‘It was the Irish athletes, cyclists, and boxers who were Brendan's pride and joy'

The many assembled at the funeral of Brendan Mooney showed him in a great light of love, decency, and service

SHOW OF RESPECT: Sonia O’Sullivan with Ann Mooney at the funeral of her husband and former ‘Irish Examiner’ sports reporter Brendan Mooney at St Patrick’s Church, Rochestown. Picture: Michael Mac Sweeney

I didn’t know the eminent sports writer Brendan Mooney, who passed away last week, but after his funeral Mass and burial yesterday I feel that I did. The many assembled showed him in a great light of love, decency, and service.

Of course I had been reading Brendan’s accounts of great sporting events most of my life and if I felt like an interloper at the ceremonies, I knew that — of all people — Brendan would have forgiven my presence there. Where there’s a story to be told there has to be somebody to tell it.

Brendan was often that storyteller, but now — sadly yet deservedly — he is the story. The flood of tributes to him last week, led by a Taoiseach and a Government minister, followed by a slew of famous athletes and sportswriters and broadcasters, is testament to that.

The eulogy given at the Mass by Brendan’s daughter, Joanne, had the perfect narrative arc. From his time as a boy growing up in Ballinabrackey, County Meath, where he loved the outdoors, nature, sport and fishing and was devoted to his Auntie Emily and Uncle Pat; to when he met the love of his life, Ann Gannon, whom he married six months later —– had he lived, they would have been celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary next September; to when Joanne and her siblings Caroline, Brenda and Richard sang songs with him and Ann on car outings; to when he was travelling to Olympics around the globe and meeting some of the most famous athletes and boxers in the world; to the medical difficulties and set-backs he bravely endured during the last eight weeks, prior to his death.

Joanne opened her words with an apology of sorts to her father: “Dad did not expect or want to be the centre of attention. A few years ago he told me he did not want any speech at his funeral. But being a quiet man he had to put up with four strong women in his life. He probably would have known he wouldn’t get his way with that and he would have accepted it without a word or a sigh.” 

She spoke of a childhood full of love and joy. “When it came to us, Dad never said no. Anything we wanted to do, Mam and Dad made it happen. Even when at the royal old age of six or seven I packed my bag and announced I was leaving home, he’d give me my bus fare, wished me well and tell me I could always come home any time! He supported us in everything we did, he was our best friend, our mentor and our hero. When his grandchildren Mark, Brendan, Adam, Emily, Scott, Sophia and Parker arrived, he was so proud and filled with love and was always there for them exactly as he had been for us.” 

She pointed out how, although he was often in the company of greatness (including the greatest, Mohammad Ali) it never gave him airs or graces. On the contrary: “He was not many things to many people, he was the same to everyone, whether you were a world-renowned sports legend or his fishing buddy, or a friend he met for coffee, he was always keen to hear how you were.” 

Joanne outlined Brendan’s own sporting prowess, winning county and national titles and setting records; how he qualified for the Olympics but could not go because only the AAUE were allowed to nominate Irish athletes but he was affiliated to the NACAI and he wanted to remain loyal to them, so he lost out.

He loved being a sportswriter with the Irish Examiner but only reluctantly (out of modesty) would he tell his family about the legendary athletes he interviewed. “But it was the Irish athletes, cyclists, and boxers who were his pride and joy. He watched them grow as people and athletes and loved their successes and lived their failures with them, respecting their welfare more than a story, never betraying their trust.” He never lost his passion for sportspeople. 

“Even in retirement he kept up to speed on up-and-coming talent and willed them on their way and he kept in touch with retired athletes, too. If asked what did he think of an athlete, his reply was always the same: “Isn’t she (or he) fantastic!” If they didn’t do well, he’d explain all the external factors that might have affected them. It was never about the winning, it was always about the person.” 

As his grandson Mark read the reflection near the end of Mass, I could hear a robin singing outside the church in Rochestown — which was fitting, as Joanne had spoken about Brendan hand-feeding a robin in his garden. At the cemetery in Passage West, as prayers were said over Brendan’s coffin – a Meath jersey proudly atop it — a blackbird sang from the branch of a nearby cherry blossom tree. On and on it sang — its song as old as time — as Brendan was laid to rest.

It struck me as I drove back towards Cork that those birds weren’t singing about the past but about the present and the future. And yesterday’s farewell by Brendan’s family and friends was rooted in the present and the future, too.

What a privilege to experience such a tender love song with its tale of ongoing legacy and lasting love.