Gary Brennan is only 27 years of age.
27.
It feels like he’s been one of the best players in Ireland for the last 15 years.
It feels like he’s been toiling along, never getting the recognition his talent fully deserved, and that this special run in 2016 might be one of his last chances to do something with the county he loves so well.
But, Jesus, he’s only getting going.
On Saturday, the Banner boys rolled up to Salthill and nothing but no-one was going to stand in their way of a place in the All-Ireland quarter-finals.
Not a Roscommon team that’s been threatening to set the island alight for a while now.
Not a 38th minute red card for Cathal O’Connor.
Not an Enda Smith goal.
And no-one in their right minds would dare stand in the way of the bulldozing Gary Brennan every time he had built up a frightening head of steam and came charging down the Galway pitch, eating up the yards of Salthill like a seasoned racehorse.
Some men were born to play this game.
Some men were born for Croke Park and it’s a travesty that headquarters had to wait until 2014 to host one the game’s finest warriors in its most hallowed battleground.
But presented with the opportunity to lead his county back into the capital for a historic championship quarter-final, Gary Brennan simply wasn’t going to be stopped.
He prowled around Salthill like a man possessed.
He was fetching ball from the sky for fun in the first half and, when he hit the ground, it caused absolute bloody destruction. It was like a wound-up toy truck, shooting forward as soon as the wheels felt friction.
Roscommon couldn’t handle him. Men were literally hanging off of Gary Brennan’s tree-trunk limbs as he rammed his way through tackle after tackle and spread mass devastation through the Connacht rearguard like he had fear shooting through the rest of the shaken island.
Everything he touched translated to earth-shattering momentum. Even when his midfield partner O’Connor saw red, Brennan was there taking the ball wherever he was available and physically lifting the siege when his county needed him to. He broke the lines, he tore through Roscommon like they were only a paper wall in his road and, even when he went into full forward, he couldn’t be suppressed whenever a size five was kicked anywhere in his direction.
The number eight is a throwback to a bygone era.
He’s a throwback to the traditional midfielder who went out and won his own battles. He went out and won primary possession, he made it easy for his keeper, and he hounded the ball down when it wasn’t in his hands. If Brennan so much as got a sniff of leather, he was driving straight up the pitch again, direct, purposefully, powerfully.
If he couldn’t carry it any farther, he was teeing lads up for handy scores or eventually he was being dragged to ground whenever the Rossies had recruited enough muscle to wrestle with the beast. There wasn’t one possession wasted when Clare’s captain was protecting the ball in his uncompromising clutches.
It’s rare now you find a man of such impressive physique, moving so freely, playing so skillfully and fighting as if his whole life depended on it.
Gary Brennan is the complete package. He is the archetypal Gaelic Footballer and we must strive to ensure his species’ survival.
Say hello to the new breed of midfielder if Joe Brolly's proposed rule changes are enforced, @ConanDoherty writes https://t.co/yIbDx4w0Gf
— SportsJOE (@SportsJOEdotie) July 22, 2016
He is the closest thing to Anthony Tohill this country has seen in the last decade and no man has earned a place at Croke Park against a provincial champion more than Gary Brennan has. No man is suited better to that stage and no man deserves to lead his county into that spotlight more than the big man does.
Clare have made history, they’ve won a league, their season is a success.
Whatever happens, if Gary Brennan isn’t honoured with an All-Star at the end of it all, everyone on the west coast are perfectly within their rights to boycott the games for as long as they like.
But, whatever happens, this isn’t the end of the road for them. And this sure as hell isn’t the end of the road for Gary Brennan.
He’s only 27. He’s only getting going.
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