“Colin? Come over here!”
I didn’t need to hear the conversation to know what it was about. The management had called over one of the lads, with a view to starting him at right half forward. I’m a corner-back, a few weeks back from injury and this decision to play a relative newcomer to the game, who only joined the panel that summer, has really irked me. To the extent I didn’t really care about the game itself. It was the first round of Championship, straight knock-out. The ball hadn’t even been thrown in and I had given up.
Strange the hold that Junior ‘B’ can have on a player. It is a level of Gaelic football that receives as much derision for its standard as it does praise for the characters it provides. I have flirted with Junior ‘A’ football on occasion but the modern game demands for high level club football, at least in Galway, have grown. Teams with serious ambitions are putting in more effort than they would have in years gone past. It is well documented the sacrifices Senior Inter County players make and I admire them for it. The demands are relentless and it’s becoming more prevalent in club level. There are Junior teams in Ireland putting in as much effort into their training than their Senior counterparts in search of success. And at what cost?
Not financially so to speak, but emotionally. I know personally those demands would sap the enjoyment of the game from me and I’d rather not play. It’s not that I’m not ambitious. I want to win silverware, medals, the whole shebang that’s on offer to me. However, I want to play Gaelic Football because I enjoy it. The whole grind of spending hours in a gym, training multiple nights a week I could do. I’m sure of it. Yet I wouldn’t enjoy it. And I’d gain little reward in playing time I imagine. And that’s before I even consider the impact on the rest of my life! My GAA club career is destined to be played at Junior level. I don’t mind that. Whether that’s A or B really depends on my circumstances and my enjoyment. If I’m not enjoying my football, I’m not going to play it anymore.
That day in 2014 in particular I wanted to play, and I thought I’d play. Yes there was two solid corner backs ahead of me in the pecking order. And my fitness wasn’t the best. However, the gap in the forward line allowed me to think there’d be a reshuffle of sorts and I’d slot into the full back-line and start. Instead, they decided to play someone in the biggest game of the year who didn’t know really what to do. He’s a nice lad but he never should have been playing that day, let alone starting! This was evidenced not only by his early second half substitution (having already being booked) but the team captains outburst at half-time demanding him to be taken off. Anyways, I wasn’t the one who replaced him. I played the grand total of 45 seconds at the very end as we chased a goal to tie the game.
We lost by three points. I lost a brand new pair of gloves bought just that day, JUST for that game. I later did the MND Ice Bucket Challenge and left myself with a slight headache and shivers for a couple of hours. It was a symbolic way to spend that evening. That was the legacy of 2014 Season at Junior B.
12 months later, we have won our first round tie against Ballinasloe in defiant circumstances. A three point win with a thread bare squad had nullified all memory of the previous year. “It’s great to win” one of the management simply put it. And it fucking was, even more so cause I had played a key part in victory. I had played well. I embraced everyone on our team with pride and fist pumped to the souls in the stand that had watched us. A three point win in the first round of the 2015 Junior B County Championship never would have factored in my perspective top 5 sporting moments if asked at the beginning of the year. However, amongst good company, it was up there. It was THAT good.
Lads can often fuck off from a team because they are not
playing. This was a decision my eight year old self made with his soccer club,
because he wasn’t selected for an end of year tournament. My 24 year old self
curses that decision regularly when he miss-controls a pass or panics in
possession. Such a naive attitude continued in my underage days in GAA. After
U-10, I would skip playing every second year with the older group because I’d
never get a chance in my own mind. Maybe I wouldn’t have (we had a good team then) but it stunted my development. Youngsters
need to be playing at that age to improve. A win at all costs attitude stifles everyone’s
progress in favour of results. If your ideology is ‘win now’ then that’s fine.
However, young lads have an entire lifetime of playing football ahead of them.
I’m making it a point when I speak to underage teams in the aftermath of a
defeat they experience that the future will sow better days for them. The
experience will count in the long run. I remember more defeats in last 3 years
than I ever do from underage. And I have a photographic memory!
I don’t know what’s different with Gaelic Football. Maybe I know I am better at it than Soccer and therefore deserve a better crack at it. I never think I deserve a starting place regardless. Yet I am the soul, who rarely misses a training session, never refuses an extra sprint, never questions a managers decision out loud or vent my frustration to the detriment of the team. Not even that day in 2014, when I sat disconsolate in the stand and later, on the side-line. I feel even 10 minutes at least every game, is merited. In 2015, I got more than 10 minutes here and there. Not since 2007 when I was part of a team that won a county title had I started more games. In that year, every game I started we never lost. It wasn’t quite the same in 2015.
Sure, I was playing well, but as a team we always struggled to build on a positive first half and fade away in the 2nd. It would be the middle of the summer before we got our first win, a game forfeited in advance that was played as a challenge. There was no major developments from the previous season. There was a turnover of players, old players, new coming in, including a new presence on the management team. And Colin was no longer there! The biggest issue was that I had developed a hamstring issue that I wouldn’t be able to solve the cause of until I took off my protective knee brace. By and large however, things were normal. Except, I was playing. I was playing ok too.
There’s nothing worse than having played shite and walking off either being subbed or at the end of the humbling defeat. Twice it has happened to me in Junior B, the first instance of which probably set me back big time. The opening Championship game of that 2012 season pitted us against a very strong Ballinasloe team. The author, having only returned to play football that year and having made a remarkable recovery returning from Euro 2012 that summer. Fifteen minutes into the game however, I was off. The opposing forward, a good 5 stone stronger than me had brushed me aside for a goal and a point. The switch was made, we retrieved a draw and won the replay. I made no further contribution. For the rest of the drawn game, I was despondent in the face of a potential defeat and that I was the reason why. I’d have never have forgiven myself had we lost it and probably would have set myself back years confidence wise.
The same thoughts crossed my mind in 2015 against the same opposition. Confidence is a strange thing with me. I can joke, laugh and converse to no end at training and even in a game. When the stakes are raised however, I feel it get to me. Having previously played in goal as a youngster, the pressure of not making a single mistake consumed my entire game. Now, in goal, mistakes are magnified to an unfair extent. I never saw it like that back then and always needed to make that first catch, save or kick-out go right to calm myself. And even then, I was always one slip away from doubt. The same feeling has carried over to my corner back duties. Every passage of play must go off without a hitch.
That day against Ballinasloe, even when I did make a mistake, I remained composed. Seven times the ball came between the forward & myself in that first half. Six times I won out. There was a funny moment during half-time when the manager turned the focus of his team-talk to Monday. The last challenge was the one I lost out in and it was ffresh in the memory of my manager. He urged me to do better, but in the same sentence, noted that I had won all but one of the breaks between us. Even then, I remained composed. Even when our forwards shots were dropping into the opposing goalkeeper’s hands and not over the bar, my team-mates & I remained composed. No one within the club gave us a chance except the fifteen lads who went out there. The first game of the championship was our first competitive victory all year. And we soon found ourselves rolling with momentum.
Our next game was a shoot-out against a Glennamaddy side who had their own threadbare squad. We made it hard on ourselves by conceding two soft goals in the first half but we pulled away in the second half to win out by nine points. Not content by having three different forwards to mark over the course of the game, I broke out of defence twice with possession looking to move forward. My philosophy is to stop the corner forward and offload it either to a team-mate or to safety. My confidence was as such I felt brave enough to take on players and support the attack. There’s an additional reason I haven’t scored in a competitive or friendly match since 2001 aside from being in goal or the backs!
(My scoring drought continues by the way. I was overlooked in a 3 v 1 in our favour late on but we scored a clinching goal all the same.)
In those first two games, I held any forward I marked scoreless. That’s always a sign of a good game whatever else happens. Good performances were backed by a season of consistency, in training, in matches. This good form wasn’t going unnoticed beyond starting every game as the management and team-mates complimented me on my performances. I could afford to feel good about my football. Many lads on the team attributed my good form to my girlfriend and her presence at games. I am very fond of herself and her support is a major plus. (in case she is reading this). She even made one of the team photos watching in the stand. I was delayed coming out of the dressing room and didn’t even make it!
There was no fairytale ending however, and no perfect season for me. The quarter-final stage was where we bowed out. And that’s one defeat fresh in my mind for the margin of defeat (a solitary point) and the lad I was marking. He scored 1-01 early-on but I managed to hold him to that for the rest of the game and play better. Aside from that, however, he was a right mouthy little fucker. And wanted nothing more than to start a fight with me. I much prefer to play the ball and not the man, cause I’ve never had the physique to mix it up physically. I did try to mix it up at times but it’s simply not my game. For a while I was thrown off. It wasn’t decisive in the outcome but I was disappointed all the same. Instead of looking back in anger, I’m looking ahead.
Because if we play that same team again next year then that lad is going to have a very very unpleasant day personally and physically. That’s my motivation alongside winning a county title. A few others share the latter ambition.
A few weeks ago I received a phone call from my manager. Word was getting round that there was serious interest in numbers for the new season. I expected the call to be about the new season. Instead, I was informed I was named Player of The Year in Junior B and would receive the award at the Club social.
“Jaysus!" I said, "...who made that decision?”
What a difference a year can make.
I don’t know what’s different with Gaelic Football. Maybe I know I am better at it than Soccer and therefore deserve a better crack at it. I never think I deserve a starting place regardless. Yet I am the soul, who rarely misses a training session, never refuses an extra sprint, never questions a managers decision out loud or vent my frustration to the detriment of the team. Not even that day in 2014, when I sat disconsolate in the stand and later, on the side-line. I feel even 10 minutes at least every game, is merited. In 2015, I got more than 10 minutes here and there. Not since 2007 when I was part of a team that won a county title had I started more games. In that year, every game I started we never lost. It wasn’t quite the same in 2015.
Sure, I was playing well, but as a team we always struggled to build on a positive first half and fade away in the 2nd. It would be the middle of the summer before we got our first win, a game forfeited in advance that was played as a challenge. There was no major developments from the previous season. There was a turnover of players, old players, new coming in, including a new presence on the management team. And Colin was no longer there! The biggest issue was that I had developed a hamstring issue that I wouldn’t be able to solve the cause of until I took off my protective knee brace. By and large however, things were normal. Except, I was playing. I was playing ok too.
There’s nothing worse than having played shite and walking off either being subbed or at the end of the humbling defeat. Twice it has happened to me in Junior B, the first instance of which probably set me back big time. The opening Championship game of that 2012 season pitted us against a very strong Ballinasloe team. The author, having only returned to play football that year and having made a remarkable recovery returning from Euro 2012 that summer. Fifteen minutes into the game however, I was off. The opposing forward, a good 5 stone stronger than me had brushed me aside for a goal and a point. The switch was made, we retrieved a draw and won the replay. I made no further contribution. For the rest of the drawn game, I was despondent in the face of a potential defeat and that I was the reason why. I’d have never have forgiven myself had we lost it and probably would have set myself back years confidence wise.
The same thoughts crossed my mind in 2015 against the same opposition. Confidence is a strange thing with me. I can joke, laugh and converse to no end at training and even in a game. When the stakes are raised however, I feel it get to me. Having previously played in goal as a youngster, the pressure of not making a single mistake consumed my entire game. Now, in goal, mistakes are magnified to an unfair extent. I never saw it like that back then and always needed to make that first catch, save or kick-out go right to calm myself. And even then, I was always one slip away from doubt. The same feeling has carried over to my corner back duties. Every passage of play must go off without a hitch.
That day against Ballinasloe, even when I did make a mistake, I remained composed. Seven times the ball came between the forward & myself in that first half. Six times I won out. There was a funny moment during half-time when the manager turned the focus of his team-talk to Monday. The last challenge was the one I lost out in and it was ffresh in the memory of my manager. He urged me to do better, but in the same sentence, noted that I had won all but one of the breaks between us. Even then, I remained composed. Even when our forwards shots were dropping into the opposing goalkeeper’s hands and not over the bar, my team-mates & I remained composed. No one within the club gave us a chance except the fifteen lads who went out there. The first game of the championship was our first competitive victory all year. And we soon found ourselves rolling with momentum.
Our next game was a shoot-out against a Glennamaddy side who had their own threadbare squad. We made it hard on ourselves by conceding two soft goals in the first half but we pulled away in the second half to win out by nine points. Not content by having three different forwards to mark over the course of the game, I broke out of defence twice with possession looking to move forward. My philosophy is to stop the corner forward and offload it either to a team-mate or to safety. My confidence was as such I felt brave enough to take on players and support the attack. There’s an additional reason I haven’t scored in a competitive or friendly match since 2001 aside from being in goal or the backs!
(My scoring drought continues by the way. I was overlooked in a 3 v 1 in our favour late on but we scored a clinching goal all the same.)
In those first two games, I held any forward I marked scoreless. That’s always a sign of a good game whatever else happens. Good performances were backed by a season of consistency, in training, in matches. This good form wasn’t going unnoticed beyond starting every game as the management and team-mates complimented me on my performances. I could afford to feel good about my football. Many lads on the team attributed my good form to my girlfriend and her presence at games. I am very fond of herself and her support is a major plus. (in case she is reading this). She even made one of the team photos watching in the stand. I was delayed coming out of the dressing room and didn’t even make it!
There was no fairytale ending however, and no perfect season for me. The quarter-final stage was where we bowed out. And that’s one defeat fresh in my mind for the margin of defeat (a solitary point) and the lad I was marking. He scored 1-01 early-on but I managed to hold him to that for the rest of the game and play better. Aside from that, however, he was a right mouthy little fucker. And wanted nothing more than to start a fight with me. I much prefer to play the ball and not the man, cause I’ve never had the physique to mix it up physically. I did try to mix it up at times but it’s simply not my game. For a while I was thrown off. It wasn’t decisive in the outcome but I was disappointed all the same. Instead of looking back in anger, I’m looking ahead.
Because if we play that same team again next year then that lad is going to have a very very unpleasant day personally and physically. That’s my motivation alongside winning a county title. A few others share the latter ambition.
A few weeks ago I received a phone call from my manager. Word was getting round that there was serious interest in numbers for the new season. I expected the call to be about the new season. Instead, I was informed I was named Player of The Year in Junior B and would receive the award at the Club social.
“Jaysus!" I said, "...who made that decision?”
What a difference a year can make.
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