BOOTS, tracksuit, socks, helmet, good pair of jeans, shoes and the ‘going out shirt’, the bag was packed, ready to go to county games during my early years on the Derry panel.

We had an away fixture to Kerry in my early twenties. There was always a mixture of dread at the long journey, sitting on a bus all day and a giddy excitement at how the weekend might play out.

We left on a Friday afternoon for a game that was scheduled for the Saturday. We arrived at the Limerick hotel just as the sun was going down that evening. As we got off the bus, we were immediately struck by the distant but unmistakable dull thudding sound of a base beat from a disco coming from somewhere in the hotel complex. A few knowing sideways glances were exchanged and mischievous grins appeared on faces.

After dinner we cleared back to our rooms as quickly as possible, the glad rags were on and we bolted to the disco. The craic went on, with shenanigans up and down the hotel corridors going on late into the night. The next morning a few sorry heads appeared for breakfast, we ate our fry up and clambered on the bus to Kerry. Unbelievably, given the night before, we beat Kerry in the game.

The victory ensured there would be no recriminations from the night before, management were happy enough and we successfully negotiated a stop to get a carry-out at the earliest convenience of a bus driver who knew he was fighting a losing battle at keeping law and order on the bus.

That evening it was arranged that we would be staying in the City West in Dublin on the way home. The journey back to Derry deemed too long for the one day. We landed in the City West already in good humour and the party continued. Another all-night affair ensued, a sing song in the hotel lobby with some dubious enough material is my last abiding memory of the night.

The next morning after breakfast I gave the nod to a potential accomplice. I won’t name people in this article to avoid incriminating anyone but he is 6.5” tall and can puck a hurling ball 100 meters up the side of a mountain. As we sneaked to the hotel bar, we assumed we’d be the only ones bold enough to keep the thing going but when as we entered the bar, we were met by half the Derry panel who cheered our arrival.

The party continued, another carry-out on the bus from Dublin to Derry. A few of the younger members of the panel got off the bus when we got back to Maghera. We ended up in a pub in Swatragh, eventually making it home to Dungiven in the early hours of Monday morning. The whole weekend was like a stag do with a hurling match thrown in to break up the weekend like some sort of paint balling or go-karting activity.

There was a club league match the following night, we were away to Swatragh. Swatragh won the game by a point, the before mentioned accomplice scoring a pointed free from about 90 meters to win the game at the end. As I left the field feeling beleaguered and forlorn, a Swatragh man was hanging over the fence, he had a wry grin on his face, ‘you’re not so boisterous now.’ I vaguely remembered his face from the previous night in the Swatragh pub. He was right.

When I was 24, I was selected as captain of Derry. It was a great honour and it made me take a look at myself a bit. I didn’t subscribe to a monastic lifestyle from that point forward, but I did abandon the over-the-top lunacy that I thought was acceptable during my early years on the panel.

After a few years managers would room me with men who were potential flight risks on a Saturday night before away games. It was certainly poacher turned game-keeper stuff. It didn’t always work, I remember one occasion returning to my room to find my roommate half way out the window on a mission into town. My misgivings were ignored and off he went. I was rudely awakened at 3am by my man snoring like a bear after his spree around some ill prepared midlands town.

The older I got and the further into my county career the less common these things were. When I look back at it, mostly I think it was brainless enough stuff. I certainly wouldn’t advocate for teams being allowed to take things as far as we did on occasion, now.

I do feel that the that the needle has possibly tipped too far in the other direction.

GAA players are amateur sportsmen but at intercounty level in particular the demands are at level where the commitment required is going to appeal to a smaller and smaller catchment of players.

Is playing Gaelic games at intercounty level becoming a joyless experience? Some of the players I played with for Derry remain the closest of friends.

Are the bonds between players and the friendships and connections that should be at the core of playing Gaelic games being replaced by a courteous relationship between teammates who train together but never really foster meaningful personal connections?

There needs to be a balance for players. At present, I’m not so sure there is one.