Mayo have only themselves to blame. Not because they painted bales of hay green and red or flew flags from cranes and bridges, but because their gameplan, which centres around the creation of chaos, had no answer to Tyrone's battle rhythm which hinges on control. Mayo were out-thought and out-fought.

If defiance has defined Tyrone’s legacy, persistence and resilience has defined Mayo’s, writes Colin Sheridan

Spare a thought for Mayo’s Cillian O’Connor this week. Perhaps the county’s greatest footballer of all time faces the ignominy of watching his team win an All-Ireland — their first in 70 years — without him

There have been books written on the back of Tyrone’s utter indifference to tradition. Their defiance. The gargantuan chip on their persecuted shoulders. There should be another book written deconstructing Kerry’s dedication to hubris

Our national broadcaster can be accused of many things, but shirking a good montage challenge has never been one of them

For the thousands there who witnessed it, and the tens of thousands more who sat at home Bayridge in Brooklyn and Blacksod and Balla, not to mention the many more listening from hospital beds for whom the last year has been torture, this was a night when the next day truly didn’t matter.

One couldn’t help thinking of Lionel Messi on Sunday morning, as images of the jubilant scenes from Portland Row in Dublin’s inner city circulated following Kellie Harrington’s gold medal victory in Tokyo.

Richie Tenenbaum was the youngest child of the dysfunctional Tenenbaum clan in Wes Anderson’s 2001 film, The Royal Tenenbaums.

Dinners are ate extra early. Doorbells are disconnected and cars parked round the back of the house in an act of neighbourly misdirection George Smiley would appreciate

We should all count ourselves lucky that my beloved Mayo do not react to reaching major finals in the same manner as the revellers in Trafalgar Square did last Sunday evening