GaaBoard official Junior B thread

[AZOffaly]

Brilliant stuff wobbler

[muppet]

Great stuff Wobbler. Brings back a lot of memories.

[thejuice]

I was on the bench the last time our club won the Junior B championship in 2003. I emigrated shortly afterwards.

They're in the final now again this year and there are still a few names I recognise plus a load of young lads who I thought were still in nappies.

We were fairly serious then in terms of training though, we put in a lot of work through cold, wet nights in the winter but were a great outfit by the time the final rolled around. It meant a great deal to win it and the celebrations that night were something I'd never forgot only for I don't remember half of it.

I wasn't around for our stint at Junior level though I think we lasted a couple of years before dropping again. Problem was our top scorers were in their late 30's and couldn't always be relied upon to be healthy all year. And being a rural club it was hard to keep the numbers up.

The recession did a lot of damage to the club so its great to see them going for another trophy again this year.

[Jinxy]

We had very strong first and second teams for a few years and we all trained together.
The training matches were savage.
Then some 'hired gun' was brought in and he insisted the first team train on their own. 

[whitey]

There's a Junior Fttoball competition down in West Mayo called the Kelly Cup. It's played in February and March so you can imagine the weather and the state of the pitches.  Pre Celtic tiger days, the changing and showering facilities at some of the clubs were modest to say the least. One day after playing an away game (I won't mention where) I was going into the showers (no flip flops back then either) and I stood on a piece of glass.  I hobbled screaming back into the changing room and sat down to have the manager or someone in authority assess the damage. LO and behold I hadn't stepped on a piece of glass, I had actually stepped on a fully formed adult toe nail from a big toe, obviously left there by the victim of some previous enconter at this famed arena

[Hardy]

Spending a year or two as a reserve / junior b football manager is one of those must-do jobs for any genuine Gael.

One week you'll have 35 players, and one of your first jobs is to weed out players who don't really want to play, or at least will agree to sit this one out. After all, can there be anything more demoralising in the world than not getting a jersey when stripping out at a reserve match? The look on those players' faces takes the form of a really murky red which is found somewhere between embarrassment and outright hatred for you. Especially if they've shown how keen they are by doing a full warm-up, while some of the starters still haven't got changed, and it's three minutes to throw-on.

The next week a dozen will show up - including two lads who make it abundantly clear that they have no interest in playing - and even though not one f**ker will answer his phone, even five minutes before throw-in you know it's still 50:50 that three lads might yet get out of bed and show up. But either way you're in nets, so you tell the lads who are there to sort themselves into some sort of formation, hope one of them notices that there are water bottles and a tap and that they can do something useful by bringing them together, then go and hit a few kick-outs while trying to remember how the name of thon eejit who never turns up is spelled as Gaeilge.

The right referee is vital. Ideally he'll also be hungover, be 40 yards away from the action at all times, but be clued in enough to know that apart from them three lads over there, and those two down there -  who can go at it all they want - the rest of the players would prefer a non-contact game this morning, and frees are awarded accordingly. This sets the tone for the match, and players can apply the basic skills safe in the knowledge that they won't have an opponent cutting them in two. Everyone's happy.

The really savvy referee though will try to make it more entertaining for the five men in the crowd - each of whom said they were to old to strip out, though three of them actually only needed to be asked one more time - by judiciously awarding a penalty or two, just to see if everyone is awake, plus to create an opportunity to be called names, so he can dish out a yellow card or two. Keeps his fire burning too.

Penalties are always fun when there's no senior players on the field, and half a dozen players will put themselves forward before - in a scene straight out of the school yard - if the team psycho wants it, he gets it, and if he doesn't, he decides who does.

The actual result only matters if it's the first game of the season - big season ahead and all that - or if it's the last game or two of the season, and a win could mean getting through to a final, which ultimately means a guaranteed feed of pints... something which is worth investing an hour of blood, sweat and tears to secure.

When the final comes around, it's the only time in the year when you know who'll turn up. Except 37 players turn up including nine who promised they'd never play for you again after a previous embarrassment, and them fellas, plus those two lads who you've never seen before - "who's his da?" is a question pondered during the team selection process - will all expect some game time.  You know there's going to be a lot of lads unhappy, so you do the only sensible thing... you pick these strongest team available so that you'll definitely win, while making sure your closest mates get a game, so that the craic later on is unfettered by awkward discussion.

Excellent!

[rosnarun]

There's a Junior Fttoball competition down in West Mayo called the Kelly Cup. It's played in February and March so you can imagine the weather and the state of the pitches.  Pre Celtic tiger days, the changing and showering facilities at some of the clubs were modest to say the least. One day after playing an away game (I won't mention where) I was going into the showers (no flip flops back then either) and I stood on a piece of glass.  I hobbled screaming back into the changing room and sat down to have the manager or someone in authority assess the damage. LO and behold I hadn't stepped on a piece of glass, I had actually stepped on a fully formed adult toe nail from a big toe, obviously left there by the victim of some previous enconter at this famed arena

where is that played
it sounds like the North mayo winter league, now that was a tough competition,
ballycroy, ballycastle, lahardane, ardagh, Moygawnagh and at one stage the Great Keenagh all the Glamorous grounds .Esp in the Exclusive(to bad teams ) cup

[magpie seanie]

Spending a year or two as a reserve / junior b football manager is one of those must-do jobs for any genuine Gael.

One week you'll have 35 players, and one of your first jobs is to weed out players who don't really want to play, or at least will agree to sit this one out. After all, can there be anything more demoralising in the world than not getting a jersey when stripping out at a reserve match? The look on those players' faces takes the form of a really murky red which is found somewhere between embarrassment and outright hatred for you. Especially if they've shown how keen they are by doing a full warm-up, while some of the starters still haven't got changed, and it's three minutes to throw-on.

The next week a dozen will show up - including two lads who make it abundantly clear that they have no interest in playing - and even though not one f**ker will answer his phone, even five minutes before throw-in you know it's still 50:50 that three lads might yet get out of bed and show up. But either way you're in nets, so you tell the lads who are there to sort themselves into some sort of formation, hope one of them notices that there are water bottles and a tap and that they can do something useful by bringing them together, then go and hit a few kick-outs while trying to remember how the name of thon eejit who never turns up is spelled as Gaeilge.

The right referee is vital. Ideally he'll also be hungover, be 40 yards away from the action at all times, but be clued in enough to know that apart from them three lads over there, and those two down there -  who can go at it all they want - the rest of the players would prefer a non-contact game this morning, and frees are awarded accordingly. This sets the tone for the match, and players can apply the basic skills safe in the knowledge that they won't have an opponent cutting them in two. Everyone's happy.

The really savvy referee though will try to make it more entertaining for the five men in the crowd - each of whom said they were to old to strip out, though three of them actually only needed to be asked one more time - by judiciously awarding a penalty or two, just to see if everyone is awake, plus to create an opportunity to be called names, so he can dish out a yellow card or two. Keeps his fire burning too.

Penalties are always fun when there's no senior players on the field, and half a dozen players will put themselves forward before - in a scene straight out of the school yard - if the team psycho wants it, he gets it, and if he doesn't, he decides who does.

The actual result only matters if it's the first game of the season - big season ahead and all that - or if it's the last game or two of the season, and a win could mean getting through to a final, which ultimately means a guaranteed feed of pints... something which is worth investing an hour of blood, sweat and tears to secure.

When the final comes around, it's the only time in the year when you know who'll turn up. Except 37 players turn up including nine who promised they'd never play for you again after a previous embarrassment, and them fellas, plus those two lads who you've never seen before - "who's his da?" is a question pondered during the team selection process - will all expect some game time.  You know there's going to be a lot of lads unhappy, so you do the only sensible thing... you pick these strongest team available so that you'll definitely win, while making sure your closest mates get a game, so that the craic later on is unfettered by awkward discussion.

Brilliant stuff Wobbler. Some very familiar parts to it.

[Soup an Samajiz]

we had a fella once, I shit you not, wore shorts with pockets in them, sorta like swimming togs... thought nothing of it.. until one day he pulled out a packet of "5p Crisps" mid-game and ate away... only to go to the other pocket and do the same in the second half. Actually offered his man one aswell. Civil fella

[AZOffaly]

We had a goalie who regularly pulled out a cigarette to have a fag if the play was up the other end. He had to ask an umpire to hold it one day as he had to face a penalty.

[behind the wire]

Spending a year or two as a reserve / junior b football manager is one of those must-do jobs for any genuine Gael.

One week you'll have 35 players, and one of your first jobs is to weed out players who don't really want to play, or at least will agree to sit this one out. After all, can there be anything more demoralising in the world than not getting a jersey when stripping out at a reserve match? The look on those players' faces takes the form of a really murky red which is found somewhere between embarrassment and outright hatred for you. Especially if they've shown how keen they are by doing a full warm-up, while some of the starters still haven't got changed, and it's three minutes to throw-on.

The next week a dozen will show up - including two lads who make it abundantly clear that they have no interest in playing - and even though not one f**ker will answer his phone, even five minutes before throw-in you know it's still 50:50 that three lads might yet get out of bed and show up. But either way you're in nets, so you tell the lads who are there to sort themselves into some sort of formation, hope one of them notices that there are water bottles and a tap and that they can do something useful by bringing them together, then go and hit a few kick-outs while trying to remember how the name of thon eejit who never turns up is spelled as Gaeilge.

The right referee is vital. Ideally he'll also be hungover, be 40 yards away from the action at all times, but be clued in enough to know that apart from them three lads over there, and those two down there -  who can go at it all they want - the rest of the players would prefer a non-contact game this morning, and frees are awarded accordingly. This sets the tone for the match, and players can apply the basic skills safe in the knowledge that they won't have an opponent cutting them in two. Everyone's happy.

The really savvy referee though will try to make it more entertaining for the five men in the crowd - each of whom said they were to old to strip out, though three of them actually only needed to be asked one more time - by judiciously awarding a penalty or two, just to see if everyone is awake, plus to create an opportunity to be called names, so he can dish out a yellow card or two. Keeps his fire burning too.

Penalties are always fun when there's no senior players on the field, and half a dozen players will put themselves forward before - in a scene straight out of the school yard - if the team psycho wants it, he gets it, and if he doesn't, he decides who does.

The actual result only matters if it's the first game of the season - big season ahead and all that - or if it's the last game or two of the season, and a win could mean getting through to a final, which ultimately means a guaranteed feed of pints... something which is worth investing an hour of blood, sweat and tears to secure.

When the final comes around, it's the only time in the year when you know who'll turn up. Except 37 players turn up including nine who promised they'd never play for you again after a previous embarrassment, and them fellas, plus those two lads who you've never seen before - "who's his da?" is a question pondered during the team selection process - will all expect some game time.  You know there's going to be a lot of lads unhappy, so you do the only sensible thing... you pick these strongest team available so that you'll definitely win, while making sure your closest mates get a game, so that the craic later on is unfettered by awkward discussion.

Great summary Wobbler. Bit in bold is 100% correct. Reminds me of standing about to take a free kick in Ballyholland one sunday morning. Brendan Cranney was referee. when he noticed I was thinking about shooting her turned around and said he thought it was probably a bit too far out and that I should think about going short. Am almost sure The Wobbler was in goals too.

[twohands!!!]

I think more should be done to publicise the fun/enjoyment/craic element of junior football - it doesn't seem to get all that much attention/notice in the media at large.