Does it even exist anymore, the off-season? Yes there are winter bans on collective training but that won't stop players from privately putting in the extra mileage if they wish. Then there are club schedules that extend over the winter period and before you know it college football is back in action and the whole hideous cycle kicks off again.
Do you ever just say feck it there's more to life?
The complaints roll in but the attendances stay up and I'm stumped trying to figure out why.
The schedule for the GAA season is like a carousel with no off switch. Disinterest starts to creep in, followed by frustration and then the long sigh of relief when the final whistle goes in that last inconsequential league game in October. But the psychological drawbacks of a never ending season are eclipsed by the physical damage that goes with it.
Monaghan's Dick Clerkin exemplifies what the burnout factor can do to the body which he documented in The Irish Examiner today.
No doubt about it, the body is slowly starting to creak at the seams. Over the past 12 months, I have had four cortisone injections into various joints. Some were needed just to help me sleep at night.
And don’t talk to me about the ordeal of putting on a pair of socks the mornings after rigorous training sessions. Not effectively allowing my body rest and recover last year nearly cost me dearly. Now I must be sure not to make that mistake again
He goes on to write:
But, as hard as I was pushing, the legs just weren’t responding the way they normally had.
Struggling at the back of runs, it was getting a bit depressing and embarrassing. When you’re trailing behind the sub keeper, you know something’s not right
Clerkin took a break after the league semi-final, came back and finished off the season. Now he has keyhole surgery on the ankle to look forward to but yet he still signs off that article with:
But it’ll be worth it in the end.
Peering in with the view of someone with no interest in GAA, this is unfiltered and unadulterated lunacy. Recurring injuries, a social life and even the opportunity to go abroad on a J1 - these are the demons you must slay to make in the modern game.
But the pursuit of success is finite. If you lose, you're left to dwell in misery for a while and then you get over it. If you win, you're left to reel in the glory for a while before the itch kicks in and you're compelled to go back and defend your crown. And if you keep winning, you're plagued with the torture of never being satisfied.
Either way you end up tumbling back into the fold. No sooner have you finished bitching and moaning about the season that's just finished, that you find yourself strolling back into the dressing room on a dreary night in January for pre-season hell. Even the sight of the manager lumping poles into the ground for the long and dirty runs won't deter you.
There's always the hope that there's something to play for. But when will we stop saying that it's worth it?
