Yesterday's Hero
The news became big news and travelled far and wide
That the great sporting hero had suddenly died
He was buried with honours and at his graveside
The club President spoke of one who brought honour and pride
As Captain of the club some five decades ago
When he was the one everyone wished to know
In the football final he inspired the team
To bring to reality what had been a dream
He served up a marvellous footballing display
And in the Club's greatest victory he was man of the day
But time left him gray and the years left him slow
The one who was hero five decades ago
And on leaving the graveyard a young boy to his father did say
It was yesterday's hero they buried today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Yesteryear's Hero
Ten years ago he was a hero a parade for him in the Town
But now he is seen as a has been they built him up and dragged him down
Where are they now when he most needs them him they no longer wish to know
He now is one of the forgotten their hero of a decade ago.
When he kicked the winning goal in the final he done himself and the club proud
The band played for him in his Hometown and the cheering for him it was loud
Alcohol now is the only comfort of a man who was a sporting king
His glory days for him are over his praises they no longer sing.
Some of him say he once was a hero his brown hair is now turning gray
And though only in his mid thirties he has known a far better day
In his honour they had big parties to him their toasting glasses they did raise
But now they have another hero another one that they can praise.
Ten years ago he was a hero when he was in his glorious prime
The Town Councillors sung his praises and the poets by him inspired to rhyme
The goal he kicked for his Club in the final happened to be the winning score
But now he is Yesteryear's hero though he is only thirty four
poem by Francis Duggan
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He Was A Big Hero
He has just turned fifty his fastest pace slow
He is not the man he was twenty years ago
When they used to toast him at the local pub
And he was the hero of the football club
But time it did not wait for him time it ticked on
And he can only talk now of his better days gone
When he was his football club's number 1 player
And he could run as fast as a wildborn hare
And though he has such good memories of the past
The Seasons came and went and time went so fast
Whilst yet not an old man his hair is quite gray
And clearly he has known a far better day
Two decades ago when his hair was dark brown
He was a big hero the toast of the town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Old Jimmy
With the aid of walking stick he shuffles down the side street and time has left him looking stiff and gray
And truly it can be said of old Jimmy that he is one who has known a better day
Ageless father time takes care of everybody there was a time when he could run quite fast
But now he only can walk at a slow pace and all of his better days are in the past.
He was a football hero in his heyday the best on ground in nineteen forty one
The day that his club played in the Grand Final without him the Premiership could not be won
Close to his prime and in his early twenties on looking back that seems so long ago
It's true that time leaves it's mark on everybody the man who once ran fast now walking slow.
The hard games of football he played in now on him telling he has arthritis in his painful right knee
An injury that forced him into retirement when he was past his prime at thirty three
Back in the forties and fifties he was a football hero but football heroes like the seasons come and go
And that he once was a Grand Final hero is something few young people wish to know.
Old Jimmy slowly shuffles down the side walk a mere shell of the man he used to be
In forty one he starred in the Grand Final when he was near his prime at twenty three
And father time has left his mark on Jimmy and time 'tis said for anyone doesn't wait
And the grim reaper will take the king and pauper and the grim reaper will take the football great.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Dan Leary
Dan Leary hard man of Millstreet Gaelic Football
He was a fearless fellow on his day
He took and gave some hard bone crunching tackles
And from a challenge never backed away.
Dan Leary was a hero of my childhood
And a hero in the Millstreet green and gold
And about his bravery on the Gaelic playing fields
Some quite amazing stories have been told.
I often saw Dan Leary play for Millstreet
In summer when the roses were in bloom
Against the better club teams in Cork County
In venues such as Coachford and Macroom.
When Millstreet were a force in Gaelic football
On looking back that seems so long ago
The heroes of my childhood years are ageing
And father time has left them gray and slow.
Dan Leary's sprightly younger brother Willie
A Gaelic footballer one never could forget
Twice in a Munster final in Killarney
Rasping shots from his boot bulged the Kerry net.
Long years ago when I was a young fellow
Four decades back and that's a lengthy span
Dan Leary played at corner back for Millstreet
And in his prime he was a fearless man.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Hero?
Her hero is pretty and thin
Her hero is a hero to many
A hero of fame and a hero of fortune
A role model, a hero of glamour
Her hero is a hero to many
His hero is fit and fast
His hero is a hero to many
A hero of sport, a hero of games
A role model, a hero of victory
His hero is a hero to many
Her hero is clever yet plane
Her hero is a hero to few
A hero of science, a hero of logic
A role model, a hero of knowledge
Her hero is a hero to few
His hero is a hero of art but he is poor
His hero is a hero to few
A hero of word a hero of writings
A role model, a hero of language
His hero is a hero to few
But that’s the thing with your heros....
Hero worship is only skin deep.
poem by Timothy Venard
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He Is Such A Joyful Winner
He is such a joyful winner but he does not like to lose
His favourite team won at the weekend so he went on the booze
He could not go to work today he feels fuzzy in the head
And nursing his hangover he lay at home in bed.
A football mad young person he surely loves the game
To be the Club's best barracker is his great claim to fame
At every goal his team kicks he whoops aloud in joy
The man in his late twenties at heart remains a boy.
His beanie in his Club Football colours to bed he even wear
His Club as important to him as his wife and children his type no longer rare
In the pub with his drinking mates their main topic is football
The great players and the winners and the losers of the weekend games they recall.
His team won at the weekend but he is in bed today
For too much celebrating his price he has to pay
He proudly wears the Club colours of his favourite football team
And every victory that they have good for his self esteem.
poem by Francis Duggan
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He Is That Man
He is that man who sent young men to die
In battle underneath a foreign sky
And wars are never won if lives are lost
In human life how can one count the cost.
He is that man who led the big parade
And to him went the victory accolade
The men who died for him are now forgot
And he the hero never fired one shot.
He is that man with hair of silvery gray
A hero then a hero still today
He took the fame the honour and the pride
And many young men for his ego died.
He is that man who with his wife on sunday
Go to the house of God to kneel and pray
But still the taint of sin with him will stay
Of young lives lost for him so far away.
The hurt of loss with mothers will remain
Due to this man who caused such grief and pain
He sent their sons beyond the sea to die
In battle underneath a foreign sky.
He is that man with hair of silvery gray
A hero then a hero still today
The men who died for him are now forgot
And he the hero never fired one shot.
poem by Francis Duggan
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This Is The Football Season
This is the football Season it is that time of year
When men in the pub talk football as they enjoy their beer
And look forward to September when one club will fly the winner's flag
The team that wins the Premiership gives their fans the right to brag.
Their wives nicknamed the footy widows their husbands at the football club
Or after work talking football with their mates down at the local pub
They take football so seriously 'tis their passion in life
The footy fan loves his football club as much as his children or his wife.
And if their team lose at the weekend they feel and look so sad
What's known as football addiction they seem to have it bad
They feel sad for their football team and the chance of four premiership points gone
But they cheer up and look forward to next weekend's game as the working week wears on.
This is the football Season football has gone to their head
And their football scarves and beanies they even wear to bed
About their team they feel so passionate as if to them it did belong
And 'tis with delight and pride in victory that they sing the club song.
poem by Francis Duggan
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William Leary
William Leary is one of the famed Learys of Millstreet a Cork and Duhallow legend of the Gaelic Football game
He played football for Cork and his Club Millstreet and is now in the Duhallow sporting Hall of Fame
He once scored two goals in a Munster Final in Killarney a feat that is still talked of today
In his Gaelic Football career a remembered highlight though many great games the great one did play.
William Leary in his prime a dashing forward one of the great footballers of Millstreet
He proved a headache for opposing defenders with his ball skills he was so quick on his feet
And off of the field of play a successful business person beyond Millstreet known and liked far and wide
To his family and his many friends around Duhallow his many achievements are a sense of pride.
William Leary is now in his early seventies it has been some time since he has played football
One of the great Gaelic Footballers of Millstreet as those who watched him play can well recall
It has been four decades and a few years and that is looking back in time
When he cheered Millstreet hearts with his marvellous ball skills he was a speedy fellow in his prime.
Good to see him with his wife and family on the Millstreet web site on his induction into Duhallow's Hall of Fame
With honour he wore the Cork and Millstreet Jerseys and with honour he carries the famous Leary name
I watched him play when i was a young fellow and that is going back many years ago
He was a dashing forward in his prime years the one who left speedy defenders looking slow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Toots Kelleher From Millstreet
In the late forties and all through the fifties and that's going back in time
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet was in his glorious prime
In the game of Gaelic Football the great man knew great fame
And through the length and breadth of Ireland his was a well known name.
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet was one of Ireland's best
And he never was found wanting when he was put to the test
The poets and song writers they sung his praises loud
And in Duhallow we revered him of him we felt so proud.
For Cork and his Club Millstreet some marvellous games he played
And despite the passing decades the memories do not fade
Of Toots Kelleher from Millstreet fearless in the field of play
A legend in his life time and a legend still today.
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet is at rest forever more
But often in flights of fancy I can hear the mighty roar
Of the Munster final crowd in Killarney when Toots had the football
A memory to cherish and a memory to recall.
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet his praises have been sung
Often watched him play for Millstreet years ago when I was young
Exuberant in victory and gallant in defeat
One who was hero worshipped but never knew conceit.
A Champion Gaelic Footballer we honour him today
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet at peace forever lay
His name will live forever in the history of Gaelic Football
And the Reaper who has claimed him will one day claim us all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Young Fellow Next Door
The young fellow next door barracks for Hawthorn
And after school he kicks the egg shaped ball
He wants to be as great as Jason Dunstall
And that his name football historians will recall.
He wants to don the brown and gold of Hawthorn
And star in a grand final winning team
But the road ahead won't be easy for Tony
If one day he's to realize his dream.
If he is to be a great footy player
He must train hard for twelve months every year
He must impress the coaches and football scouts
And stay well clear of narcotics and beer.
The young fellow next door says he'll be famous
And that for the Hawthorn Football club he'll Play
And that he will be the talk of all Australia
Ten years from now on the grand final day.
A nine year old with big dreams is the schoolboy Tony
He says i'll be an Aussie sporting great
And i will lead Hawthorn back to glory
And the footy fans my name will celebrate.
On every street there is one like young Tony
Who has this dream of an enduring fame
Who is the hero of the great Grand Final
And kicks the famous goal that wins the game.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Frank Riordan
He and Neily Lehane in the late sixties they formed a Club and a Gaelic Football team
And the Football Club they christened Slanan Rovers and Cloghoula people back then had a dream
That they might one day be Duhallow Champions but to win in any grade quite hard to do
And though out of dreams great ideas have been born dreams are dreams and they don't always come true.
Frank Riordan was the President of Slanan Rovers and of the honour he felt very proud
And of the footballers who wore the Slanan jersey he spoke in glowing terms and sang their praises loud
And with help from the likes of Joe and Noel Buckley, Danny Healy and Dave Sheehan as well as many others who rallied around
A football club was thriving in Cloghoula and many willing helpers to be found.
The untimely death at a young age of Danny Healy a great blow to Cloghoula and it's football team
He was liked by the officials and players and by so many held in high esteem
But the likes of Frank Riordan and Neily Lehane worked all the harder their motto all for one and one for all
And Slanan Rovers survived for a decade and in Duhallow played Gaelic football.
Frank Riordan was the President of Slanan Rovers a Gaelic Football Club formed close to Millstreet Town
Till emigration and a dwindling population the curtain on them finally brought down
But then suppose nothing can last forever and Slanan Rovers like all had their day
And life goes on and time brings about changes and things are quiet now up Cloghoula way.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Woman Five Doors Down
The woman five doors down tells me her son Ted is the best player in the school football team
And that one day he will play in an A.F.L. Grand Final and that more than once of late she's had this dream
Of watching him receive the Coleman medal for best on ground on football's biggest day
Watched by well over ninety thousand people who cheer him on with a loud hip hooray.
But locals who know of football and watched Ted play say he will never play at the top grade
That he won't go down Swanston Street in the back of a lorry
to loud applause in the Grand Final Parade
They say his mother greatly over rates him and that in his team he's just an average player
And that not one in his club will play A.F.L. football with good under age players they do not compare
Ted's mother believes her son will be a football hero and she seemed so convinced that she convinced me
But others who have seen him play say different and with her opinions they do not agree
They say that she will end up disappointed that her dreams for her son will not come true
That he won't make a career out of football another line of work he must pursue.
The woman five doors down tells me her son Ted will one day play in the famed M.C.G.
And be the hero of a great Grand Final in a game that will go down in history
And though others seem to think that she's only dreaming I hope her son will be a football great
And that she will applaud him in the Grand Final and the football fans his name will celebrate.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Locals Are The Premiers
Above the Local oval for twelve months will fly the Premiership flag
The Locals are the Premiers they can afford to brag
Down at the Footy Club they are celebrating and singing the Club song
The fans are in a party mood they will sing all night long.
The Locals are the Premiers the champion team this year
Their fans are celebrating they will drink heaps of beer
Since the final siren was blown today the fans have sung long and loud
The Local team have won the day and have done themselves proud.
Lets hear it for the Premiers a mighty hip hooray
The local football fans are cheering in this their greatest day
For the winners joy and the losers heartache that's life as some would say
Life has it's good and bad times and it has always been this way.
The local football team are Premiers and their fans celebrate
Two decades since the last flag was won but it was a worth the wait
The town pubs are in a festive mood they will party on all night
And down at the Football Club Rooms the fans whoop in delight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Those Legs That Once Could Run So Fast
Those legs that once could run so fast feel heavy now and slow
He sure is not the man he was some forty years ago
He played football with his young mates he drank till pub closing time
But that was many years ago when he was in his prime,
On looking back the decades time seems to have gone fast
He had his good days one must suppose though nothing seems to last
And time catches up on all of us though some with hair dye cover their gray
But Mother Nature on us all does have the final say,
Forty five years ago he was the hero of the local Football team
In the cup final he kicked the winning goal a boost to his self esteem
By his team-mates he was shouldered from the field of play the cheers for him rang loud
And thinking of his glorious hour still makes him feel so proud
And now at night he sits at home with his ageing and forgetful wife
And time is catching up on him one might say such is life.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Young David The Under Fourteen
With the local football club he plays under fourteen
In their football colours the black, brown and green
He dreams in the A F L he will star one day
Against Australia's finest he will be picked to play.
Everytime I see young David he's with the egg shaped ball
Playing by himself or with other boys in the park for his age he is tall
His dream is to play as number one ruckman for his favourite team Geelong
Enjoying a great victory as he sings the Club song.
Most boys of his age have a wish or a dream
To win a gold medal or play with a top football team
But not all dreams do come true everyone can't know fame
Still it is nice to dream of great things just the same.
He is the top ruckboy in his football team
And as a player of promise he knows local esteem
But few good juvenile players into great players grow
And young David he still has a long way to go.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Denny Long Of Annagloor
A two time All Star Gaelic Footballer about him he inspired many a song
The pride of Cork and Millstreet the marvellous Denny Long
Arguably Ireland's finest midfielder when he was in his prime
The memory of his greatness will not fade out in time.
His great positional sense and accurate kicking was a pleasure to behold
And the story of his rise to fame it often has been told
From Annagloor to Croke Park he made it all the way
The cheers rang out for Denny on All Ireland Football Final day.
A Gaelic Football legend of the seventies the years have left him slow
But he was quite a hero some three decades ago
So stylish and athletic Sportsmen like him are rare
And with the best in Ireland he surely do compare.
It was a privilege to have seen him play he was a credit to the game
All Irelands, All Stars and County Championship medals and one who knew great fame
His lengthy and accurate kicking his great useage of the football
A great player the Gaelic Football fans remember and recall.
He reached heights in Gaelic Football that only few attain
And though his better days behind him the memories remain
Of Denny Long of Annagloor a Gaelic Football great
He often gave us reason for to cheer and celebrate
poem by Francis Duggan
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My daddy died when I was two years old. My mother raised my two older brothers and me. And we couldn't have had a better situation. I mean, she was the - ran the concession stand at the Little League, and she was the first woman president of The Touchdown Club, the booster club for the high school football team. And so, I had a wonderful childhood.
quote by Haley Barbour
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Con Kelleher Of Aubane
One of the founder members of the Aubane Gaelic Football Team
And for them to win a Duhallow Championship had always been his dream
And though Aubane never won Duhallow and their Football Club no more
I still can visualize Con Kelleher cheering when their forwards broke to score.
I still see him on the side line and he urging Aubane on
As the Aubane men struggled bravely just to win this one for Con
And though his great dream died with him for dreams seldom come true
May he rest in peace Con Kelleher Aubane's truest of the true.
Along with Johnny Big Jack and Jimmy Mickey and Jimmy Buckley too
And Dan Twomey, Jackie Lane and Sonny Buckley some of the fellows who
Gave to Aubane a Gaelic Football Club in sixty four or five
Though such small clubs in rural Ireland quite unlikely to survive.
Con Kelleher's son Denis resurrected Aubane but it was a flickering flame
For they only lasted one or two years and they never won a game,
The curse of emigration of Aubane had taken toll
And the place without young people a place with an ageing soul.
May he rest in peace Con Kelleher the man who dared to dream
He was once the inspiration of the Aubane Football Team
For him and the club co founders the final bell has tolled
And the young men he once urged on are now looking grey and old.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I am My Hero
Of
course! !
I am a hero,
my hero,
your hero,
CNN hero,
Fox Taxis Oil toxic hero
my street mate hero,
my African roommate hero,
United nation hero,
unesco
unicef
moncef
duracef
charl
du champs hero,
picasso hero
mozart,
bethoven
chichina
lovesky
hero,
and everybody hero?
of! course! ! ! ! !
-not off course-
I LOVE
MYSELF...
DO YOU THINK
OR DREAM
I OR i
WILL SELL MY SELF? ? ?
? ? ?
OR ASK FOR
YOUR
APPROVAL,
SQUARED AND OVAL
AS YOU
LOVE IT TO BE..
Of course i am
my own hero
but,
also
i am sure...
everyone is my hero.
poem by Atef Ayadi
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