One writer's account of the visceral feel of Tipperary's All-Ireland success
We arrive hopeful, but braced for the worst. We crawl up the M7, cheek by jowl with the Limerick and Kilkenny traffic, registration plates and window-flags giving us away. We park in the Mater or Parnell Square or wherever there’s room.
We walk north to Drumcondra, all brash banter and braided colours and pint bottles of cider, but doubts niggling underneath.


