WHEN Henry Shefflin went to Galway, I thought of Martha Wainright’s great line in her song Factory, ‘These are not my people, I should never have come here.’ Brian Cody’s iron handshake that drew the blood from Henry’s hand and face suddenly became his legacy. Cody did not say a word to Henry that day, but his aura roared, “You f***ing traitor.” Upsetting Cody in Kilkenny is like an American comedian upsetting Donal Trump. When I spent a week in Kilkenny last year, people were shaking their heads sadly at what had become of Henry. Like Jimmy Kimmel, he had been cancelled.

So, last week when it was announced that Henry was to take over the Kilkenny u-20s, I thought of the parable of the lost sheep. You know the set up. The shepherd has 100 sheep. One strays from the flock and goes missing. The shepherd hunts for the sheep and eventually finds it, returning triumphantly with the sheep on his shoulders. He calls his friends and neighbours together and says, “Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.”

Henry is back amongst his people, back where he belongs, and there is great joy in Kilkenny. All that is required now is for Brian Cody to carry him on his shoulders into the changing room for the first u-20 session. Or a warm handshake that banishes the nightmare of the last one. That banishes the memory of that Galway mistake.

As Jesus said, “There will be more joy in heaven over one sinner that repents than over ninety nine persons who do not need repentance.”

If Henry is back with his flock, Jim Gavin is straying. After not closing that farm gate, he has lost rural Ireland. As Dessie Langan said in the Knockmore clubhouse on Friday night: ” And what farmer ever wore white trousers? And not a mark on them.” Farmgate was bad enough, but hugging Heather Humphries is another thing altogether. Heather, you may recall, is the one who doesn’t know if her husband was in the Orange Order, or if she went to Orange marches as an adult. At her presidential launch, the Extra.ie reporter broached the subject of the Loyal Orders.

Reporter: Can you tell us if your husband is a member of the Orange Order?

Heather: Not that, no, not that I’m aware of.

Reporter: Has he ever been in the Orange Order?

Heather: You’d have to ask him that.

Reporter: Was it not a topic of conversation in your marriage?

Heather: No, he is not a member.

As Extra.ie put it, “Mr Humphreys had stopped to speak too. But upon hearing our question, he walked quickly into a unisex toilet and closed the door.”

Thankfully, her memory returned a few days afterwards. Not that there is anything wrong with being in the Orange Order, so long as you are not a “Roman Catholic” or married to one. As a friend of mine put it, “Let any wife who has not forgotten her husband wearing his sash, white gloves, bowler hat, and carrying his ceremonial sword, cast the first stone.”

With Sinn Fein finally making a smart move in the South and endorsing Catherine Connolly, the common good candidate will probably be president and a president to be proud of. Heather was already doomed. If Jim looks as though he is about to experience the first failure of his adult life, his new football rules look as though they will live forever.

The Jim Gavin Gaelic Football Transfusion Service continues to breathe life back into the ancient game. We are enthusiastically talking about the games again. Everyone is excited.

Every kick-out is an event. Every attack has the crowd on its feet. Defenders are learning to defend. Younger Gaels who were at first bewildered, are thrilled at the revival of the corner-forward, an endangered species before Gavin. In the All-Ireland final last year, the six inside forwards scored a combined total of 0-1 from play. In this year’s All-Ireland, it was 0-24. Which is a far more important matter than who will be president of Ireland. Until I run.