M Mulvahill’s story at Northcote Park reads like a season-by-season accumulation of trust: earned on the field, reinforced off it. M Mulvahill’s 113-game run carried a steady presence that teammates learned to lean on, especially when the contest tightened. Titles are a team outcome; M Mulvahill’s recognition comes from the way they lifted those around them and carried responsibility. Later, coaching in 1987-1989, M Mulvahill translated experience into direction and kept people connected to the plan, even when results wobbled. Even now, M Mulvahill’s name gets used as a reference point for young players: ‘That’s the way it’s done here.’ M Mulvahill’s record is a reminder that clubs are built by people who do the work when no one is watching. That’s why the name belongs on the honour roll. It’s the sort of legacy that gets passed on in training drills, in committee rooms, and in the stories told after games. That balance — competitiveness with care for people — is why M Mulvahill is still spoken about with warmth. Every club has turning points; M Mulvahill was involved in enough of them to be remembered long after the seasons rolled on. Every club has turning points; M Mulvahill was involved in enough of them to be remembered long after the seasons rolled on. Plenty can be read in the statistics, but the respect attached to M Mulvahill comes from how they carried responsibility in ordinary weeks. It’s the sort of legacy that gets passed on in training drills, in committee rooms, and in the stories told after games.