Croke Park is now a place of business, with the imperatives of any merchant bank. Their language is the language of commerce, 'gobbledegook' about revenue streams and cost neutrality. Which is why they are perfectly geared to harmonious discussion with Donal Og and Dessie.

The GPA's rehearsed statement after the announcement of the deal included the phrase, "It is going to take us some time to get the welfare programmes up and running and build a platform for the performance of those programmes - to develop them and promote them within our own industry."

It seems that the GAA - like soccer or baseball - is now merely another part of the entertainment industry.

This explains why the hierarchy is more comfortable dealing with the GPA than with GAA idealists. Christy Cooney and Pauric Duffy last week bitterly criticised the Gaels in 'Of One Belief', describing us as 'disingenuous'. Yet all has been sweetness and light between them and the small group that powers the GPA. The reason for this – as Hyman Roth put it – is strictly business.

GPA agitation can compromise the 'GAA's revenue stream'. We cannot. There is of course a very good basis for the deal, namely that it will neuter the GPA and guarantee the continued free flow of money into the GAA coffers. The agreement is eminently pragmatic and sensible. It makes – if you like - perfect business sense. But it is entirely unprincipled. Which is all that 'Of One Belief' is pointing out.
The E1.1 million per annum is for player welfare projects additional to the budgets currently set by County Boards. So, the county boards, i.e. us, will pay for the meals, the physio and Doctor's bills, the operations, the petrol expenses etc. The E1.1 million will be for additional unspecified player welfare projects. When asked what these might be, Dessie was unable to give a specific answer, merely observing that it was going to take some time to get the welfare programs up and running.

A whole series of spoof welfare intiatives have emerged from extensive brain storming sessions after the original welfare costs blueprint was universally derided. You will no doubt recall the Cod Liver Oil, three square meals a day, water, mobile phone costs and a set of car tyres every 20,000 miles. Now it is vague agendas like career guidance, which I had assumed were already catered for in schools and society.
I must say I am already looking forward to what they will come up with. Perhaps tutorials on 'How to apply for a mortgage' or 'Relationship guidance for busy footballers'. Or maybe lessons in negotiation technique, like the one they have just given Christy Cooney. The problem is that given that welfare issues are so well looked after by the GAA, it is difficult to think up anything that doesn't sound silly. The bottom line is that we are from this moment on handing over a million euro a year to silly projects. Disingenuous? Don't make me laugh.

GAA men should be idealists first, businessmen second. The GAA is not an industry. It is what we are. It is fun and recreation and community spirit, nothing else.

Last Saturday we played Tyrone in the Over 40s All-Ireland semi-final at Corrigan Park in Belfast, the home of St. John's. The St. John's lads were there in numbers to steward the event. We were treated to typical 'Johnnys' hospitality before and afterwards. Very few clubs would have allowed their pitch to be played on last weekend, but it was no bother for the Whiterock Road men. When we took the field we discovered we had no ball, so in a rare example of Tyrone/Derry fellowship, they loaned us one. Each team had a panel of 30.

Both squads have been training hard, even if that mightn't have seemed obvious and as is the norm, shortly after the throw-in, the game became a war of attrition. The reason this happens in over 40s football is due to a phenomenon which I call the accidental blanket defence. The game always starts in a blaze of action, silver and bald headed men charging about in a frenzy, like greyhounds released in the park. This is because everyone is married with a bundle of youngsters. Getting away for the day is like the vast excitement of early parole from HMP Maghaberry. Within ten minutes of the first whistle however, reality begins to dawn. One can almost see men thinking to themselves "I am no longer 20. I am simply unable to kick the ball over the bar from here. I cannot track back into the defence."

Then, as if on a hidden signal, the game enters a static, more violent phase. Those who have retreated into the defence stay there, too tired to counter-attack. Opponents are dragged to the ground. Soon, both teams are in a 1-11-1-2 formation and thereafter, scores are virtually impossible to come by, particularly since the blanket is combined with now extinct tackles such as the coathanger, the sledge and the uppercut to the ribs.

At one stage I was running to support an exhausted looking Johnny McGurk when I was grabbed around the chest by two arms and dragged to the ground. As I got up, he said to me, "the last time I saw you Brolly I was throwing you out of Clubland." Talk about déjà vu. A frequent phenomenon of the over 40s genre is the loud roar shortly after the ball has been kicked, followed by the sight of a man lying all alone, stretched out on his back. There is a lot of fainting in Over 40s. Tyrone won it in the end with one of the most unsightly goals ever scored, which resulted in – I kid you not – the Derry keeper stretched out on his back along the goal line.

Afterwards, drinking together in the Johnny's social club, it was good indeed to chat with Ray Munroe and the Gormleys from Carrickmore, Iggy Gallagher and the ageless Barney Conway. As I limped out to the car afterwards, I was already looking forward to next year.
Balls to Croke Park! Balls to the GPA!