Continuing to show the greatest economy in modern All-Ireland history – four final wins by an aggregate five points – Dublin crowned an exceptional season with the county’s 24th title. On a sweltering afternoon the championship showpiece was claustrophobic, intense and exciting but it disappointed those who had hoped for a firework display between the best teams of the year.

The Irish Times, Monday Sept 23, 2013

I walk into the victorious dressing room at Croke Park in 2013 and all around me is evidence of war. For those who had been in the stand and in the press box, maybe there had been no fireworks in this game but in this dressing room, there are endless signs of battle. This is not a place of celebration, this is an infirmary.

“I’m so tired I can’t even think straight,” I tell an interviewer on the pitch afterwards, but it doesn’t even come close to explaining how I’m feeling. All around me, people are in distress, injured, needing treatment. This is Dublin’s All-Ireland winning dressing room. It is also the foundation stone in the Dublin-Mayo rivalry.

This dressing room at this moment would always be the reference point for me. This dressing room, these broken and exhausted bodies will be the memory that is summoned before every game against Mayo. It was the reason that no Dublin player ever felt a result against Mayo was a given.

Chasing Lee Keegan or Donal Vaughan was the game.

From then on, the games would always be about the battle. We would spend endless hours on tactical breakdowns, on kick-outs, promoting composure on the ball. But once the ball was thrown in the games took on a life of their own and soon sparked into attritional affairs with mistakes and turnovers leading to the games ebbing and flowing. This made the preparation we did on the psychology of the game more important.

There was one tactical element that required the right attitude which would really make an impact was the tagging of runners. We always had to make sure that Mayo’s running game didn’t end up with them goal-side of us. This would define the game and this game would define every other game. But it wasn’t as easy as it sounds. When you played against Mayo the physical intensity and sustained level of repeated sprints was torturous. Chasing Lee Keegan or Donal Vaughan was the game.

In 2013, I remember one moment. It was the middle of the first half and I’m chasing Lee Keegan down the Cusack Stand side of Croke Park as they attack the Canal End. I follow him from inside their 45 into our 14-metre line and through every stride, I can feel the lactate building up in my legs. This shouldn’t be the case so early in the game but the tension and the intensity are doing this to me.

It is a physical manifestation of an emotional response. I keep running with Lee Keegan but at the end of the 90-metre run, Mayo score. Now I have to make another run of similar distance to get into position for the kickout, having failed in a primary objective. On and on it goes, relentless, more than 200 metres to get back to where I started. Running to stand still. In most games, you do this 20 times a half. Against Mayo, it could be double.

The expectation for the 2013 All Ireland might have been shaped by the 2012 semi-final when Mayo beat us in a similarly bizarre game of momentum shifts. Mayo dominated the first 50 minutes executing their strategy and tactics to perfection while we looked like we forgot all the good things that helped us in 2011. We remembered it for the final 20 but it was too late.

In 2013, it was different and it may have been shaped by a sense, shared by both teams, that in 2012 the opposition had been allowed to play in different phases of the game. That wouldn’t happen again. The opening scores of this game, one for each team were indications of how this game was going to play out – and many of the games thereafter. Forced turnovers, blocks, hard-hitting tackles, relentless pressure, and no time or space on the ball.

There were wides in the opening spell, mainly from Mayo and I remember a bit of restlessness in the crowd as the Dublin fans felt that decisions weren’t going our way. We were down and could have been further behind if Mayo had taken their chances.

Our game at this stage was about making it harder for them to take those chances. But this defensive chaos led to a lack of composure and control in offence.

The madness that just unfolded on the pitch wasn’t mirrored, it was absorbed.

After about 15 minutes, Stephen Cluxton kicked the ball straight out of play, evidence again of how Mayo were suffocating our kick-outs – which was the platform for our offensive play. They played a short sideline ball, it pinged around for a bit and ended up in my hands. I don’t recall having time to assess the options, so I did what I always did throughout this era and looked for Bernard Brogan.

Bernard was on fire in this part of his career. He was protected from a lot of the madness of these games as it was mainly the middle third that was crazy. We relied on him to bring the cool head when we got it into him, and this day he did just that, scoring 2-03. The long ball I played in was something we worked on that season but never pulled it off. He will be remembered for his reliable kicking but in this final he scored two goals with his hands. The game was now level and at half-time, we went in only a point behind.

This was Jim Gavin’s first year in charge and his half-time dressing room chats were typically a calming place. The madness that just unfolded on the pitch wasn’t mirrored, it was absorbed. This was one of his key strengths. But before he got in to chat to us there was a real sense of confidence amongst the group. We knew we were in a battle and although there was a queue to see the physios, we felt confident we could up our game. Jim amplified that confidence with an emphasis on composure and control.

The second half reflected our determination and we did bring more control in possession and shut off the supply to the Mayo full forward line. It was us who used turnovers as a platform for our attacks.

We took a three-point lead and we felt a real sense that we were getting ahead before an Andy Moran goal brought an equaliser.

After 52 minutes, Jonny Cooper collided with Moran and our sub was a man you’d want at this stage.

At this stage of his career, Denis Bastick was stuck together. Before the game, he had his two ankles strapped and his two shoulders. The war of attrition was where he came into his own. Denis Bastick was the biggest warrior of us all.

Yet in those moments, he was the player with the wherewithal to implement something we had worked on, rushing forward from midfield, making a run, and providing an option for Michael Darragh McAulay before looking up and picking out Bernard at the far post. A palmed goal epitomised a sense of control and awareness – traits that were missing for a lot of this game.

This weekend, we brace ourselves for another chapter in a storied rivalry

From here we ground out the win, I ended the game in the full-back line due to Rory O’Carroll getting a knock to the head as we’d used our full complement of substitutions. To add to our woes Eoghan O Gara pulled his hamstring and couldn’t leave the field. He stood in the full forward line with no hope of contributing. He was a distraction as Mayo didn’t cop he was injured and man marked him. We had already lost Paul Mannion to injury and Cooper as well. There were men down everywhere and a couple more who remained on the field were running on empty.

We crawled over the line.

This game was the start of the rivalry. Ten years on and nine games later here we are again. The history, the intensity, and the stakes make this encounter as important as the ones that have gone before.

It is a testament to the enduring power of rivalries, where time may pass and faces may change, but the essence remains unyielding. In the midst of chaos, it will be control that determines the victor. This weekend, we brace ourselves for another chapter in a storied rivalry – a chapter that promises chaos, character, and drama in abundance.

But 2013 was, for me, where it began. It is why Mayo and Dublin are rivals of substance. It was the best of times and it was the worst of times. It was a time I would love to live again, for the satisfaction was profound, even though the memories from those games that are strongest are of the misery, suffering and pain.