Raging against the Dublin machine is futile exercise

I can remember a time, in the not-too-distant past, when the Dublin football team were a curiosity. They had turned into something of a novelty act, whose supporters would fill Croke Park a few times each year, but more for the craic than out of any serious expectations of winning.

They had a lost generation. The perception of them, at least from the outside, was of a group of footballers who all had fancy haircuts and bright shiny boots, and were more

interested in flashing their Coppers gold card than collecting titles and silverware.