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22nd December 2015
12:31pm GMT
"I firmly believe that any man's finest hour, the greatest fulfillment of all that he holds dear, is that moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle... Victorious."
But what about the proudest moment? Your finest accomplishment. That moment when you stood in achievement and drank it all in. It came to me quicker than the first.
And, to the outside, it was even more unimportant.
In 2014, winning the under-16 B championship with a group of teenagers who had worked their balls off and done exactly as you asked.
Seeing a younger generation in the club lift a cup for the first time since you were back there playing yourself, watching them come together in elation and catching that same bug we all caught at one stage or another. And feeling like you actually helped them do it? That's a difficult high to replicate.
But you go in search of it again. And again. And again. That's what you do.
Your favourite moment in life so far... Your favourite.
Over the course of 27 years of laughter, friendship and love, those are the two definitive ones plucked out when pressed. Two moments, two games of football that no-one has even heard of. Two local, modest, insignificant-to-the-rest achievements that interested maybe 200 people.
Yet, in 27 years, they stand out as the mark of someone's time here.
In 27 years, they represent someone's whole world.
They show us just why we play this game.
You know, that time we got promoted - that most joyous moment ever - we only ended up spending three years in Derry's top division.
In hindsight, we failed in our objectives and those seasons were a tough slog that were, ultimately, a big disappointment. We got relegated. We cried. We went backwards. Still, you look at one cold day that got us there and smile. You look at a day that most of the people in your life don't even know or care about and you hold it dearest. It's memories that aren't tainted no matter what came after.
That's why we do it. That's why we live. You make moments, good and bad, and hope you can lose the shit in the editing process. You keep the good ones. You look back and remember. And you tell your story.
You don't get to do that when you're afraid to give it a rattle. You don't get to tell your story when you refuse to put in a bit of the groundwork.
GAA players have gotten a lot of bad press recently.
"Indentured slaves" is a term that has incredibly - even impressively - caught on and it's being bandied around about anyone willing to go a few extra yards to achieve something at the end of it. About anyone looking to give something a go.
Apparently county players and club teams are doing too much work. They're in the gym every day, they're sprinting for miles and their diets would make you wince. So what? Why are we scowling at people who are trying to be the best versions of themselves?
What's the alternative?
It's human nature to want to better yourself, to want to achieve something. If you don't play GAA, you might undertake triathlon and put your body through even worse. You might just take up a marathon for the hell of it having done nothing previously and head out for hours upon hours of tedious running. Because you have an end goal in sight. Because you have an objective to overcome. You want to challenge yourself. You want to make memories.
No-one's forcing players to put the work in. Players are doing it because they want to improve. They're doing it because they want to win. They want to make memories.
And when you commit yourself to this way of life, when you're building something with your community and friends, when the GAA becomes your entire world, it doesn't matter one bit if no-one has any clue what, where or why you're doing it.
All that matters is that you're playing the game. All that matters is that you're giving it a shot.
To paraphrase Jim McGuinness's book: There's something so thrilling about starting something and having no idea if you're going to succeed. But it's so daring and brave to say to yourself that you're going to give it a rattle anyway.
At the end of it all, you might not be famous, you might not be rich and you might not even succeed. But there's something so pure and natural about giving it your all.
"To any young people... all I can say is make the sacrifices... because it's worth it." (AP McCoy)
Please stop belittling the noble hard work that amateur athletes are dedicating their lives to out of choice. Out of dreams.
I'll get nowhere near the top of my sport and, still, with 27 years to look back on, nothing even comes close to the feeling I got from two mediocre GAA achievements. Two moments of pure happiness. Two moments hardly anyone knows about.
I got them by working.
I got them by busting my balls, sweating and even bleeding. I got them through sacrifice.
I got them through pain and defeat. I got them through working my heart out in a good cause.
And, do you know what? I can't wait to do it all over again.
That's what the GAA is. That's what living is.
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