Only so much one can take in this world of pampered stars

Country Living with Francis Farragher

IT’S probably fair to say that I have a soft spot for goalkeepers. Having soldiered many years through thick and thin (mostly thin) for teams like Monivea-Abbey and St. Bernard’s, I’ve never quite forgotten the elation of bringing off that occasional wonder save or alternatively the downright despair of dropping a clanger and feeling a huge sense of guilt for a week afterwards.

I remember soldiering between the sticks on grubby days in Parkmore during the ‘70s when you’d have to take an odd rattle here and there – but also deliver one when the opportunity arose – but not too overtly as there might be an over-zealous referee knocking around.

In those days on the GAA field, the third-man tackle was legitimate under the rule-book of the time, and on occasions with Tuam CBS, a tough defender from Killererin called Jack Heneghan, would be the minder of the square in front of me. For two country lads we had a good understanding: I’d call for the ball coming in around the posts and Jack would, without fail, ‘nail’ the forward on the way towards goal.

There was no such thing as feigning injury those days. Unless you were badly winded or got a belt on the head you kept going because even if the worst came to the worst, first-aid men on the sideline were a very scarce commodity. At times we played St. Jarlath’s on their pitches which had a cinder base to their goal area, and to this day, some of those little black blades have remained embedded just under the skin of my kneecap.

Anyway, last week, there I was watching a Premier League tie between Arsenal and Manchester United, taking it easy after getting my Covid booster shot, as the Gunners got a corner in the first half. Pretty much a routine defensive routine for United, until one of their over-priced so-called superstars Fred accidentally stood on the toes of ‘keeper David de Gea. I’d say worse things happen on a daily basis at every creche across the country as children play with each other, but what does the Spanish prima donna do, only fall to the ground apparently writhing in agony, at the ‘horrendous injury’ that has been inflicted upon him.

For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.

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