Sligo's new era needs a shock afternoon

In the summer of 1977, Moss Keane set off on the kind of rugby tour that would have made most men gladly trade a finger: New Zealand, with the Lions. It was a pilgrimage as much as a sporting expedition - three months of bruising matches, bitter weather, fierce hospitality and enough camaraderie to last a lifetime. In the Land of the Long White Cloud, rugby is stitched into the flag and forward play is treated as a form of liturgy with just more violence. This was paradise for a young Kerry lock like Keane.

Over that summer Keane found himself rucking in provincial backwaters and Test arenas alike, locking horns with legends and soaking in the passion of fans across the South Pacific. It was the kind of tour that offered highlight after highlight - the ceremonial defiance of the haka, the silent awe of Eden Park, the strange joy of watching a ball soar in front of a mountain backdrop.

He played alongside the best of Britain and Ireland and against men who seemed bred on nothing but the oval ball and the urge to rearrange your ribcage. Off the field, there would’ve been all the usual theatre - stories swapped in bars, practical jokes, long coach rides through unfamiliar countryside and that giddy, surreal feeling of being on the other side of the world, wearing a jersey that belonged to everyone and no one.

After returning home, the Currow native was asked what his fondest memory from that tour had been. The expectation was obvious - one of their ferociously fought Test matches, an face-to-face encounter with one of the all-time great All Blacks or some other dressing room memory worthy of inclusion in rugby’s dusty annals.

But Keane shrugged and said: “Hearing that Kerry had beaten Cork in the Munster final.” In its own deadpan way, Keane’s line told a bigger truth, not just about him, but about Irish sport itself - a win over the neighbour often tastes sweeter than anything earned under floodlights in faraway cities. These are the victories that don’t always glitter, but they glow in the memory. Ask any hurler from Clare about that Munster semi-final in the rain, or the old Dublin footballers who still grin when Meath are mentioned.

Beating the lads next door, especially when you're not supposed to, is the currency of belief in counties that don't dine at the top table very often. There’s no great mystery to it. You can keep your trophies; what most counties want is a day. They want an occasion when the pub fills early, when the crowd is jittery before the parade sets off around the pitch and when the priest shortens mass to give people a chance to get in through the turnstiles early.

Sligo haven’t had one of those days in a while. There have been wins, of course, along with campaigns that were tidy and performances that were commendable. But that unmistakable surge - the one that rips through a county like an extreme weather event - hasn’t been seen in some time.

Bringing Sligo back to those days is the challenge facing its new joint managers, Dessie Sloyan and Eamonn O’Hara. Back in the noughties, they were central to a Sligo side that often stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Connacht’s elite. In 2001, all four western counties reached the Division One league semi-finals - Mayo would go on to become league champions, Roscommon would soon take Connacht and Galway would finish the year as All Ireland champions. But Sligo were there, too - the fourth musketeer. They were a team that could hold its own and throw the occasional punch that landed.

For Sloyan and O’Hara they must cultivate a team that yearns to matter again. And for a county like Sligo, that starts not with medals, but with a moment - one that lands like a shockwave and one that will ultimately linger.

Tony McEntee came dangerously close to one of those big days in recent seasons. Last summer in Markievicz Park, they had Galway wobbling. It was supposed to be a gentle stretch of the legs for the All Ireland contenders. Instead, Sligo dragged them into deep water, gave them trouble and very nearly came away with a win. Sligo led coming down the final stretch, played with intent and shape and just enough snarl to make the favourites sweat. In the end, it took a Galway goal that came late and landed heavy to spare the blushes.

Then came Mayo earlier this year, with another big beast leaving looking rattled. The game eventually slipped away, as it tends to, but not before Sligo asked some awkward questions. For long stretches, they looked like they belonged on the same pitch - not as guests, but as rivals.

There’s a narrative around Sligo football that leans towards resignation, that this is a county happy enough with a tidy league campaign and a gallant exit. But you don’t lead Galway into injury time with a lead unless you’re doing something right. You don’t make Mayo squirm unless you’ve got something about you worth squirming about.

They are closer to their day than most give them credit for. What Sloyan and O’Hara inherit isn’t a wasteland. It’s a team that has been circling the flame. The trick now is to light it.

Nonetheless, the 2025 season won’t be spoken of for long in Sligo. They finished mid-table in Division Three. Their Tailteann Cup run ended in Enniskillen, where Fermanagh saw them off without fuss or fear. It was the kind of year that happens quietly - defeats mixed with a handful of promising performances that never quite joined up.

No county will lose sleep drawing Sligo in 2026. And that, oddly enough, might be their greatest asset. There will be no great weight of expectation, no target on their back. They’ll come into the year as a team to be navigated, not dreaded. But the thing about teams like that is that every so often, one of them bites.

Momentum doesn’t always arrive with fanfare. Sometimes, it slips in quietly, disguised as a win no one saw coming. And then the whole county starts to change shape.

That’s the outlook for 2026. Not titles. Not declarations. Just a single day that cuts through the years of drift.

Sligo don’t need a miracle - they just need a moment.