IN the second week of January 1980, Vitas Gerulaitis was one of eight elite players who had qualified for the Masters Tennis tournament in New York.

This tournament is unique for the format it uses. The eight players on top of the rankings at the end of the season are divided into two groups, which are contested round-robin style. The top two players from each group then advance to the semi-finals, which is a knockout.

The Masters was the pinnacle then. Only the best eight players in the world were invited. Gerulaitis made it to the semi-final, where he faced his nemesis Jimmy Connors, then the world’s number one tennis player. Connors had beaten him in their previous 16 meetings, but on this occasion, Gerulaitis shocked the world, beating the champion in an epic game.

At the press conference afterwards, Vitas pointed at the media and said “Let that be a lesson to you all. Nobody, and I mean nobody, beats Vitas Guerilitis 17 times in a row.” It is worth noting that Vitas played Bjorn Borg 16 times during his career and lost all 16. But as Vitas himself said after his retirement “Not 17 times.”

I have been on a magical mystery tour of the country watching club football and I have never seen it so vibrant.

The reasons for this are that for the first time in 20 years, the clubs have a season dedicated to them alone, and they have had their county players. The deep ties between county player and club player, and county player and community have been restored. It is a pity it took a pandemic to provide the roadmap for the future of the GAA and it would be absolutely reckless of the hierarchy to ignore it. Returning to the dying status quo is not an option.

On Sunday, Ballymun won their first Dublin Championship since 2012, an occasion full of passion and emotion.

Afterwards, their manager Brendan Hackett said what every GAA person is saying in every county in Ireland. “This was the greatest championship in living memory to win. Every team was at full strength, fully ready. The county players were with us throughout. The fact we were together so long without distraction was a massive boost to morale and camaraderie. It was so much more fun, so much more fluent. It was obvious to see that the lads were hugely enjoying themselves.” Then he said “Less science, more fun.”

He said that when the great Declan Small interviewed him for the post, long before Covid, he had said to him “Look, it doesn’t matter how good you are Brendan. The guys you see playing in Croke Park in July and August will be spent by the time they come back to you in September and you have got to bear that in mind.” Brendan finished his interview by saying, “To have the lads all together training and enjoying each other’s company made this a completely different experience.”

It has been sad, in truth, to see what has happened to the club game, particularly in the last decade and sad to see how county players have been segregated from their hearts’ delight.

I saw at first hand this joy after the Mayo county final. Kevin McLoughlin has been a shadow at his club since he was absorbed into the Mayo machine as a 20-year-old. In that time, his club Knockmore has won nothing. This season, all that changed.

The boredom and outrageous demands of the pseudo-professional county regime was replaced by the joy of club football with your friends and neighbours and boy did he respond. And boy did they respond to him. Knockmore surprised everyone by making the final, with McLoughlin rejuvenated.

In that final, they overwhelmed the favourites Breaffy to win their first senior title since 1997. Afterwards McLoughlin wept with joy. What a shame he has been denied this for a decade, their club championships, like Dublin’s or Tyrone’s, run off like a blitz when the county men were exhausted. An afterthought. A competition to run off as quickly as possible and be done with.

As for Tyrone, what a championship. Who would have guessed the county had such superb club teams? Vibrant, manly, skilled, adventurous. For two glorious months, the dull, formulaic sameness of the county team was replaced by a simply wonderful championship, crowned by perhaps the most epic club final I have ever seen. I was not there in person, but if I had been, I think I would have invaded the pitch as well.

The same story has been retold all over the country. The wonder-kid did it again in Kerry, scoring a goal that came straight from the pages of a comic, a surprise 30-yard blaster that hit the net before the ’keeper moved. It is often said that the ’keeper didn’t move when in fact he has. On this occasion, he actually did not move. Nothing is beyond him and if Kerry systematically build their team around him, they will win an All-Ireland.

In Galway, Mountbellew, with their county players, looked a different team. In the last eight years, they have lost seven times in-a-row to Corofin in senior championship football, who take little interest in the county, preferring, like Crossmaglen of old, to concentrate on the heart’s core.

This time, they played to their potential, their county men once again club men and the team playing with great flair and passion, coming from a point behind at half-time to win by seven.

For Corofin, unbeaten in Galway since September 2012, it must have felt a bit like the story about Ali knocking out the unbeatable George Foreman in Zaire in 1974. When big George had recovered his senses in the dressing room, he is said to have asked what round he won in, only to have been told he had been beaten.

Corofin appear to have overlooked the fact that no one, and I mean no one, beats Mountbellew eight times in a row.

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