Some of the maddest men you could ever go on the beer with are to be found in West Mayo.
Signing in.
Also signing into the unofficial thread, fuck you MBB.
Whilst ultimately I think Dublin will win, Iâm throwing my lot into the Mayo bandwagon
Signing in.
Mayo will win this.
Sing away pal, sing away.
Signed in long ago,our time has come.
May every Mayo man be imbued with the spirit of this man 
cant wait to see the devastation on sunday evening when the wheels come of this bandwagon. 
Its going to be epic.
Danger, this will bring a tear to your eyes lads.
âDear lads
HERE we go again. Another September and we rest our dream on your young shoulders. Itâs a lot for you to carry on All-Ireland Final Day. But if we canât trust you, where else can we turn. Weâre squeezing the ticket of a lifelong journey into your safe hands for you to get us a travel pass so as we can live a dream.
Who are we? Weâre the woman serving the meal at a wedding in the Castlecourt. Weâre the kid playing in the schoolyard. Weâre the girls on the B shift in Baxter. The exiles in London or Long Island. The five Ballinrobe lads who took off one morning for Australia.
The patient in hospital wearing her Mayo neckband. Weâre the mother who worries daily about the price of the school books or the uniform. Weâre the fly by nights, the chancers, the sleeveens, and the all right sort of an âauld characterâ.
Weâre the singletons, the married, the divorced, the widowers and the widowed. Weâre the dreamers and believers and the legends of the road. Weâre Mayo.
Youâre the gift we inherited when dad brought us to see you play. Itâs the Sunday of childhood that has become every day of our life since. From high infants you were there.
We were Morley and Prendergast in sixth class. In secondary school you were with us too. Tickeen and Joeeen. We were you wearing our Mayo socks in Presentation College Headford. No replica jerseys then. It was years later we proudly adorned ourselves in Larryâs (McEllin) famous shirt.
You were there playing gooseberry when we fell in love. If she had no heed in football she was ditched. Didnât matter a damn if she had a dowry and road frontage. Ours was a different kind of love. Mondayâs when we woke with our football hearts broken.
You were there when the kids were born. We passed on the baton on. The easiest gospel we ever preached. All the roaring getting them up for Mass we could have saved ourselves if the priest wore red and green vestments. They are mothers themselves now. In the car with us now on this crusade. Full driving license too. The next generation in the back. Too big a stack to be strapped in the baby seat either. A growing reminder that precious time is slipping away.
Because of you we have to put an extra set of tyres and tax the car most years.
Never had a right holiday either. Wouldnât know Lanzarote from Pavarotti.
Met a woman once who was going to Cornwall. âAh lovely,â I said by way of saying something. âWere you ever there?â she asked. âNoâ I replied, feeling a right idiot.
Didnât bother asking her was she in Scotstown on a cold crisp January Sunday in 1996, the day Kenny Mortimer was sent off. We burdened Kenny and his brothers with this dream too. Left it on Noel Connellyâs shoulder also. Others too like Ronaldson, Geraghty, the genius Ciaran McDonald, Willie Joe and McStay. They were worthy of our hopes and aspirations. Their want was ours.
Youâre the reason we clutched at straws in the gale. 1985 when Mayo and Monaghan were in the All-Ireland semi-finals and some pleb told us Old Mooreâs predicted two Mâs would meet in the All-Ireland. We scoured every page for confirmation, but two Mâs for the Maam Cross Fair was as near as we got.
We just want from you one September Sunday when an unimaginable world unfolds.
Small things will do us thereafter. A night around Christmas when the family are gathered. A warm fire and we watching the video of Mayo winning the All-Ireland Final of 2013. Hair still standing on the napes of our necks.
Weâll get a nice picture too standing between Donal, Kenneth, Mickey and Colm holding the Sam Maguire. For the coffin. Our jersey strewn on the lid beside it and the congregation singing our Mayo anthem âThe Green and Red of Mayoâ when they wheel us out. Thatâs what weâre living a lifetime for. Youâre carrying us on your shoulders now. In Mayo we trust.
Good luck,
Willie McHughâ
Thatâs the kind maudlinâ shite that boggers on the western seaboard carry on with. Willie McHugh seems like a fucking dickhead.
Willie has a dream Bandage. Heâs a simple aul fella with little needs in this world. But he needs this.
He needs this.
You really seem to have a problem with the west of Ireland, pal. Did you have your eye wiped by a westerner before or something?
I despise these backward bogtrotters. Theyâre the antithesis of progressive eastern seaboard dwellers like myself. No eye wiping to report - I wouldnât be competing for the affections of women from Ballinrobe with outrageously hairy fannies who adore gaelic football.
Christ they are extremely hairy fannies alright.
Dont forget the extremely hairy upper lips as well.
He once had his eye wiped by a Malaysian lad in Teds after a Celtic match according to Rocko
[quote=âmyboyblue, post: 834773, member: 180â]Glass houses and stones mate
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I can honestly say Laois have the most amount of obese supporters I have ever seen in croker âŚabsolute monstersâŚ
[quote=âmyboyblue, post: 834773, member: 180â]Glass houses and stones mate
https://pbs.twimg.com/media/BTGhdQ1IgAAytuo.jpg[/quote]
They are Laois women in disguise.
Quite possibly, I dont go around counting such things, but Taz was the one firing stones from his lofty perch.
Youâre a dim sort of chap.