Just 22-years-old, it feels like Andrew Quinn has been around for a lot longer than he actually has been. His second season at Drogheda United complete, he has already lined out for Shelbourne under Damien Duff and spent a campaign at last Saturday’s vanquished opponents Bray Wanderers.

He made his League of Ireland debut a little over four years ago, with Dundalk under the Italian coach Filippo Giovagnoli.

Read more

I’ll start off by saying, this is quite possibly the worst thing I’ve ever written. Over the years, I’ve churned out some absolute stinkers, so I don’t say this lightly. Nothing quite matches this for self-indulgence. Never has my penchant for inarticulateness been so cruelly exposed as it is about to be. I’ll plough on regardless.

I know I can’t eloquently put into words how I feel. I’m about to try but I apologise in advance for how clumsy this will read.

Last Sunday, a day began in hope and ended in an evening of elation in its purest form. I was there to witness almost all of it. I had never seen scenes quite like it. I had attended the FAI Cup Final in 2005 as a 17-year-old but truthfully, my memories of the occasion are non-existent.

I remember going with a friend from school. We managed to finagle a couple of seats on a minibus running from Ardee. We stood behind the goal - and thus ends my entire recollection of that day. Last Sunday is much more vivid, for obvious reasons.

It is a day that will live long in the memory of Drogheda United supporters - and me too. Though I have a confession to make. By the end, I didn’t really want to be there. I didn’t feel particularly comfortable. It was an overwhelming occasion and it did get the better of me.

It has happened before. I’ve sat in concert arenas among thousands of others or even in packed football stadiums with tens of thousands of people all around me. And yet, I’ve felt like the loneliest person in the world.

Unfortunately, as I write this, my ability to encapsulate my feelings has deserted me. This will likely read less like a powerful essay on mental health and more the disjointed ramblings of a man who can’t articulate what’s going on in his head.

Over the years, I’ve become accustomed to my life being a solo pursuit in almost every way. I work alone and socialise alone, generally speaking.

I should caveat this by saying I feel guilty for feeling this way. Especially in light of the last seven days. A whole generation of Drogheda United supporters have never known a week like it. The club have tasted success this month on a scale most others can only dream of. There’s always someone who isn’t happy. It turns out that person is me.

That is not necessarily a feeling that is new to me but it is certainly more pronounced at times like these. I stood there last week - surrounded by hundreds of people enjoying scenes that will live long in the memory, moments for some that will be life-defining - simply wishing it would soon come to an end. It made me sad, again, and angry for not allowing myself to be swept up in any way by it. Everyone else can enjoy it so why can’t I?

Why did it make me feel this way? I think it was seeing something so communal - friends, families and even pockets of strangers coming together to celebrate the achievements of this team. It was such a visceral display of jubilation - and so at odds with my life; more solitary than shared.

I looked on in envy too, I suppose. I’ve never been part of anything like that - as a member of a team, a group or even just as a person with shared interest like the thousands of supporters who crammed into the train carriages, buses and cars heading down the M1 on Sunday morning and back again a few hours later - mission complete, joy unconfined.

There are players in the current squad - Douglas James-Taylor, Aaron Harper-Bailey, James Bolger, Luke Dennison and Shane Farrell - who have known virtually nothing but victory in a Drogheda shirt. It isn’t normally this good lads, I swear.

The scenes on the bank of the river Boyne last Sunday night, as the crowd gathered together outside Scotch Hall for the team’s homecoming was a mass outpouring of jubilation the likes of which I’d never seen before close up. You would have had a hard time to find anyone without a beaming, ear-to-ear smile. Or at least a sense of great inner satisfaction.

That was certainly the case for me at least. For others, I suppose I would have been that elusive person. I did smile, but you wouldn’t have to be a body language expert to see it was insincere.

My happiness was tethered, restrained. Being a journalist, I can probably get away with that. No one notices. I’m supposed to act that way - detached, impartial, unbiased. No one expects to see me roaring with approval. I wouldn’t do it, regardless if I felt good or not.

Not for the first time last Sunday night though, I found myself happy for other people but not happy myself. I felt like the only person there who didn’t belong. I watched from the periphery as I’ve always done.

I’ve rarely experienced a true sense of belonging in my life. There have been times when I’ve mistakenly thought I had, but in hindsight, not. Other people seem to cultivate relationships and exist in the orbit of others in a much more natural way than I find possible. A keen observer of others, I can look on but not lock in.

I peeled away from the crowd after the players had taken the cup onto the de Lacy Bridge, where they posed for photos. I walked up Shop Street and turned onto West Street, occasionally spotting supporters who had broken away from the main celebration that was now wrapping up and were heading off to continue their evening in a pub or with a takeaway for those seeking a more sedate finish to a long day. Perhaps it was emotionally draining for those too.

I’ve made this trip - always on my own - hundreds of times, probably more. The further I walked up West Street, the less obvious it became that we were in the middle of something special. The chippers were busier than an average Sunday night. That was the main difference I noticed.

I was ambling along, breathing a little heavier than I usually would. By the time I crossed at the traffic lights on George’s Street and made my way down Trinity Street, my pace quickened as approached my car, parked on the Mell. What’s the rush? I knew I was about to break. I had to make it to my car in time.

I managed it with seconds to spare. I flung my backpack over to the passenger seat and closed the door. Almost instantly, the dam broke and I broke down. The irony that there were likely a lot of tears shed on that day was not lost on me. But these weren’t tears of joy.

The day was too much for me. It left me feeling bereft. And as mentioned earlier, guilt-ridden. Who am I to feel this way? How dare I? For that reason, I left it seven days to write this. I wanted to disassociate it as much from last Sunday as possible.

I didn’t write anything at all for a week. I had nothing to add to what had already been said, written and felt. On an occasion like that, what was difficult was finding my place amongst it all.

I’ve had times like this in my life before. I’ve seen therapists - to varying degrees of success. I feel for them sometimes. Educated and experienced psychotherapists, they struggle with the task of making sense of my inner monologues.

I remember after I published my book in 2021, I went out on the weekend to mark the occasion. I sat alone in a pub, didn’t speak to anyone, drank three pints of lager, went home, sat on the sofa and cried. The writing experience was an unsociable one, understandably, but I hadn’t imagined the publication to be one.

Last year, the local library asked me to give a talk about my book to celebrate Ireland Reads Day. I agreed and did so. No one showed up. The librarian hurriedly asked some people who happened to be milling about the library at the time if they’d like to sit in. Two generously did. It was awkward and embarrassing in equal measure. Perhaps I’m not a man for the minor occasions either.

It’s times like that, that probably sensitise me to feeling how I do about big days or joyous moments. They are alien to me. I don’t know if it’ll ever change, but I’m optimistic that it might.

I realise, for the many of you who became subscribers in the week leading up to the FAI Cup final, this might be one of the first things you’ll have read on this platform. It isn’t normally this morose, I swear.

Normal service will resume tomorrow. Because - what else I am supposed to do? In his post-match press conference last Sunday afternoon, one of the first things Kevin Doherty said was “You can’t hide from the emotion, especially if you’re true to yourself.”

There spoke a man who was celebrating becoming an FAI Cup winning manager, no mean feat. Here was a man who was happy for him, but not necessarily happy.

Get more from Barry Landy in the Substack app

Available for iOS and Android

Get the app

You’re reading The United Review - your post-match dissection of every Drogheda United match this season. Here, we’ll touch on four or five talking points from each game; answering questions and raising some ourselves.

Today, we’re discussing Sunday’s FAI Cup Final - specifically the team selection, likely substitutes, Rob Harvey in the middle and these sides extensive recent history in this competition.

Read more

It’s a wonderful bit of League of Ireland trivia. Name the League of Ireland player who has won the FAI Cup with three different clubs, in three different stadiums. The answer, you’ll have already guessed is Killian Brennan.

He did it with Derry City in 2006, at the old Lansdowne Road, as part of that double winning Bohemians team in 2008 at the RDS and then in 2014, he helped St Patrick’s Athletic end their 53-year wait for a cup triumph at the Aviva Stadium.

Read more

It’s old school journalism. Doorstepping, but without the door. Walking away from Lansdowne Road on the first dark Sunday evening of December 2005, journalist Marcus Cavaroli spotted a familiar face.

Read more

Drogheda United’s fifth FAI Cup Final in 53 years, this Sunday’s game is a generational outing. Players have one shot, a singular opportunity to become legends. Already respected, loved even, they can take their place in club folklore by beating Derry City and bringing the cup back to Drogheda.

Read more

The next seven days will likely go a long way to deciding this one way or another but it would not be a bold statement to say that Drogheda United’s July window may already go down as the best month of mid-season recruitment by any club in League of Ireland history.

Read more

It was at the age of 11 that Frantz Pierrot and his family left Haiti behind for the United States. It is estimated that there are 852,000 Haitian immigrants in the country.

Most are in Florida but there are sizeable Haitian communities in New Jersey, New York and Massachusetts. The latter is where Pierrot spent his years as a teenager and young adult. Now in Ireland, he has an ocean between here and home. He watches on from a distance.

Read more

Kevin Doherty says any perception that Drogheda United may struggle on the Aviva Stadium pitch this Sunday is misguided - and has pointed to successes on other large pitches in the League of Ireland to prove his point.

Read more

It is the defining image of the 1996 FA Cup Final. Eric Cantona, the scorer of the late volleyed winner having triumphantly returned from suspension to lead Manchester United to the double, was for once relegated to a secondary figure in the story.

Read more

Matt Jordan, Trivela Group’s VP of Global Football and Drogheda United’s Director of Football, says that a stigma exists about American owners coming into football clubs in Ireland, the UK and Europe - but hopes Trivela’s work at Drogheda will be considered on it’s own merits.

Read more

Every action you take is a vote for the person you wish to become.

As the curtain drew on Drogheda United’s league season last Friday night, Luke Dennison made his way to the pitch for his warm-up with fellow goalkeepers Andrew Wogan, Jethren Barr and coach Aaron Shanahan. Down the narrow staircase of the clubhouse, he turned right and went through the doors en route to the pitch when he was stopped in his tracks.

Read more

Within a matter of months in the early part of his career, Mick Neville played a part in what at the time was both Drogheda United’s greatest triumph and their darkest day.

Read more

From punter to pivotal figure, Kevin Doherty’s 2024 FAI Cup final experience will be a markedly different one to 12 months ago.

Read more

To say Eamon Zayed’s loyalties will be divided over the course of the next two weeks is an understatement. A League of Ireland veteran of over 200 appearances across six different clubs, the 41-year-old remains an advocate and supporter of the domestic league even from near 5,000 miles away.

Read more