The Peoples Champion
By Conor Galvin
The tension in the hall is suffocating as Gerry makes his way through the double doors of the IWA building. His hands which once propelled sliotars eighty yards are now frail and tremble as he gently wrestles open the door. A smile illuminates his face. He shuffles across the polished wooden sprung floor, as always donning his ritualistic blue cap and black waterproof jacket. Despite hitting ‘the wall’ in the marathon of life he keeps inching forward. Long term ailments have robbed him of mobility but nothing will stop from doing a job for the men and women he loves so much. His charisma burns as brightly as ever. He makes his way to the timekeeping table and takes his seat. In only 5 days time the European Championships will kick off in Finland. Ireland have qualified for the first time in their history and team preparations have been ramped up to a gruelling 21 hours a week. The players make their way onto the court, each one in turn wheeling across the floor to greet Gerry who reciprocates a smile and slowly raises his right fist in the air.
The training bell sounds and the men and women of the Irish Wheelchair Rugby team go hell for leather. The pace is unyielding and exhausting. Gerry metronomically reacts to the emotion on the court and bellows out encouragement. His diminished lung capacity makes the words sometimes inaudible but always heartfelt. For several years Gerry has been making the short pilgrimage from his house in Clontarf to the IWA sports hall. His passionate engagement with wheelchair rugby was conceived in the twilight years of his life but it was a match made in heaven. His infectious enthusiasm and unconditional love forged an immediate bond with all players and staff. Gerry knew all their stories, the tragedies behind the smiling faces. Ground zero of human emotion. He loved every minute and adopted each one in his heart. Today was a special day for the squad. This was the day they would receive their Irish team jerseys for the Europeans. For many of them this would mark their finest hour. The coronation of years of sacrifices. It had been agreed amongst the squad and coaches that Gerry would present the jerseys to each player, a recognition of a special bond.
Gerry was born and bred in Traverstown, Nenagh. His short migration to Dublin would change the lives of many. He put down roots in Ardscoil Rís school and catapulted himself into the world of Vincents GAA Club. Every waking minute of his adult life was spent either in the classroom or the coaching paddock. He carried an unconditional decency. The ability to see the good in everyone. The unique ability to break down barriers and build relationships. Uncontrived. He allowed the world full access to his heart and mind. He never gave in to the cynicism. He had an extraordinary gift to inspire young people. He was simply known as “Gerry” to one and all, even in the corridors of Ardscoil Rís where Christian brother ethos and formality dictated otherwise. He always considered himself an ordinary man, “Gerry” would always suffice. For years in there was always a race to be in his car on the way to a match. It was always punctuated with his loud bellowing laugh and a few Barley sugar sweets! His motivational pre match orations became a thing of legend, even in the underage ranks where profanities were often par for the course depending on the opposition ….!
Gerry was not without his demons. He experienced massive loss and dark times in life just like everyone else. What made him unique was his ability to keep moving forward. The tragedy and sudden death of his close friend Luke Smith was one such occasion which sent him spiralling into the dark abyss. He fought the demons in his quieten time. The passing of Luke made Gerry even more determined to bring love to the world. He would fight on. He never had kids of his own but hundreds of children who passed through his class and dressing room doors formed lifetime bonds that would last forever. Nobody could ever take his religion or values away from him. Honesty and integrity. Trusting of his fellow man till the day he died.
The Wheelchair Rugby team had gathered in a circle when Head Coach Stuart McLindon called Gerry across. Surprised by the interaction with the teams inner dealings he made his way across the floor. There was absolute silence as Gerry was beckoned inside the circle. Team captain Alan Lynch rolled out towards him, “Gerry, I’ll get straight to the point, we’d be honoured if you’d present the jerseys to us ahead of the Euros,” he shot Gerry a broad smile, “you mean a lot to everyone down here and I speak for all of us when I say you’re very much a part of the family of Irish wheelchair rugby.” Gerry was stunned, his chiselled face yielded to the emotion. The team encroached closer as Gerry delivered an off the cuff oration about life and sport. He spoke of how much everyone in the room meant to him, the importance of winning but more so the importance of friendship. He sucked back tears as he spoke of the honour in representing them. After a rousing ovation he gave out the jerseys. His spirit indomitable despite the physical frailty. When it was all over he shuffled back out of the hall. Crystallised tears of pride clinging to his cheeks. He turned the car for home where his niece Josephine had fresh scones and a hot pot of tea brewing. The simple things in life. His great friend Liam Moggan had a beautiful expression he often used as master of ceremonies of the Dublin City marathon; “Miles to run and promises to keep……” Gerry ran the miles and kept all the promises he ever made in life. A perfect creature from another galaxy.
“But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams….” — William Butler Yeats.
