Mayo claim famous All-Ireland title to end curse and dethrone champions Kerry

Mayo 1-20 Kerry 1-17

For 75 years they carried it like an unwanted inheritance.

One generation passed it to the next. Fathers handed it to sons. Grandparents told stories about 1951 because there was nothing newer to celebrate. Eleven All-Ireland final defeats. Two draws. Countless journeys home from Croke Park with the same hollow feeling in the pit of the stomach.

The curse.

Forget the ghosts. Forget the funerals in Foxford. Forget the talk of fate and destiny and all the nonsense that grew around Mayo football because nobody could explain how one county could suffer so often and survive.

Well, now they can.

Because the curse is over.

Dead.

Buried somewhere beneath the Hogan Stand where, on an unforgettable afternoon, a team too young to care about history ripped it apart with football that was fearless, furious and utterly irresistible.

The county that had become shorthand for glorious failure finally discovered what glory actually felt like.

Mayo are All-Ireland champions.

And somewhere tonight, every man, woman and child who had spent a lifetime waiting can finally exhale.

They didn’t edge Kerry. They didn’t steal it.

They overwhelmed them. They wore all white and for the first 15 minutes played like Spurs and then for the remaining 55 impersonated Real Madrid.

They hunted in packs, tackled like demons and shot almost every time the opportunity presented itself. It was football played at breakneck speed, with conviction, with courage and, above all, without fear.

At the heart of it all was a forward line that Kerry simply could not contain.

Kobe McDonald.

Darragh Beirne.

Ryan O’Donoghue.

Together they produced 1-11 and enough moments of brilliance to ensure this day will be remembered long after the scoreboard has faded from memory.

If this truly was McDonald’s farewell before swapping Crossmolina for Melbourne and St Kilda, then he could scarcely have scripted it better.

Every touch crackled with danger.

Every run dragged defenders into places they never wanted to go.

He played like a young man who had absolutely nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Fearlessness has become an overused sporting cliché.

Not here.

Not today.

McDonald demanded the ball in impossible places, turned experienced defenders inside out and lit up Croke Park in a way only the very special footballers can.

Australia may be getting a remarkable athlete.

Mayo have just witnessed the perfect goodbye.

Ryan O’Donoghue, meanwhile, was everything a leader should be, Mayo’s best player, scorer of 0-7 and creator of Darragh Beirne’s goal.

The scores came, naturally.

They always seem to these days.

But it was his composure when chaos threatened that separated him from everyone else.

When Kerry surged into that early lead, O’Donoghue steadied Mayo.

His two pointer on 24 minutes cut in to Kerry’s lead. His second two-pointer eight minutes from time put them five up.

When they needed to create something, he did that too – his surging run on 39 minutes leading to David McBrien having the awareness to tap the ball to his right into open space.

Waited for it, Darragh Beirne produced perhaps the finest finish of his young career, gliding into space and finishing with the authority of a man completely untouched by the enormity of the occasion.

Suddenly questions were asked that Kerry never answered.

Mind you, the Kingdom came roaring from the traps.

They usually do.

David Clifford looked determined to remind everyone why he remains the finest footballer of his generation.

He was magnificent.

One goal.

Six points.

The sort of performance that would have won countless All-Irelands in another era.

But football remains the ultimate team game.

And while David dazzled, too many of his team mates never did.

That mattered.

Massively.

Mayo had clearly studied every second of Kerry’s Championship.

They knew Donegal had shown the blueprint.

Don’t allow Paudie Clifford time to lift his head. Eoin McGreal forced him deeper and deeper.

Yes, Paudie still scored two points from play. But with the Cliffords it is about damage limitation.

Instead of spraying passes into dangerous areas, Paudie found himself turning backwards, sideways, anywhere except towards Mayo’s goal.

It contained – to an extent – Kerry’s greatest creative weapon.

And with few others in green and gold stepping up to the plate, the Kingdom looked strangely ordinary.

David still burned brightly.

But even superstars need ammunition.

Mayo’s intensity without the ball bordered on ferocious.

They tackled as though every turnover was worth two points.

Sometimes it probably was.

Every loose ball was chased.

Every mistake punished.

Every Kerry attack felt like hard labour.

Then, when possession changed hands, there was no hesitation.

Shoot.

Shoot again.

Shoot from everywhere.

They dropped seven attempts short and hit nine wides.

Yet they didn’t allow their heads to drop.

This was football played by a team convinced history belonged to them.

Andy Moran deserves enormous credit.

He inherited expectation and inherited baggage.

He leaves this season as the manager who finally smashed both.

Throughout the Championship he spoke about improvement instead of history.

His players believed him.

More importantly, they believed in themselves.

They kept losing kick-outs in the first quarter so they addressed this issue by getting Jack Livingstone to angle his shots to the sidelines.

They were 1-4 to 0-1 behind after 15 minutes so they changed tactics again. Kobe dropped deeper. O’Donoghue followed him.

And from there they started running at Kerry’s defenders. And those greybeards started showing their age. Others, such as Gavin White, showed the effect of injury-affected seasons.

They outscored Kerry 1-19 to 0-13 over from the 15th minute onwards – Carney kicking a couple of two pointers, eight different players getting on the scoresheet.

When the final whistle sounded, the years collapsed into one glorious explosion of noise.

Supporters who had travelled the country for decades without ever seeing this moment hugged complete strangers.

Grown men cried.

Children stared in disbelief.

Some simply stood motionless, perhaps wondering if this was finally real.

It was.

The wait had ended.

Seventy-five years.

Gone.

And perhaps that’s the greatest lesson from all of this.

History feels impossibly heavy until somebody finally decides to ignore it.

Mayo ignored it.

Then they defeated it.

At long last, the county that became famous for losing an All-Ireland final knows what it feels like to win one.

And doesn’t that sound infinitely better?