That was the dream. What follows is the reality.

What was It . . . and this was the kind of It that demands to be accorded a capital letter . . .like at the time for Mossy McGrane, 24-year-old Dublin hurler and father of a baby daughter?

A waking nightmare that lasted for 14 months. A tragedy of the sort you read about in the papers or see on TV, one of those that always happen to other people and never to you. Until it happened to Mossy McGrane and Lisa King. "One week you're training for the championship. The next week you're told your daughter has nine months to live." He tells the story without a catch in the voice or a tear in the eye.

Up to then he'd had little of consequence to worry about, the boy from Elm Mount in Beaumont who'd begun in the mini-leagues in St Vincent's and worked his way up the under-age ladder in Dublin. Michael O'Grady had him on the county senior team at 19. Small but nippy, a fine free-taker, good right and left, great control, capable of landing points from all angles.

You might have heard more of Tomas McGrane had he been born in another county, much as he wouldn't have it any other way.

Anyway. This month three years ago, the Marty Morrismanaged Dublin travelled down to play Limerick in the National League. Mossy and Lisa had been in the hospital the previous week with Aoife, aged three and a half and a little blonde bubble of fun and games. The doctors thought it might be meningitis, but then Aoife began to improve and was allowed home, much to the delight of her parents. The one thing that didn't improve was her balance. McGrane was on the bus back from Kilmallock when Lisa rang. "Her balance isn't getting better, " she announced. They brought Aoife back to hospital next day for an MRI scan. The scan detected an abnormality in the brain stem. Aoife had childhood brain stem glioma.

Brain stem glioma. A condition that affects the lowest part of the brain, just above the neck. The part that controls breathing, heart rate and the nerves and muscles used in seeing, hearing, walking, talking and eating.

Brain stem glioma. A rare condition. An untreatable condition. An incurable condition.

Sean Boylan once told Mossy McGrane that sport is a lifeline. McGrane now realises what Boylan meant.

"I never really understood how much hurling would help me out." Being a Dublin hurler especially, he couldn't believe the attention, the volume and the depth of good wishes or the cards and jerseys that arrived for Aoife from all around the country.

He certainly couldn't believe what happened after Dublin met Laois at Nowlan Park in the Leinster championship a month or two later. He and Lisa and Aoife and Aaron went up to the Castle Park in Kilkenny for a stroll. Out of nowhere came some woman he'd never seen before and hasn't seen since. "I know who you are, " the woman said sympathetically and threw her arms around them all.

She was one of many. St Vincent's were fantastic.

Dessie Farrell and the GPA played a blinder. He and Lisa were saying only the other day how they'd never got the chance to tell people how grateful they were, are and always will be. So many people they couldn't possibly begin to thank them individually. So if you're someone who helped raise funds, who gave a donation or who sent a card, Mossy and Lisa offer their most sincere gratitude.

Because of your generosity, Aoife lived longer than she should have and lived better than she might have.

The three of them moved to London in January 2004 to spend six months in an apartment on Great Portland Street, directly across from Portland Hospital and just around the corner from a shopkeeper who'd keep the Irish papers for Mossy on a Monday morning. They had the best care money . . . many people's money . . . could buy. A team of doctors, a speech therapist, a physical therapist, an occupational therapist, specialist equipment, an adapted pram, a modified bathroom. By night, busy doing Aoife's meds, her parents barely slept. By day they watched their child wither away.

Every possible treatment was tried. And failed. "The treatment would help in some ways, but only a miracle would have saved her. One of the worst parts of all was that, coming towards the end, she couldn't talk. She just looked so sad. A four-year-old that wants to be out running around the place." Aoife passed away in June 2004.

The strain that might have killed Mossy and Lisa's relationship made it stronger instead. That, he surmises, is because they've been through the worst that any parents could go through and come out the other side. "It's made the two of us better people. And our families too, the McGranes and the Kings, it's brought them closer.

We've a load of aunts and uncles on both sides. They were all terrific."

The house in Kilbarrack is a shrine to Aoife. Pictures of her everywhere. A great, howling void in the chair she used to sit in. She's not there to play hurling with her father out the back any more. She's not there in her Dublin jersey when he comes off the field after a match. "There's an awful sense of loss in the house. There always will be."

Does he think about her every minute of the day? "I think about her every second of the day."

Life, though it continues, will never be the same again.

Life, though it'll never be the same again, continues.

What's it like for Mossy McGrane, 27-year-old Dublin hurler and father of a baby daughter, at the moment?

Apart from the back injury, more of which anon, a lot better than it might be.

He began the season on the bench against Derry, came on against Wicklow, started against Roscommon and kept his place for the Meath and Carlow games. He's been hurling adequately, producing the same level of performance weekend after weekend. Five points against Carlow last Sunday, for instance, but all of them from frees. Nothing spectacular, but then the sod hasn't been anywhere near dry enough for spectacular.

"I'm disappointed not to be scoring a bit more and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's the weather. It's been real mullocker stuff lately. There's definitely room for improvement. Hopefully it'll come right by the end of the league and in time for the championship."

He can plead extenuating circumstances. Doing sit-ups in the gym a few weeks ago, he put out his back. Though the injury can stand up to training, playing makes it worse. Sinead Roche, the Dublin physio, has told him to give it a week's rest. He will.

"I just need to get it sorted out. It's coming up to an important time of the year."

After an abortive comeback during Humphrey Kelleher's tenure as manager last year ("It was no fault of Humphrey's, things simply didn't work out in all respects."), he's enjoying his hurling again. He knows Tommy Naughton, the Dublin manager, from the latter's days as a selector with Michael O'Grady. Mick O'Riordan has been around the place for years, Joe Lyons in the backroom likewise.

Returning to the fold has brought both a new pattern to his life (weights on a Monday in Westwood in Fairview, physical training on Wednesdays, skills work on Fridays) and old comrades like the Ryans, Kevin Flynn and David Sweeney back into his orbit.

It would be better, of course, were Shane Ryan, Dotsy O'Callaghan, David Henry and above all Conal Keaney on the scene as well;

McGrane has heard that Stephen Cluxton is a good hurler too. But they'll play their hand as best they can.

That's one lesson life teaches Dublin hurlers.

Looking on the bright side, another lesson they soon grow to learn, McGrane reckons the combination of last year's Leinster minor championship triumph and the achievement of the colleges' team in reaching the All Ireland final should ensure the county will remain competitive at under-21 level for the immediate future. Give him one wish for Dublin hurling over the next four or five years and it's to slay the black and amber dragon. "At the end of the day, I don't think we'll be noticed until we beat Kilkenny in the championship."

He's not sure if the breakthrough . . . any breakthrough . . . will happen during his time on the panel. But even to have been involved will entitle him to a piece of it. "That's what Dublin hurling people want to see. Dublin making the breakthrough. And I suppose people down the country would like to see it too."

Off the field, he's working for a freight company in Santry and, best of all, a father again. Sophie Aoife McGrane-King came into the world four and a half months ago. She's the image of Aoife.

One of these days she'll have the same blonde hair. Not a substitute for Aoife, but a sibling. In every way, there's new life in the house again.

And Dublin have a promotion semi-final to look forward to next week. And if they win Division 2 they'll return to the top flight, which is where McGrane is accustomed to doing his hurling.

And if they manage to beat Westmeath in the first round of the Leinster championship, that'll set up a semi-final date with Kilkenny in Parnell Park.

Something to play for again.

Everything to live for again.

"I never really thought about hurling while It was happening. I didn't see myself going back to it. But a lot of the lads said it would be good for me, and Lisa said it would be good for me. It's worked out well. It might work out better. Being a Dublin hurler, you live in hope."

Living in hope. Being a Dublin hurler. Being a father.

He has a dream, a dream of a sweltering summer afternoon at a packed Croke Park.

Dublin have beaten Kilkenny to win their first provincial title since 1961. Mossy McGrane punches the air. A blonde moppet in a blue jersey comes rushing across the field to hug her daddy.

Long after he retires from hurling, he'll still have the dream. And as long as he has the dream, Aoife McGraneKing's light will never go out.