Donny Doherty diary in the Irish News

[TacadoirArdMhacha]

Does anybody read the Irish Times? They do a piece on a Wednesday about a fictional Dublinbus driver who spends a lot of his time gambling, witha  particular fondness for the horses. Different sport I know but its a good read - the sort of standard the likes of Donny Doherty aspires to but miserably fails to achieve.

[ONeill]

Bloody brilliant AZ

[heffo]

Very good!

Send that stuff into the Irish News and give Donny Darko the boot.

[GaryColemansLeftPeg]

Does anybody read the Irish Times? They do a piece on a Wednesday about a fictional Dublinbus driver who spends a lot of his time gambling, witha  particular fondness for the horses. Different sport I know but its a good read - the sort of standard the likes of Donny Doherty aspires to but miserably fails to achieve.

Really,

To me it is a waste of a column in the sports section.  Would be nice if they actually did a bit more original reporting, rather than lifting from the English broadsheet and filling it with tripe like the above.

[thejuice]

AZ maybe you should send that into the Irish News or wherever. You might end up on their payroll

[AZOffaly]

No way juice. I believe in the amateur ethos of the gaaboard scribblers association, and this stance copper-fastens it as such. I receive a grant for being an elite work-dodger, and that is all I want.



Until somebody offers me money to write, then it's strike!, strike!, strike!

[AZOffaly]

March 20th 2008.

"One, Two, Three, Four, sprint, sprint, sprint. FASTER FASTER.....and jog". Despite the biting cold, the sweat rolled off Mel's foreheard and dripped down the bridge of his nose as he slowed to a jog. Paddy Burke paced like caged tiger up and down in front of the line of 30 panting men, running on the spot, sweating and suffering. Each one saying the same thing to themselves. 'This better be f**king worth it in the summer'. The session had already gone on for an hour and a half, and they hadn't seen a ball that night. In fact they hadn't seen a ball since their first session of the year in early February. Not even a challenge match. Gym work, stamina work and now speed work. There hadn't been a session yet where someone hadn't disposed of an ill-advised late dinner into the long grass behind the goals on Ferbane's training pitch. 

"And......walk. Keep Breathing lads, keep breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Deep breaths. Time your recovery in your head. Better than last week? Better than a fortnight ago?  Keep breathing".   Paddy Burke can sense their mood sometimes, even though he's only in the job a couple of months. Mel thinks it's probably what made him successful. He certainly understands the hunger in Ferbane for a county title, and he is going to use that hunger to drive them on in training, extract everything he can in these early, painful months. Mel has seen the training plan. As the new captain of the team, Paddy and the other selectors discussed it with him, so he could gee up the others if they started to flag. He knows the gym, and physical torture, will last for another while yet. But at least games and ball work will be introduced soon.

"Right lads. Good session tonight, great session. I'm walking along the line, looking at every one of ye, and ye are putting it in lads. Ye are putting it in, every man jack of ye. I know it's tough lads, and I know ye mightn't be used to training like this, but this is what it takes. This is how county teams train lads, and I promise ye, that within 3 months, ye'll be as fit as any county team in the country. All the diet plans, the individual weight programs, the slogging in the muck and shite down here now. It'll stand to ye lads, because ye are PUTTING IT IN. Ye have the football lads, but this fitness is what is going to stand to ye when the going gets tough later on in the year. There will be no more last minute goals beating ye, no more f**king collapses. No more. NO MORE."

Mel winces as a brief spasm of pain passes along his hamstring, but he hears what Paddy says. He knows what Paddy means, and he knows he is right. This time, this time will be different. Even the younger lads seem to be more 'cocky' in themselves. As long as that doesn't get out of hand, that's a good thing. Maybe them f**kers will learn to fear the jersey again alright.

"Right lads, I'm giving ye the Easter weekend off. Enjoy the weekend, but go easy on the beer. If you want, have a bit of a blow out, one night only, but don't dog it. If you dog it, the last two weeks are wasted. Take it easy, relax. Rest up and take it easy. But before ye go, warm down properly, and remember - ice baths for 5 minutes afterwards"


Cue the groans. "Ahhhh jaysus Paddy. Me balls will disappear altogether" roars Murph, and there's laughter all around, dispersing the groans.  Ryaner has headed off to America for the year, so Murph is probably the new goalkeeper. Probably, because there hasn't been a game yet. But he should be in the drivers seat for the job, the only other candidate is the minor goalie, and Murph can see a big chance for himself. Mel is glad for him, and Murph is hyper ever since Ryaner came into the pub waving his Aer Lingus tickets around the place. Working on a golf course in Long Island or somewhere. He's not facing a f**king ice bath anyway, that's for sure.

Tony Dunne, the physical trainer, an Army man from Athlone with a strength and conditioning diploma as well, takes them through the meticulous warm down. Things are very different this year. There's diet sheets, a doctor on call to advise on medicines, physical trainer, a masseur and Paddy. And the f**king ice baths. Good for recovery they say.  Will it be enough, or as Declan said, is it just another 'boost' that ends up in frustration, fall outs and failure? As he thinks this, Mel looks up and over at Declan. Sweating like a pig himself, and with a red face like a lifetime alcoholic. Declan's back too..........


'I should have f**king stayed away' Declan thinks to himself as Tony calls for the quad stretches. He had himself convinced that he was happy in his decision to walk away. Murph and Brendan occasionally pressed him to come back, but Mel hadn't pushed at all. He'd gone on holidays with Maire and Oisin to Disneyland for 2 weeks in January, and it was great. He hardly even thought about football. And he certainly wasn't thinking about diet, or dieticians. But when he returned, it was early February, and the days were just starting to stretch out a bit. It was no longer dark coming home from work, and it started.

It began with the gnawing thoughts that there was something missing. He found himself watching Fair City on TV, and finding it ridiculous. Máire saw it in him too, and she told him to go back. Máire was another who could read his moods and his thoughts like a book. She knew he was missing something alright. But was it really football? Every time he thought about returning, his mind went back to the Clara game, that sense of hopelessness and helplessness as it slipped away. And to other games, from other years, with the same sense of desolation as the ref blew the long whistle. He'd shake his head, say "I'm better off out of it" and settle down to watch the latest rubbish on the soaps or maybe catch a Premiership game on Sky Sports. Do them lads feel the same sickness when they lose? If they do, how do they keep going? he wondered to himself as the latest batch of 'superstars' strutted their stuff for the cameras, gold boots, earrings, bleached hair and all.

At the weekends he'd meet up with the lads in the Cosy, and get updated on the latest news from the camp, and the training under Paddy Burke. "Savage stuff". Looked like Murph was going to be the goalie, at least according to Murph. 2 or 3 of the minors looked like they might be pushing for a place this year, and one of them was a lethal goal poaching corner forward. That'd be handy. "Sure you'll come back Declan, you have to. It's different this year". Declan would shake his head, and call 4 more pints for the himself and the lads, although it was 3 pints of rock shandy and 1 Guinness. The odd man out.



It grew. It was like an itch, that couldn't be scratched. He found himself driving past the pitch on the way to the shop, timing it so that the lads would be out training, and he could see their shadows running, jumping and mingling crazily under the new floodlights which lit up the far training pitch like some glowing UFO that could be seen from anywhere in the town. The shouts and barks of Paddy Burke echoed off the houses as Declan drove slowly by, window down. But he always shook his head, sped up and left them behind. 'f**k it. It's crazy'.

Then it blossomed. One Friday evening in early March, Mel arrived at the door. On the way to training. Declan led him into the sitting room and turned off the television, where some young one in Fair City was bemoaning her lot in life. f**king eejits. "What's the craic, Mel? Will you have a cup of tea?" '"No, I'm grand. Listen I got a phone call from Paddy today". "Oh yeah?" Declan was curious, but didn't know why Mel was telling him this. "Begging me to come back is he?" he laughed. "No, he's not. Sure as far as Paddy Burke is concerned, you've never played for Ferbane". That hurt. That hurt Declan more than he expected. Why would Paddy Burke care about Declan Grennan, or the fact that he'd played for 10 years? Paddy wasn't from the place, and he was worrying about the lads that were there now. Not yesterday's heroes. It still hurt though. And something itched a little bit more. "Paddy's asking me to be captain". Mel wasn't smiling, but Declan knew he was delighted. Mel had never been captain of Ferbane before, and most of the other older lads had been. Most of them had lifted some sort of silverware too, either at underage or league levels. No senior championships though. Now was Mel's chance.
"Great stuff Mel, congratulations".
"Cheers Dec, but I'm not taking it.".
"What do you mean you're not taking it? You deserve it. Don't be a f**king eejit?".
"I'm the eejit? You're the one sitting up here looking at that shite on television."
"Ah come on..."
"Look. I'm not taking the captaincy, because I'm not interested in losing another championship, and if you stay here on your arse in front of Fair City, Ferbane will lose another championship. There's good lads training away down there, there's young lads coming through, but we need your experience as well. We need you, and I'm not going to be captain unless you come on down to training with me now."
"Ah Jaysus Mel, that's blackmail."
"It'd only be blackmail if you didn't want to do it. I know you want to come back, I know from the way you ask about training, and I know from talking to Máire. Don't be a stubborn bollox. Do you think the lads don't want you back or what? Get your gear and move your fat arse. You're a month behind the rest of us".



A month behind doesn't sound a lot, but by Jaysus those first two weeks were tough. The lads were delighted when he strolled in sheepishly behind Mel that first Friday night. "Jaysus, would you look at this!! What's wrong Dec? Do you need more free polo shirts for the golf or something? Did the boots fall off the nail?" The laughter rang out, and rolls of insulation tape, bandages and socks were thrown at him as he made his way to the same old corner of the dressing room. And despite the slagging, the sheepishness and uncomfortable realisation that he was carrying a few pints of Guinness, and a few American steaks that the lads weren't, Declan felt at ease for the first time in months. Paddy came over, shook him by the hand, and handed him a diet sheet. "I did this up for you, just in case" he said with a smirk. "Mel said I might need it. Good to see you, Declan, now get togged out, you have ground to make up".

The first two weeks were a nightmare. Declan was so sore after training he was barely fit to fall into bed, and he started snoring for the first time ever, as Máire playfully informed him. Some mornings he could hardly sit into the car, and the trips to Tescos for the fresh fruit and the individual trips to the gym, with Mel, Brendan and Murph,  were still taking time to get used to. But gradually, slowly he was making up the ground. He'd always been naturally fit, he was lucky that way, and his body responded to the new regime, even if it took a while for the motor to warm up from 6 months idleness. But tonight was the first time he finished first in his group of 4 in the shuttle sprints. "10-20-40, sets of 3, 8 times" Paddy had barked. On his first week back, he'd puked after the 3rd time. Tonight he'd pipped Gerry Maloney on the line for first on the 8th set. It felt like winning an All Ireland.

Maybe this year will be different after all, he said as he headed into the shower room. He saw Joe Murray loading ice cubes into the 3 ice baths set up in the second dressing room. A shiver went up his back just looking at it. "It f**king better be".

[High Catch]

Great reading AZ but you are going to get me the sack, I usually flick in and out of the board when I'm in work but this morning the boss is wondering why I have been spending 10 minutes at a time glued to the screen. He's getting suspicious!!

[GaillimhIarthair]

Brilliant stuff AZ, alot of that bring back some very good and bad memories; mostly good though!!  Cant wait to see if all that training pays off

[behind the wire]

az why dontyou write a fictional book about this sort of stuff. every one of us here identifies with all you have wrote there.

[AZOffaly]

az why dontyou write a fictional book about this sort of stuff. every one of us here identifies with all you have wrote there.

This is fiction

[Square Ball]

great stuff indeed.

you could just change the names in this bit and it could be most teams in Ireland
One, Two, Three, Four, sprint, sprint, sprint. FASTER FASTER.....and jog". Despite the biting cold, the sweat rolled off Mel's foreheard and dripped down the bridge of his nose as he slowed to a jog. Paddy Burke paced like caged tiger up and down in front of the line of 30 panting men, running on the spot, sweating and suffering. Each one saying the same thing to themselves. 'This better be f**king worth it in the summer'. The session had already gone on for an hour and a half, and they hadn't seen a ball that night. In fact they hadn't seen a ball since their first session of the year in early February. Not even a challenge match. Gym work, stamina work and now speed work. There hadn't been a session yet where someone hadn't disposed of an ill-advised late dinner into the long grass behind the goals on Ferbane's training pitch

[stpauls]

brilliant stuff, makes for great reading. keep it coming AZ, better than that Donny Doherty shite any day! 

[Rav67]

In fairness that's excellent stuff particularly the second effort!

[brokencrossbar1]

Not to put you under any pressure here AZ but perhaps it may be an idea to stick this into it's thread and have it as a stickie(I know some people here don't like stickies but the war is over, let it lie!) then instead of putting your self under pressure every day to fulfill our lust for nor doing work you could update it once a week until everyone becomes bored with it.

The last one has started the itch getting worse on me, tarining others is grand but there is nothing like that first shoulder charge in a ruck of players to get the blood flowing!