Sporting perspective can sometimes be found in unlikely places. There we were, rubbing the sleep from our eyes around 5.30am en route to Dublin airport, when our taxi driver told us a poignant story. The youngest of 10 brothers from the tough side of town, his hobby was pigeon racing. His goal was to win one of the classic races in France, no easy task for Irish pigeons required to fly across several hundred kilometres of sea to reach their distant loft.
One year, one of his younger birds miraculously achieved the holy grail. There was now a rare opportunity to breed a long line of future champions. Or, at least, there might have been had one of his neighbour’s cats not crept in over the backyard fence. In the confusion it was not initially clear which of the 50-odd pigeons had been taken but, in his heart, their owner already knew which one it was. Sure enough, his irreplaceable wonder bird was gone, never to return.
