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As was the norm, the last time I spoke with Martin Horgan, one of us was either coming or going to a football pitch. Trudging off with a bag of balls, shoving singlets into a box, making some arrangement for the pushing of some project or others, the complexion of sporting satisfaction evident in our visage. Perhaps because it was always in places like that that we encountered each other, my memories are so precious and so sad. Pitches were a playground in our youth, and in our more mature years, they still represent a leap from the reality of life. Perhaps that is why I love them so much. That reality hit home this week when Martin passed away, his death sending shockwaves throughout the sporting community in Galway and his wide circle of family and friends.

Dear Editor,