Words by John Morgan | Published 11.03.2026It was a handshake to remember. My 11-year-old hand seemed to disappear into his as he looked down and said, ‘Welcome to Dundalk’.
It was 1977 and Seamus McDowell was the first player to welcome me as a fan of Dundalk Football Club.
I was standing with my father under the main stand at Oriel Park after seeing Dundalk lose for the first time, 4-0 to Finn Harps. Until then, I actually thought they were unbeatable. The look on Seamus’s face was equally sympathetic and amused.
While this would be the first of many tough results, there was something else in the way he talked which told me that, results aside, I would have many more good days than bad following ‘The Town’.
He was right, it was the start of the rollercoaster experience of being a football fan, of Sundays travelling with my father to Dundalk, to Drogheda, to Dublin, to Athlone, to Sligo and all points West. As they say, it’s the hope that kills you.
Unlike the famed Dundalk kit, following the team was not always black and white. Several memories stand out. In 1979, we travelled to Cork by train before taking a bus to Flower Lodge which broke down, with fans getting out to push the bus along the street. To round off the scene of wonderful chaos, the bus driver pulled the door closed with the help of a length of string.
There were exhilarating European nights against PSV Eindhoven, Hajduk Split, Red Star Belgrade, Liverpool, Tottenham Hotspur and a second-leg European Cup tie against Billy McNeill’s Celtic, in front of 16,300 at a packed Oriel Park, when a narrowly missed chance could have put Dundalk into a European Cup quarter final against Real Madrid. Who says you forget the ‘what ifs’ ?
Most of all, it was about the journeys themselves. The car trips to the games were full of optimism. Sometimes about the result, but always that I would eventually persuade Dad to tune into a radio station that I liked. The return journeys were happy, regardless of the result, the last precious hours of the weekend before another Monday school morning dawned for both of us.
Dundalk play Celtic in the 1979/80 European Cup.
Photo Credit: Just Follow The FloodlightsA treasured memory is of being allowed to take time off school to go to a Wednesday evening cup game in Dublin. It was a red-letter day considering my father was a teacher and a stickler for attendance. He gave me a note excusing me from the last class of the day. When I told him that my teacher wasn’t exactly a football fan and was likely to refuse, he calmly said he would meet me at the school gates that afternoon and, if I wasn’t there, he would come up to get me.
We were going to Dublin together, no matter what. I was a shy lad, not given to confidence but I walked into school that morning as light as a breeze.
There was a special bond between supporters and the players. I was lucky enough to meet some very special footballers, like Richie Blackmore, Dermot Keeley, Paddy Dunning, Leo ‘Pop’ Flanagan, Sean Byrne and my hero Tommy McConville.
Tommy had missed out earlier in his career on joining Manchester United before being capped six times for Ireland. He also played a number of games for the League of Ireland representative team.
One year, after the last Dundalk game before Christmas, he pressed a bag into my hand which contained some of the football gear he had worn representing the League of Ireland against a Scottish Football League XI. What a gift for a young fan like me and a sign of his kindness and decency to one of many young supporters.
In later years, when I spent time in the Basque Country, I learned about the iconic game at San Mamés stadium in Bilbao in August 1979 between a Basque Country selection and a League of Ireland XI. I was proud that Tommy was one of those football pioneers who played in that first official fixture for Euskal Selekzioa since the Spanish Civil War.
What was it that kept me coming back as a young man to watch this football team? What was it that interested me enough to make the three-hour round-trip every second Sunday? In truth, it was spending time with my father. It was also spending time with those players I watched creating moments of drama for 90 minutes while, after the game, I sat listening to them and amazingly they listened to me.
Fundamental to being a sports fan is being around other supporters at the game, the same faces who are beside you every second week. My memories of Oriel Park: the welcoming smiles all around, a handshake, a clap on the back, ‘how are you?’, ‘how’s school?’, ‘what about the game today?’, as a bag of sweets was often passed around.
Dundalk captain Dermot Keely and Celtic captain Danny McGrain ahead of the club's European Cup fixture in 1979.
Photo Credit: Dundalk FCWhat attracts any of us to follow sport? Why do we choose to travel such distances every other weekend to spend time in the company of people whom we grow to like but often we won’t see for at least another week until we’re right back in that shared space again. It sounds a bit precious to say it’s a sense of belonging.
Even if you don’t consider yourself to be ‘a people person’, maybe those couple of hours are just enough, maybe they’re exactly what we need before returning to the weekly routine. A breath of fresh air, a chance to be excited, to shout out loud, a chance to be irrational when our normality is so often the opposite.
I think what also keeps us coming back are the memories of special days we spent with the person who brought us to our first game. It’s a connection to loved ones who aren’t here anymore but who will always be with us.
Whatever the reason, it just feels right, it feels comfortable or comforting. No matter the sport, the location or the occasion, I guess it’s about shared experiences.
When my father died some years ago, it made sense to me to go to the next Dundalk home game. Especially in later years, he and I often seemed to understand each other without the need to say anything. So maybe he would understand, even though I may struggle to fully explain it.
The year 2026 marks the centenary of Dundalk FC joining the League of Ireland. It is as good a time as any for supporters like me, who haven’t been to games in recent years as often as we did in the past, to renew our relationship with the club community. My grandfather was a committee member in the club in the 1930s. My father was a supporter of the club for 83 years. I carry that heritage. Whatever the reasons for going to watch sport, it’s often wonderful.
Happy anniversary Dundalk FC. Here’s to more Oriel days.
Dundalk legend Tommy McConville lifts the FAI Cup in 1977.
Photo Credit: Medium