Mickey p is dead long live the castlebar legend

HIS life might be best compared to the sport he loved with such a passion. Horse racing. Michael Parsons, or Mickey P. as he was more affectionately known, ran a great race, a true race, and never let the punters down.

In more recent years his health slowed him down a bit, but always a man to relish a challenge, he never balked when the fences grew bigger and the journey more demanding and intimidating.

He was not one for looking over his shoulder - a criticism he held for the odd jockey when the winning line was getting ever closer.

He preferred to look at the road ahead, always seeking out new adventures,  always looking forward to what life had coming down the track and always willing to meet it head-on.

On Saturday evening Mickey P. saddled up as usual for one more adventure - for every day was an adventure and one to be relished and cherished - only it turned out to be his last, but it was the last in a good life and one he had packed a lot into.

It may be little comfort to his family that he was whisked away so fast but when they finally get to open and share the treasure chest of memories he left behind, I have a feeling his wife Margaret, sons David and Martin and daughter Helena will be glad to know he didn’t suffer and they have been left a rich legacy of fond memories to comfort and console them.

He is at peace. But his family and those who enjoyed his company so much are at a huge loss.

He was gregarious, generous, fun-loving, honest as the day was long, a man who bore no ill for anyone and had few, if any, enemies.  

Castlebar will never be the same without a man who loved life with such a passion and lived it accordingly, his heart always proudly displayed on his sleeve, a youthful exuberance that made him good company.

My memories go back a long way but the years of 1996 and 1997 stand out in particular as Mickey P. was like a child as he revelled in the success of Mayo football and, like so many at the time, he let himself be carried on the tide of emotion which came with the Tsunami that hit the county when we had one hand on the Sam Maguire trophy.

It was the time of the banter. The time of the songs for Mayo, Tom Tom and Volkswagen Beetle, the Late Late Show, the exodus to Croke Park. When the summers were warm, people were happy and it was good to be a Mayo man, woman or child. Mickey P. was on the crest of the wave of emotion and boy did he enjoy it, as indeed did the rest of us.

It was Mickey P. at his most colourful and glorious best. He loved Mayo, loved the banter and the craic that usually followed after an All-Ireland when the Mayo boys always came to the spiritual home of Mayo football – Castlebar – and where, more often than not, they ended up in the company of Mickey P. in his then Main Street office where a blast of ‘The Boys of the County Mayo’ or ‘Sean South’ would waft up the Main Street, well after curfew time, a time when a certain member of An Garda Siochana, who sadly is no longer with us, was heard say, ‘Try not to be too late now lads’ as he moved on down the street, telling a rookie out of Templemore at his shoulder that there are more  serious crimes in Castlebar than intruding on people who were, after all, only drowning their sorrows after another All-Ireland defeat.

The Parsons go back far into the commercial annals of Castlebar as business people and those who are of an older generation than me will, no doubt, write about what the family did as highly respected business people in the town.

I knew Mickey P. as a friend who couldn’t wait for the post mortems on Mayo football, be it, as it was then, in the Big Fellow’s or in his other favourite watering hole, The Castle Inn.

While he loved football, horse racing was in his blood and stories of his many trips to Cheltenham and Ascot are the stuff of legend, for Mickey P. was known far and wide and was embraced by all who loved the man from Mayo, who livened up many a party and brought so much joy and fun to the lives of those fortunate to make his acquaintance.

Don’t be surprised if Buckingham Palace hoists the Mayo flag at half mast as a mark of respect, as legend has it he supped tea (champagne more likely) with the Queen when he was once invited into the Royal Box in Ascot.

It was not all partying. He had a family and a business to look after and he made sure nothing was neglected in either department. He also had the happy knack of being in a good mood no matter what travails in life were thrown at him, and he took some heavy hits in his time, not least his battle with ill-health in more recent years, but he never let it get him down.

Now, his family and his legion of friends having given him a send off worthy of his status, many stories and anecdotes have emerged about a man who lived life at full throttle and always had a willing ear and a kind word for those he met on his journey.

For me, the abiding memory will be the Monday Club, when a few of us came in after basketball training just when the party would be starting. ‘Sean South of Garryowen’ would be belted out by Mickey P., and while he was never going to be a contender for the Voice of Ireland, he gave it wasky, sung from the heart, rendered with passion, as he surveyed the crowd that gathered around him. Mayo Abú.