Maybe it was the fire of Kate Taylor‘s belief, Bray’s warrior queen, crossing thresholds of pain, courage and exhaustion to brilliantly seize the New York night.
It may have been the Antarctic freeze invading Salthill when Henry Shefflin and Brian Cody shared a wintry handshake, one as cold as the polar ice caps.
What about Manchester City and Real Madrid unveiling a breathless, dynamic Champions League epic, a competition brimming with goals and invention?
Or Brian Fenton and Con O’Callaghan, as vivacious as at any point in their careers, contest the thesis that summer is already draped in green and gold ribbons.
Honeysuckle galloped across the horizon of history, a 16th straight win that caused a euphoria among the 40,000+ hordes of Punchestown on Friday night.
Derry’s reach for the stars felt meaningful as Rory Gallagher’s impeccably drilled force stood up to defeat the sleepy All-Ireland Champion Tyrone.
Willie Mullins, the gentleman doyen, reiterated his unique skills as a horse whisperer, nine Grade Ones from an available Punchestown dozen brought a gold-plated exclamation mark to another trainer’s championship.
Even as Munster’s ‘Big Two’, Limerick and Waterford, went on weekend breaks, Clare completed eight redeeming days, adding Cork’s scalp to Tipp, a week that heralds her as the unforgotten third man in the province.
Jurgen Klopp, his team welded to City’s shirttails, agree to extend their Mersey love affair until 2026.
Ronnie O’Sullivan, a virtuoso laden with eccentric wisdom, takes snooker to another dimension of the imagination and joins Stephen Hendry as the seven-time King of the Crucible.
For those who prefer their tapestries with tartan stitching, Glasgow’s Old Firm delivers the latest rollicking chapter in a tribal rivalry as old as time itself.
Rugby’s often-unseen domestic club competitions are enjoying an overdue weekend in the sun, with Clontarf’s 15th consecutive win bathing the seaside club in the brightest light.
Kildare, revived by the lingering passion of her old soldier Glenn Ryan, dismantles Mickey Harte’s Louth revolution with the clinical swagger of a team whose voice will long be heard on summer talks.
A week of storylines, theater and arts was just the latest bright reminder of the sport’s ability to uplift, distract and transport its audiences to a place of wonder.
In what feels like a moment of existential crisis around the world, these athletes – human and horse – and the various Grandmasters at their side continue to mine the priceless resources of hope, passion and intrigue.
It’s easy to take for granted all the magic that unfolds in our sports playhouses.
Klopp’s absolutely perfect line that sport is “the most important of the least important things” echoes through the months, each time a game, race or fight awakens us to a higher state of being.
In an endless cavalcade of extreme feats, while the curtain rises on the latest drama before the ink that heralded the previous headline has dried, the ballplayers, the artists of hurl, cue, or club, the prize-wrestlers, the horse-like speedballs bestow upon us Experiences that go beyond everyday life.
Katie’s unfathomable bravery, her ability to dig deeper than deep and somehow find the highest octane fuel in a tank that seemed to be empty seconds earlier, didn’t just bring an enchanted Madison Square Garden to its feet.
Even three thousand miles away, the involuntary reaction, the irresistible urge, was to shout encouragement, to shadow-box, to get lost beautifully in the seductive power of something visceral, majestic, and preciously real.
In a world of empty bustle, the authenticity of two great gladiators stripping themselves of every last drop of themselves was deeply humbling, deeply intoxicating.
At the end of something titanic and intriguing, an excess of emotion swept Gotham’s most famous sports venue.
Dry eyes wasn’t an option for anyone who understood the heroic investment of Serrano and Taylor, two absurdly brave titans.
The stakes were just as high as Shefflin and Cody, for so long the two torch bearers on the top hurling team, squared off on the windswept Atlantic Seaboard.
The game was riveting, the body language on the sidelines — culminating in the most talked-about handshake since Keane/McCarthy — riveting enough to endow at least half the nation with amateur psychology degrees.
Kevin De Bruyne, Karim Benzema, Tony Kelly, Fenton, O’Sullivan, a chorus of grace amid fury, poets waxing lyrical on the fevered battlefields took turns to make the heart beat.
This is sport at its finest. A source of vitality even in the darkest hour; a powerful retaliation against the emotional onslaughts of war, plague and inflation.
A timely reminder from Katie and friends that no matter how foul the real-world stink, there’s also an alternative, life-affirming scent.
All that is required is the simple act of stopping to smell the sporting roses.
https://www.independent.ie/sport/sport-again-proves-the-most-important-of-the-least-important-things-with-katie-taylors-feat-the-prime-example-41609712.html Sport once again proves the most important of the unimportant things with Katie Taylor’s performance as a prime example