcome. Nobody knows that better

Following an All-Ireland triumph, there’s a natural inclination to believe the hardest part is behind you.

It’s not. More often than not, the real test is only just beginning.

An All-Ireland victory transforms everything. External pressures shift, internal standards evolve and, perhaps most perilously, the memory of success itself becomes an obstacle to overcome.

Mayo understand this reality better than anyone.

For decades they were characterised by the one achievement that eluded them. Then Andy Moran rewrote that narrative.

Mayo secured All-Ireland glory and immediately the question shifted from whether they were capable of winning to whether they could defend their crown.

This is precisely why Paddy Tally’s decision to continue with Moran’s backroom staff for another campaign holds such significance.

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Mayo haven’t simply kept a coach on board. They’ve preserved expertise in something remarkably few people truly comprehend.

Tally has guided three separate All-Ireland-winning sides: Tyrone in 2003, Kerry in 2022 and most recently Mayo. He also contributed to the Down coaching structure that contested the 2010 All-Ireland final.

The credentials speak for themselves. However, the figure itself matters less than the insight it represents.

Tally understands what victory does to a squad, how individuals transform when the goal they’ve pursued for years suddenly becomes the benchmark they’re required to uphold. He recognises that the most challenging aspect of being an All-Ireland champion can be arriving the following January with identical drive when everyone around you is reminding you of last July’s achievements.

And he understands coaching. That distinction is significant.

Tally has been at the helm of Derry and Down, but he’s also dedicated a substantial portion of his career to coaching alongside other managers. His explanation of the contrast between management and coaching is particularly insightful.

Management, he explains, has evolved into a vast role encompassing everything outside the actual match itself.

Coaching enables him to focus on the players, the tactical analysis and the football.

There’s something almost old-fashioned about that approach in contemporary sport. Everyone seeks the position, the power and the visibility that comes with being a manager.

Tally appears more content getting on with the actual work.

This could prove especially valuable to Moran, who is relatively young by senior inter-county management standards. Tally is older, more seasoned and more willing to take a step back.

That isn’t a flaw in their working relationship. It may well be its greatest asset.

“I think it’s the first time it’s happened to me,” Tally remarked earlier this year about collaborating with a manager younger than himself.

Previously, he had been the younger coach absorbing knowledge from figures such as Brian McIver and Jack O’Connor.

Now the dynamic has flipped. Moran provides the drive.

Tally provides the wisdom – and that represents a beneficial distribution of responsibilities.

The risk with experience is that it can transform into authority simply for authority’s sake. The experienced figure arrives and dictates how matters should be handled because he’s witnessed it all before.

Tally seems to recognise that this is exactly what should be avoided. Every county possesses its own distinct culture, he explains.

Each has its unique history and traditions. You cannot simply arrive in Mayo from Tyrone and expect Mayo to adopt Tyrone’s style of football.

First, you must learn.

It’s a deceptively crucial observation.

The most effective outside coach isn’t necessarily the one with the firmest convictions. It’s the one who understands when to listen.

Tally invested time getting to know Mayo, attempting to grasp why they approached things in their particular manner. Only after that could he introduce his own knowledge into the mix.

That’s how coaching ought to function.

And the brand of football he discovered in Mayo resonated with him regardless.

High octane. High intensity.

Pressure. Pace.

It’s not a revolution. It’s an acceleration of something that already exists.

Tally favours robust defending. He favours swift ball movement.

He favours football played at tempo.

He also acknowledges something more significant than tactics: Mayo’s greatest strength is the emotional bond between the team and those supporting it.

Tally spotted it straight away.

He drew comparisons between Mayo and Tyrone, his native county, describing people who are passionate, down-to-earth and desperate to witness their county triumph.

That’s the Mayo formula.

Football isn’t merely a sport there. It’s woven into the county’s emotional fabric.

Tally has witnessed it from within and from the road.

There are no decent roads from Galbally to Castlebar, he quipped. It requires three hours, a lengthy trip for a training session.

But Tally understands what long journeys entail.

His trips to Kerry meant six hours travelling each way, twice weekly.

He can laugh about it these days.

There’s a distinction between someone who’s merely read about success and someone who’s endured the inconvenience, pressure and sacrifice necessary to achieve it.

Tally has experienced it time and again.

He’s also stayed inquisitive.

He analyses rugby. He admires Andy Farrell’s work with Ireland.

He follows American football due to its focus on marginal gains, research and sports science.

That reveals something significant.

He’s not relying on past methods.

He’s still learning.

That’s precisely what Mayo require.

The danger for an All-Ireland-winning side is safeguarding what succeeded.

The wiser strategy is comprehending why it succeeded and then discovering methods to improve it further.

Moran will be pivotal to that process. However, he doesn’t require another version of himself alongside him.

He requires someone capable of challenging, observing, analysing and occasionally stating: this is what happens next.

Tally possesses that ability.

He’s witnessed Tyrone become champions. He’s witnessed Kerry become champions.

He’s seen Down come heartbreakingly close. He’s now helped Mayo reach the peak.

Four counties. Four cultures.

Four distinct journeys.

And next year another journey awaits. Mayo are no longer pursuing history.

They’re protecting it. Every team will be eager to defeat them.

Every rival will have analysed them thoroughly. Every display will be measured against the benchmark they set when they finally claimed All-Ireland glory.

This is where Paddy Tally becomes indispensable, because while Moran understands Mayo’s destination, Tally is familiar with some of the challenges they’re likely to face along the journey.

Maintaining both men in their roles provides Mayo with something every champion requires: the thrill of a fresh start combined with the wisdom of understanding precisely how challenging it is to stay at the summit.

That is a partnership worth preserving.

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Daisy Edgar-Jones looked angelic in a white satin maxi dress as she arrived at the Irish premiere of Sense & Sensibility in Dublin on Thursday evening.

The actress, 28, has so put on a stylish display during the promotional tour for the Jane Austen adaptation, which began in London this week.

Daisy’s stunning gown featured fluffy textured detailing, which were reminiscent of angel wings, across the back of the garment.

The screening was hosted at the Stella Cinema Rathmines in the Irish capital, where Daisy filmed most of her breakthrough role as Marianne in Normal People.

Daisy wore her brunette locks in a slightly undone up do and accessorised the outfit with a pair of pearl drop earrings.

On Wednesday, Daisy opted for a racier option on the promo trail as she attended a special screening for her new film in London.

Daisy’s stunning gown featured fluffy textured detailing, which were reminiscent of angel wings, across the back of the garment

The actress, 28, has so put on a stylish display during the promotional tour for the Jane Austen adaptation, which began in London this week

She was joined by her co-star Esmé Creed-Miles at the event hosted by Edith Bowman and Universal Pictures at The Whiteley Hotel.

Daisy opted for a sexy look, showing off her pink lingerie underneath a black lacy dress, teamed with a pair of stiletto heels.

The Normal People actress wore her glossy brunette locks loose, finishing off the outfit with soft make-up and minimal accessories. 

Esme, 26, opted for a more casual look on the evening, sporting an oversized leather jacket with a shirt and blue jeans.

The two actors are currently on the promotional tour for the new Jane Austen adaptation, which hits cinemas on September 25. 

On Tuesday night, Daisy and her on-screen sister Esmé led the star arrivals at the Sense and Sensibility premiere in Leicester Square.

Based on Austen’s debut novel, it is a timeless story of two sisters navigating love and heartbreak among the strict social rules of 18th-century Britain.

Daisy brought a vampy edge to period dressing as she posed hand-in-hand with her co-star Esmé.

Daisy Edgar-Jones looked sensational as she attended a special screening for her new film Sense & Sensibility in London on Wednesday evening

Daisy opted for a sexy look, showing off her pink lingerie underneath a black lacy dress, teamed with a pair of stiletto heels

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She cut a striking figure in a plunging satin Vivienne Westwood gown with bow detailing on the straps and a slit up the leg as she led arrivals at the screening. 

Daisy wore her brunette hair in an undone half-up half-down style, while accessorising with Boucheron archive jewellery that is 149 years old.

Esme, who plays her younger sister Marianne, opted for a statement white skirt and cropped black blazer for the red carpet.

The actresses are reuniting after they first worked together as teenagers on the 2018 film Pond Life.

The film captures romance, humour, beautiful landscapes in an unmissable cinematic experience starring Daisy, Esme and the incomparable Fiona Shaw.

The latest adaptation of Jane Austen’s classic epochal story is released in the UK on September 25 and premieres in London on Tuesday, September 15.

The first trailer faithfully follows Austen’s story of the three Dashwood sisters and their mother as they are forced to leave Norland Park, the family estate in Sussex, and move to a modest cottage in distant Devon after the death of their father. 

There, they experience a new life on the fringes of the society they once basked in as well as becoming acquainted with new suitors. 

In Sense and Sensibility, the siblings’ opposing inner sensibilities see them approach courting like chalk and cheese, with elder sister Elinor guided by her practical ‘head’, while Marianne is driven by her passionate ‘heart’.

The actress, 28, was joined by her co-star Esmé Creed-Miles at the event hosted by Edith Bowman and Universal Pictures at The Whiteley Hotel

On Tuesday night, Daisy and her on-screen sister Esmé led the star arrivals at the Sense and Sensibility premiere in Leicester Square last night 

An F-16 fighter jet has crashed in Grand Traverse County, Michigan

A Texas Air National Guard F-16 fighter aircraft has crashed in rural Michigan during a routine training exercise on Thursday after the pilot successfully ejected.

149th Fighter Wing public affairs officer Sgt. Derek Gutierrez confirmed the pilot was admitted to a local hospital for medical assessment, but declined to release further details concerning identity or physical condition, citing military protocol.

The aircraft was participating in training drills based out of a National Guard site in Alpena, roughly 190 miles (305 kilometres) north of Detroit.

Eyewitnesses described hearing a severe impact, with social media photos illustrating a thick column of dark smoke rising from the crash site.

Wendy Sobeck said she and her husband heard a “very loud crash” down the road, minutes from their rural home.

“We thought there was a car accident outside our house. We saw big billowing black smoke. We couldn’t tell what it was, so my husband got into his pickup truck and saw what happened,” Sobeck said. “You could see the plane debris in the field. Explosions kept happening.”

A man has been jailed in Bolton, Greater Manchester, after plying two 14-year-old girls with alcohol before raping and assaulting them.

Sultani Bakatash, 29, was sentenced to 14 years in jail after being convicted of two counts of rape, one of sexual assault and one of assault by penetration.

Bolton Crown Court heard how the girls were made to drink vodka and cola after being lured to Bakatash’s home, having been befriended by him on Snapchat.

The teenagers had been so intoxicated that they were in and out of consciousness, but one girl did manage to escape.

She knocked on a neighbour’s door, calling out that he was ‘trying to rape her friend’ and that she was ‘locked in’.

‘He’s raping her,’ the girl called out to the neighbour after freeing herself from the flat at Georgina Court in Bolton.

Prosecutor Charlotte Rimmer told the court how Bakatash had encouraged the girls to drink while only taking small sips himself.

She described him as ‘a man, intent on sexual gratification, regardless of what they wanted’.

Bakatash claimed that the girls had initiated and consented to the sex but later said he couldn’t remember what happened and denied any sexual activity had taken place.

He had fled the property after the assaults and was arrested two days later, staying at his brother’s house.

The girls are said to have suffered severe psychological harm, with the incident likely to stay with them for life.

Judge Kenderik Horne ruled that Bakatash had ‘encouraged them to keep drinking’ and ‘did that so they would become so drunk they would not be able to stop you having sex with them.’

He continued: ‘You told the jury you had not engaged in any sexual activity. That was a lie, the jury saw through your lie.’

The judge added that Bakatash, originally from Afghanistan, may not be deported after serving two-thirds of his 14-year sentence due to his work with the British Army.

Bakatash’s lawyer, Umar Shehzad, said he had been shot and injured while working for the army in his home country.

He said Bakatash was ‘overwhelmed’ living in a foreign country, having fled Afghanistan after the Taliban took over in 2021.

Get in touch with our news team by emailing us at webnews@metro.co.uk.

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For two weeks in September, everyone wants to be Italian – at least judging by the crowds at the annual Feast of San Gennaro in New York City’s Little Italy.

Founded in 1926, the largest and longest-running Italian festival in the United States celebrates its 100th anniversary this year, with locals and tourists alike descending upon Mulberry Street in Manhattan to celebrate Italian American culture.

To be sure, there’s plenty that’s commercialized: Frank Sinatra impersonators croon “New York, New York,” while vendors hawk shirts with quotes from The Godfather and The Sopranos at astronomical prices. Classic Italian American fare like chicken parm subs and sausage and peppers fly off food carts.

And yet in my work as a medievalist, I’ve explored how this festival champions traditions that go back thousands of years.

If anything, the fact that centuries-old rituals coexist with sweet Italian sausages and big, floppy pizza slices speaks to a lengthy, strenuous and beautiful process of cultural assimilation.

From the Bay of Naples to Little Italy

Between 1881 and 1920, over 4.5 million Italians immigrated to America. Thousands, most of whom hailed from southern Italy, settled on Manhattan’s Lower East Side to form what became Little Italy.

These “huddled masses” faced all sorts of difficulties: overcrowded tenements, trouble finding work, racial discrimination and suspicion of their southern Italian Catholic practices, particularly from Irish Catholics. The Italian procession of religious statues and the street parties that followed, the Irish argued, looked far too pagan and idolatrous to be considered “real” Catholicism. Irish suspicion of such practices were also shared by local Protestants.

But by the early 20th century, Italian communities had grown so large that they could fund their own Italian-speaking churches.

One such parish was the Church of the Most Precious Blood, built in 1904 on Baxter Street. In 1926, a group of parishioners led by Alexander Tisi organized a tribute to one of the most popular holy figures from southern Italy: St. Januarius, known in Italian as San Gennaro.

An early Christian bishop, Gennaro was brutally beheaded outside of Naples on Sept. 19 in AD 305 on account of his faith. His execution was one of several that took place during the Diocletian Persecutions, a systematic campaign against Christians by the Roman Empire.

Since then, southern Italians have attributed all sorts of miracles to his intercession, including extinguishing the volcanic fires of Mount Vesuvius in 1631.

He is also seen as something of a prophet. Since at least 1389, two vials purportedly containing the saint’s blood have been venerated in Naples because of their inexplicable ability to liquefy on his feast days. The liquefaction has long been interpreted as a sign of the saint’s protection. On the other hand, Italians viewed the blood staying solid as the sign of a looming catastrophe. The Allied bombings of Naples in 1943, for example, occurred after the blood failed to liquefy.

Since the later Middle Ages, Gennaro’s feast on Sept. 19 has been one of the most important dates on Naples’ calendar.

During medieval and Renaissance celebrations, pork was the meal of choice, with pigs often awarded to the winners of street games. Young men might wrestle a greased-up pig inside the Naples Cathedral, with the victor cooking the animal for supper.

The road to cultural assimilation

Centuries of devotion transformed San Gennaro into a symbol of Neapolitan identity. New York’s festival was designed to preserve those traditions.

That first Feast of San Gennaro in 1926 gave Italian immigrants a rare opportunity to publicly profess the cultural identity they had left behind in Italy.

It began with a procession featuring a 3-foot statue of San Gennaro. Hoisted upon men’s shoulders, the saint traveled around the church and the surrounding streets. While en route, devotees tacked dollar bills to his body, as many still do today. There was no blood relic, but there was a purported bone fragment of Gennaro’s specifically donated for the occasion. The chip of bone was placed in a circular container called a reliquary and hung around the saint’s neck. Afterward, the Italians of Little Italy gathered around plates of roasted chicken to toast to their shared heritage and traditions.

The event was a big success. Just two years later, in 1928, The New York Times reported that thousands of ex-Neapolitans were congregating for a festival that had already extended from one day to a full week.

But with triumph came trouble. That same year, New York Police Commissioner Joseph Warren prohibited the procession, arguing that the dollar bills pinned to the statue represented the “profanation of sacred religious symbols.” The decision was ultimately reversed by a New York Supreme Court judge, on the grounds that Warren violated the populace’s religious liberties.

Warren’s attempt to suppress the procession exemplifies the sort of religious prejudices plaguing Italian communities during that period. But it was not the only form of discrimination Italians faced.

The darkness of southern Italians’ skin subjected them to discrimination, birthing derogatory slurs like “guinea” or “swarthy.” The suspicion that Italian immigrants were prone to criminal behavior was reinforced by real mafia organizations, such as the infamous Black Hand.

These prejudices, combined with the establishment of Italian churches and feasts, led to the belief that Italian immigrants clung too strongly to the traditions of their homeland and refused to assimilate into American culture.

Non-Italians join the party

It was not until after World War II that outsiders no longer hesitated to participate in Italian culture and festivities.

In 1949, local newspapers reported that thousands of people of various ethnic backgrounds attended the riotous feast, where they watched Italians dance to folk songs in the streets and symphonic bands parade through the neighborhood beneath a new innovation: colored string lights casting pops of green, white and red along the city streets. Food played a big role: Stalls piled high with fresh clams, pasta and pastries promised non-Italians an authentic taste of Italy.

From there, attendance ballooned. In the 1960s, chartered buses ushered in Italians from states as far away as Maine and Ohio. By the 1970s, the feast had some 3 million visitors a year. Many locals today still recall how, in the 1960s and 1970s, young men climbed greased-up steel poles set out in the street in hopes of claiming a cash prize. The oily affair was squashed over safety concerns in the 1980s.

Over the years, the feast has faced its own challenges from within the Italian community.

In 2007, some inhabitants of Little Italy petitioned Mayor Michael Bloomberg to cancel the festival, citing the strain that tourists placed on the local neighborhood and mafia interference. In 1996, for example, 19 members of the Genovese crime family were arrested for gambling, collecting dues from vendors and even stealing money off Gennaro’s statue.

Nevertheless, Bloomberg declined to interfere. The event, he said, was a part of New York itself.

No one understands this more than the organizers of this year’s feast. When discussing the plans for 2026, the committee declared that this event was not just an Italian festival, but a tribute to New York’s cultural melting pot.

The 100th festival is dedicated to the Italian Americans who contributed to the city’s birth, an honor that arrives at a moment of controversy. Two months prior, Mayor Zohran Mamdani omitted Little Italy from a map of the city’s immigrant enclaves, sparking immediate backlash. While Mamdani vowed to reinsert the neighborhood, some argued that the omission accurately reflected the dwindling number of Italians living along Mulberry Street.

The controversy underscores the question fueling the centenary: How should the immigrants who built the city of New York be honored, even as the descendants of many of those immigrants have left their old neighborhoods for different parts of the country?

Perhaps the answer is this year’s grand marshal, San Gennaro himself, who continues to serve as a bridge between the children of the Italian diaspora and their forefathers, just as he did in 1926.