Alan O’Sullivan
When Alan O’Sullivan went clear on Filey Bay in the Connacht Hotel Handicap at Galway on Monday, the feature race on the first day of Galway week, the race that every amateur rider in the country wants to win, he looked up at the big screen.
He knew that his horse was strong, he knew that it was unlikely that anything else was going more quickly than he was up Galway’s final incline and, importantly, he couldn't hear any of his rivals. The big screen confirmed it, he and Filey Bay were careering away from their rivals and on their way into the history books. Then he hit the line. Then he looked to the skies.
His first thoughts were of his brother Michael. His thoughts are often of his brother Michael. Like, when he’s at home, when he’s riding out, when he’s in his car, when he’s driving home from the races. He always called his older brother from his car. Giorraíonn beirt bóthar. Like, when he’s riding in a race.
What would Mikey do?
The ride that Alan O’Sullivan gave Filey Bay in the feature race on Monday was a real Michael O’Sullivan ride. Along the inside and bide your time. Well back in the field, but no need to panic. Allow your horse relax in his racing rhythm, everything smooth, conserving energy. He only left the inside rail when the five-furlong pole flashed past, when they wheeled around the bend and started to spin down the hill.
A wall of horses in front of him but still he sat still. If you start to go wide looking for racing room, he figured, you can end up going very wide, giving away lots of ground. He needed the gaps on the inside, but the gaps usually develop when you have the horse, and he felt that he had the horse. He knew that Emmet Mullins had him at concert pitch, and he could feel the ball of energy underneath him. He went to his right, towards the inside, not to his left. The brave man’s route, they call it.
“I was delighted to get the call up to ride Filey Bay,” says Alan now. “I don’t know, there’s something about him, we just seem to click. I love riding him at home, and he is obviously a classy horse. Emmet told me to give him a call before I accepted any other ride in the race. I had a couple of offers, but I didn’t give him a call. I just sat tight, said that I could be riding something for Emmet and I left it at that. So when declarations came in, I was delighted to see my name down beside Filey Bay. I was so grateful to Emmet for pushing for me, and to (Filey Bay’s owner) Mr McManus for putting faith in me.”
Down into the bottom of the dip and two and a half furlongs to run, a gap appeared and Filey Bay moved into it. Just squeezing a little now as everyone else rowed away around him. The four leaders went a little wide around the crown of the home turn and, when they did, they left a small gap on the inside, and a small gap was all that Filey Bay needed. Alan O’Sullivan said go and his horse was into the gap and suddenly, in the space of four or five or six strides, the race was over as a contest. It was then that Alan O’Sullivan looked up at the big screen. Then he stood up in the irons. Then he thought of Michael.
“Pure emotion,” he says. “I took my time pulling up, just to try to take it all in, gather my thoughts. A minute or two to compose myself. John Gleeson was the first person I saw after I pulled up. He rode over to me, he was riding Toll Stone, he could have ridden Filey Bay. I kind of felt bad, but there wasn’t a bit of that from John. He was delighted for me. We had a bit of an embrace.”
He used Michael’s saddle. There was a practical element to that as well as an emotional element. He only has one saddle of his own, his point-to-point saddle, it’s a heavy saddle and he had to do 10st 7lb on Monday. Michael’s saddle is lighter.
“He was all that I could think about,” he says. “What would he have thought if he had been there. What he would have said to me. I still think he’s there, to be honest.”
They were always close, like brothers are close. Just the two of them, sons of William and Bernie, growing up in Lombardstown in County Cork. They grew up with football and with horses and with stories of Lovely Citizen, whom William rode for his brother, Alan’s uncle Eugene, to win the Foxhunter at the Cheltenham Festival in 1991.
“Dad is a man of few words,” says Alan. “So you’d have to get the stories from other people.”
They played football together and they learned about horses together.
“We did everything together. Only two of us. He taught me how to ride, and he was always fair. He balanced it. If I was down about something, he’d bring me up, and if I was a bit too high about something, he’d bring me back down to earth! I used to tag along with him. Even if he was with his friends, I’d tag along. Sure we were best friends as well as brothers.”
Michael had his fall at Thurles on 6th February, and was air lifted to Cork University Hospital.
“Jennifer (Pugh, Chief Medical Officer of the Irish Horseracing Regulatory Board) was our rock in the hospital. We were there for about two weeks, and Jennifer was there practically every single day. Anything the doctors said, we’d be asking Jennifer, what did they really mean? She was very strong. She was unbelievable. She never blinked.”
Pauses for a second.
“I was always very positive. Every time I’d go into the hospital, anyone who’d be down, aunts, uncles, the family, we took over the whole hospital! I’d say, well, we’re here anyway, and that’s a good sign. It’s all a bit of a blur, but I remember then one of the days, walking down the corridor and seeing Jennifer at the end of it. It was a big long corridor, and I saw her come out of the room and walk down to the end of it, and I saw her break down. Miles down the corridor. I went down to her. That’s when it hit home. I always thought he’d get through it. That was the first time that I thought, we might be in a bit of trouble here.”
His positivity continues today.
“People were unbelievable at the time. The support that we received from the community. The support we still receive. And from friends, family. I pass the hospital in Cork a good bit. I don’t know what other people would think if they have gone through what we’ve gone through, if they’d think that they hate the place. I actually feel like, every time I pass it, I’d love to go in there. Because we were with him, you know? He was there. I’d have stayed there 24-7 if I could have. It was leaving the hospital and knowing that you're not going back, that was the tough bit.”
In his eulogy at Michael’s funeral, Michael and Alan’s father William said that they were broken-hearted, but that they would focus on what Michael would want for them.
“He would want us to mend over time,” he said. “He would want us to support Alan in his life choices, and find joy in his achievements.”
Alan considered quitting riding. Not for himself, but for his mother.
“I wasn’t sure if I could put my mother through it,” he says. “She could never watch a race, before any of us ever got injured. But before I went back, she said to me: ‘I know that you expect me to ask you to stop riding, but I won’t.’ That was the seal of approval. Even though she probably didn’t think that it meant a lot to me. It meant everything. After that, I never thought of not giving it a go.”
He's giving it a go all right. He’s combining riding as an amateur with the pursuit of a degree in biomedical science. He has the talent and he has the ambition. One more year before he gets his degree, all going well, and he is in demand.
“I love point-to-pointing,” he says. “I’d like to think that I could go professional at some point, I’d love to give it a go, but I really enjoy point-to-pointing, working for Eugene and working for Ciaran Fennessy. Ciaran was the first person outside of family to back me. He has some really nice horses, he is an unbelievably good trainer. If I went professional, I would obviously have to give that up. And, if I did turn, I’d have to believe that I could be champion conditional. Mikey was champion conditional and, if I was to do it, I’d want to do it properly.”
That’s what Mikey would do.
© The Sunday Times, 3rd August 2025
Back