Dublin's most recent loss to Tyrone came on a night of much reflection for the GAA. For many, January 31st 2009 was an opportunity to look back on how far Ireland's most unique sporting organistaion had come. From an age where Irish culture was under severe threat of assimilation to the point of disappearance – through it's many peaks, troughs and sub-renaissances - to the modern day, where Gaelic games can command an attendance and deliver a spectacle capable of outshining the Superbowl.

Despite the understood truths discussed above, the comparatively lustrous cheeks of the GAA as a whole will have been scant consolation to the Dublin panelists. Or many of the fans for that matter. The game, on this night of self-enjoyment, oscillated wildly. From the point where the Dubs looked as if they would suffer as grim a tanning as they had had in August, to the point where it seemed as if Dublin would finally put a top side to the sword in a high-profile duel.

However, approaching injury time and, Lord knows not for the first time, all of the coolness of head and calmness of thought was with those not sporting blue. Balls dropped short, efforts blazed wide and poor distribution from crucial kickouts all contrived to leave the door ajar. The class and the cuteness of Tyrone requires no second invitation; by the time the final whistle had blown the door had been opened wide, shut from the inside and the Northerners were helping themselves to Dublin's tea and biscuits.

It had happened again. A game that was there for the winning had been cruelly denied once more. What fans, but hopefully not players, will fear is that Dublin have become the Gatekeepers of inter-county football. A measuring stick upon which all would-be contenders much be judged. The concept of the Gatekeeper has long held water in boxing and other combat sports. It often becomes the unintentional role of the journeyman fighter; a man who has been around the block, seen it all, had his chance, blew it and now functions only to separate the wheat from the chaff as they pass him on the rungs of the ladder. Sporting limbo.

Of course this hyperbole could very well be misplaced, for there certainly is a "glass half-full" interpretation of the events of Jan 31st. Stephen O'Neill's majesty, his point taking at impossible angles and his flawless range would have dissected the most seasoned full-back line. The Dublin rearguard appeared considerably more water-tight in the second half where Hubbard, Bastick and Brennan all providing chin-stroking moments of re-evaluation from the crowd. Who, for the majority, were seeing these players (in their positions at any rate) for the first time. Some quick decisions were reached upon the line and the manner in which Dublin bounded into Tyrone from the restart suggested good half-time communications from the coaching staff. Add to that the absence on the night of Quinn, Vaughan, Griffin, Connolly, Moran, Alan Brogan and a host of other names and the Dublin panel, yet again, appears varied and healthy.

It would of course, be remiss of me to conclude without the mentioning of the man for whom, as a Dub, you run out of superlatives for, and then you run out of other ways in which to say that you have run out of superlatives. I refer of course to Jason Sherlock. Many of us were worried that we may have already witnessed the final curtain falling on his inter-county legacy. The fact that he remains not only present, but pivotal is a source of true hope and inspiration to us all.

For he of course, metaphorically speaking, is the only bride in a team comprised otherwise solely of bridesmaids. That glorious day of days was fourteen long years ago now. To know that Jayo hasn't given up on making this year the year to finally march all the way to the altar makes me want to believe also.