Hope is the greatest thing we have

It’s said that optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence.

These underlying feelings that sometimes don’t make any sense. Yet they’re still there, and sometimes they become reality, at the points when you expect them the least - that’s what makes sport all the more magical.

On the train up to the Aviva on Thursday, that feeling was there - and there was a palpable lack of evidence to support it. In the pubs in Ringsend, “You’d never know” and “I just have a feeling tonight could be special” rang around the walls. The atmosphere along Lansdowne Road was electric, amid that quiet inward concession that it could all go to smoke in minutes.

When Troy Parrott gave Ireland the lead - crazy and all as it was - no one in the stand got overly carried away. The devil on the shoulder that silences hope was becoming all the louder. It won’t last long and there’s a way to go. Then along comes goal number two - sheer pandemonium. An out of body experience, a shot in the arm, a flood of belief. Hope.

The feeling when the whistle blew and confirmed three huge points for Ireland was phenomenal. Yet even still, one of the famous nights in Irish football wasn’t enough for the mind not to switch to “Well, can we back it up Sunday?” before even coming out of the turnstiles again. That restless energy is part of what makes hope so intoxicating in sport. It doesn’t always wait for proof - it insists we believe anyway.

And that is exactly why hope is so essential. It doesn’t demand reason or logic - it simply insists we trust in possibility. That’s a feeling that crosses codes, continents, and arenas. In Waterford, Solomon Simon experienced it inside the Cage Warriors octagon. To become a world champion in MMA is no small feat; every step is measured against odds stacked heavily against you. But Simon carried belief in himself and his craft into every punch, every grapple, every round. 

When he raised his hand at Cage Warriors 196, it wasn’t just a victory over an opponent - it was proof that hope, nurtured and disciplined, becomes reality. The crowd erupted not just for the championship, but for the truth that anything is possible when belief is absolute.

Hope has a different rhythm in Gaelic games, where success is often built over years rather than minutes. Emma Murray’s story is one of quiet persistence meeting eventual triumph. Years of disappointment, heartbreak, and near misses could have hollowed out her ambition. Instead, she clung to hope, season after season, until it finally paid off with an All-Star award. 

Hers is the kind of hope that doesn’t shout - it waits, endures, and whispers that effort and belief eventually meet recognition. It reminds us that hope doesn’t always manifest immediately, but when it does, it feels entirely deserved.

Then there’s club sport, where hope is about resilience and the courage to challenge history. Ballygunner’s meeting with Sarsfields was a perfect example. Having lost to the same team the previous year, many might have expected history to repeat itself. But Ballygunner approached the game not with fear of the past, but with confidence in the present. They trusted in their preparation, in each other, and in the belief that this time could be different.

That belief carried them through the contest and ultimately led them to triumph. Hope in sport is not always about dramatic comebacks - it’s often about the quiet, collective courage to challenge what seems inevitable.

Hope is contagious, too. Ireland’s victories against Hungary and Portugal weren’t just moments for the players on the pitch; they were shared experiences for everyone who dared to believe. It’s the fan in the pub, the parent watching a child chase a ball in the rain, the teammate offering a word of encouragement at halftime. When hope manifests, it spreads. Witnessing it makes us braver, more willing to trust in the possibility of our own successes.

Yet hope is never comfortable. It thrives in the tension between doubt and desire, in the space where uncertainty lingers. That’s why it feels so exhilarating when it succeeds: it has survived skepticism, anxiety, and the persistent whisper of “what if it doesn’t happen?” Every time Parrott found the net, every time Simon landed a winning strike, every time Emma Murray’s name was read out at the All-Star awards, and every time Ballygunner lifted the trophy, it was a victory not just over opponents, but over the uncertainty that shadows all ambition.

Hope in sport mirrors hope in life. It is a defiance of certainty, a willingness to trust in something unseen, and a quiet demand that we keep moving even when the path is unclear. Sport crystallises this better than almost anything else - it makes the abstract tangible, the impossible momentarily possible.

Without hope, there’s only inertia. Without hope, Solomon Simon wouldn’t be a champion, Emma Murray wouldn’t have her All-Star, Ballygunner wouldn’t have rewritten the narrative against Sarsfields, and Ireland wouldn’t have celebrated those unforgettable victories. Hope gives us a reason to believe that no matter the odds, magic is possible. And in sport, as in life, that is worth every cheer, every gasp, every heartbeat of anticipation.

Hope doesn’t just carry us - it lifts us, transcends us, and, at its best, transforms the impossible into the unforgettable. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, it happens just when you need it most.

I needed a bit of hope this week. Sometimes, the world answers. Keep asking, even if it seems you’re being ignored.