2025 All-Ireland Hurling Final – A Day at Croke Park

I’ve just returned from Ireland, where I was lucky enough to get tickets for the 2025 All-Ireland Senior Hurling Championship Final. The match was a complete sell out, with 82,300 in attendance and demand could easily have filled the stadium ten times over.

The final itself was a spectacle, with Tipperary triumphing 3-27 to 1-18, playing with all the pace, precision, and passion that hurling at its best delivers. Cork, chasing a first Liam MacCarthy since 2005, carried the weight of expectation all year. But, as so often in Irish sport, the so called underdogs had their day.

What struck me most, though, was that this wasn’t just a match, it was a celebration of Irish identity, tradition, and community. Hurling, like shinty in our Highland glens, isn’t just a sport. It’s an expression of who we are.

Beyond the skill and intensity on the pitch, one of the most moving aspects was the unity of the fans. Just like in shinty, there was no segregation, no stewards forcing distance between colours. Just Cork and Tipp supporters shoulder to shoulder: families, old friends, strangers united in love for the game.

The same held true in the streets before and after the match. Both sets of fans mingled freely in bars, restaurants, and cafés across Dublin, the red and blue blending with laughter and conversation. There was a real sense of shared pride and mutual respect. It reminded me so much of the Highlands: at our biggest matches, from the Camanachd Cup Final to the fiercest local derbies, opponents on the field are often neighbours and friends off it. That sense of community and cultural continuity shines through in both games.

Hurling and shinty are not products of modern sport. They are ancient warrior games, with roots stretching back thousands of years. You feel that weight of time in the clash of the ash, in the roar of the crowd, in the songs that echo through the streets.

Hurling and shinty are cousins, split by geography but bound by soul. Both are fierce, fast, and physical, yet also beautifully skilled and poetic in motion. Both have endured attempts to suppress them. And both now stand as symbols of cultural resurgence, of lands that remember their languages, their music, their stories.

Standing in Croke Park, looking out at a sea of county flags and painted faces, I didn’t just feel like a guest, I felt like a fellow Gael. Because when Cork and Tipperary met, it wasn’t just a battle for silverware, it was a living festival of Irish history, spirit, and pride. A reminder that we, too, must continue to nurture and celebrate our own Highland games, our clubs, our communities, and the young players coming through.

As I stood among the passion of the Irish crowd, I reflected on the ancient ties between Ireland and Scotland – bonds that go far deeper than sport.

Long before there was a border, or even the name “Scotland” there was Dál Riata, a Gaelic kingdom stretching from northern County Antrim across the Inner Hebrides into Argyll. From the 5th century AD, Gaelic-speaking peoples (then called Scoti) moved freely across the North Channel, carrying with them their language, culture, and games. In fact, what we now call Scotland owes its very name to these Irish settlers.

By around 500 AD, the ruling family of Irish Dál Riata had established strongholds at Dunadd and Dunollie, laying the roots of what would become the Kingdom of Scotland. Though the Irish branch of Dál Riata declined after Viking invasions, the culture endured. In the 9th century, Kenneth MacAlpin united the Scoti and the Picts, and the land became known as Scotland, still rich in its Gaelic soul.

That shared ancestry is still visible today, in our languages, music, and games. Hurling and shinty, two branches from the same ancient tree, continue to be played with fierce pride and incredible skill. They are not just games, they are living echoes of Dál Riata, expressions of a culture never broken, only reshaped.

In both Ireland and Scotland, these are more than sports. They are guardians of tradition, carriers of language and pride. They link our past to our present, offering young people a sense of belonging, heritage, and hope.

Watching Tipperary lift the Liam MacCarthy Cup, I didn’t just witness a sporting triumph, I saw the spirit of a people: resilient, rooted, and proud. The very same spirit I see in our shinty clubs every weekend, in the hands of children learning to strike a ball, in the voices of elders sharing stories of past glories.

Cork’s wait continues. Tipperary rise again. And for me, this was more than just a match, it was a vivid reminder of how alive our shared Gaelic heritage still is, on both sides of the water.

For me, Croke Park isn’t just a stadium, it holds a special memory. I had the honour of playing there as a schoolboy in the 1990s, representing a Scotland schools select team during the interval of the All-Ireland semi-finals. It was just after the stadium redevelopment, and stepping onto that pitch, even for a few minutes, was unforgettable. To return all these years later as a spectator was something truly special.

Alan