The swallowed fag!
‘It was the biggest fright I ever got’
ANOTHER WEEK gone by, and I sincerely hope everybody is keeping safe and well as normal life routine has taken a most unusual course.
For many the evening visit to ‘ the field’ and all the social elements therein are sorely missed, but if nothing else the present situation has heightened the incredible role that sport plays in our daily lives and its importance to young people.
Some are calling on the G.A.A. to clarify what their plan B or maybe plan C is on the fixtures front but, in some ways, this is unfair as clarity is very difficult to address given current circumstances.
I feel the top table are correct to keep their powder dry for the present in order to make a more calculated decision with the help of time.
Whatever happens, I know and trust that public safety will be the over-riding priority, as lack of sport is a small price to pay when you are dealing with people’s lives.
Circumstances have decreed that at best we are looking at a much more condensed season, and a perfect time to reverse the decision made a couple of years back to reduce the Minor grade to Under-17.
I have outlined a number of times why a young player is better equipped to enter adult hurling at 19 than 18, and I really feel this is a huge opportunity to restore the 18 age limit given that the present Under-17s will have limited action over the course of 2020. If, as I am led to believe, a lot of people agree, it is time for clubs to mobilise and make this happen.
The Annual General Meeting can often be a tense and incident-packed part of the club calendar, with feelings and temperatures often raised to boiling point in many clubs throughout the country.
Sadly, it is very often the people who do most who fall victims to the ire of the masses, with the Chairman and the adult hurling or football manager often being the most susceptible to falling on their sword.
Buffers Alley concentrate in the main on hurling, with very often an unsuspecting club member (victim) entering the meeting with no idea that he will end the night as the big ball supremo.
In defence of the Alley, they spent several years at Senior level, coming incredibly close to derailing the brilliant Duffry seven-in-a-row team in the early nineties.
Fintan O’Leary (one of the most intelligent players I have played with) took the mantle of manager for a couple of years but, due to no lack of effort on his behalf, saw the team go from Senior to Intermediate to Junior in a short space of time.
Having decided to step down, Fintan took the floor to address the meeting and said that he felt he could take this team no further.
‘There’s still Junior B’ was the quick response from the back of the room, showing that A.G.M’s can be a merciless place.
On another occasion (with the club to remain nameless), things threatened to get out of hand on a range of issues when the Chairman decided he was left with no option but to ask a member to leave the room, which the man in question agreed to adhere to.
It was the pre-clubhouse era when sheds or dressing-rooms were utilised for such gatherings and, shortly after the expulsion, all inside turned to see a window being opened from outside.
The passionate clubman was standing outside but leaning in through the window as normal order resumed. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
Despite all the arguments, there is something incredibly special and maybe a little unusual about your run of the mill G.A.A. man and the passion our sports instil in all of us.
My late father was one of the above and, many years ago, I ran through in an Under-14 football final and blazed the ball wide at the most vital of stages.
Glancing over to the sideline, I saw the worrying sight of my father on the ground on his hands and knees with a few rushing to render assistance. Shocked and fearing the worst, I approached to be told, ‘don’t worry, he’s only after swallowing his fag’.
People of an age will remember my father always had a lit cigarette on his lip at the matches. To this day it was the biggest fright I ever got on a G.A.A. pitch.
Finally, I am really enjoying the Nickey Rackard (in his own words) articles in this paper. Wexford hurling is so lucky to have legends like this to base our history on, and I learned at a young age how revered our heroes are.
My late mother had just hung out the Buffers Alley jerseys (not today nor yesterday) on the clothes line when a car seemed to be going up and down caging the place with five not small middle-aged men inside.
Eventually they got out and approached the front door which, to put it mildly, began to unnerve my mother (who was looking out the window at this point) somewhat.
The knock came with the unusual request for a quick wear of the number 14 jersey which of course was Tony Doran’s.
They all put it on and handed it to the next, handed it back to my mother, got back in the car and drove away (no mobile phones for photos that time). Now, that’s what you call respect.