Luckily, we can retreat to the sanctuary of the club, which is our daily bread.

I was at a charity chat show a month or so ago. The panel was heavyweight boxer and ex Rossa hurler Martin Rogan, Glen Ferguson the great Linfield striker, Baker Bradley, the camog Jane Adams, myself and the legendary Tipp hurler Eoin Kelly. The first question posed was 'How important is your club?'

Glen Ferguson has just left Linfield after many years. He set the ball rolling, talking about his contract with Linfield, the fact that he was treated well there and that he in return worked hard for the club. He went on to explain that he now had a good contract with Lisburn Distillery and wanted to see that out, then review his options.
Next up was Eoin Kelly. As the Monty Python team were wont to say "and now for something completely different." Eoin said as follows: "Well the club is your heart and soul. It's the lads you meet at the shop, the lads you go to mass with every Sunday. It's your life."

I was beside Glen during this and saw his eyebrows rising. It was as though he were thinking to himself; "Are these people some sort of religious crackpots?"

When the subject turned to money and the amateur ethos, Glen was simply stunned at the notion that Eoin (who had talked about his training regime and this Sunday will run out in Croke Park before 84,000 people) wasn't paid. It is no criticism of Glen, whose contributions were interesting and often funny. It was just that he lives in a different world. How could he possibly understand?

Two eyes for an eye
I broke my leg in a friendly against Cookstown five weeks ago, tripping over a small Tyrone person as I went for a breaking ball, so I have been watching St Brigid's impatiently from the sideline as I recover.
Every day I have been aqua running in the diving pool at Queen's, then working out with the heavy bag and the medicine ball. The aim is to last longer than Stanley Matthews, who played top flight English soccer until just after his 50th birthday, ending his career with Stoke.

In his final game, he set up the winning goal with a perfect cross. Years later, he was asked what his greatest regret in life was and he replied that he had 'retired too early'. I know what he means, and I'm determined not to make the same mistake.

To still be playing Division One senior football at 50 is the target, and I think it is realistic. It might also be a record.

Patsy Forbes from Ardboe played till he was 48, but you wouldn't really describe that as football, more a sort of primitive religious fundamentalism of the Old Testament variety. Though in the case of that Ardboe team it was more "Two eyes for an eye and the entire top row of teeth for a tooth".

We played St John's last night and a big crowd turned up at Musgrave in spite of the atrocious weather. We were three points ahead with four minutes of injury time played, but they squeezed a goal and then a point on the final whistle to leave the St Brigid's following shell-shocked.
In spite of the defeat, it was – as always – a most entertaining evening. There was plenty of chat and crack from the sidelines, some very good and some truly horrible football, and some funny heckling. At one stage a Brigid's players broke through the Johnnies defence, and the Brigid's crowd chorused in unison " Don't shoot!" Sadly he ignored the advices.
My children never miss a match, and cry inconsolably if they aren't allowed to come. "But I don't want to go to Sarah's party" wailed my four year old daughter a few weeks ago as the rest of us were heading off for the glamour fixture of St Brigid's v Glenavy, wait for it, at Glenavy.
Last night, they rolled down the grassy bank at Musgrave in the pouring rain, shouting with delight. At the final whistle I had to strip them naked to put them in the car, then steep their St Brigid's jerseys and filthy jeans in the sink when we got home. "Who won?" said Toirealach as I put them in the bath.
I reflected afterwards that Eoin Kelly is right when he said the GAA is our life! Anyone for Lisburn Distillery?