The sunny summer mornings, the rushed breakfast, the big helmets, the Mikasa gloves, the GAA summer camps.
The excitement had been building for weeks. The last few days in school were dominated with anticipation for the summer GAA camps.
We all remember the hype, the anticipation and the unrivalled buzz of that first Monday morning at our Summer GAA camps.
Everyone congregated at the stand waiting to be divided into your age groups.
That’s when the memories began.
1. Bull Dog – Were you really doing a summer GAA camp if the first game you played every single morning wasn’t bull dog? If you were a catcher you had the weight of great responsibility resting on your shoulders, the responsibility of GAA legends past. If you were running you needed to be quicker than Usain Bolt.
2. The skiving off – “I’m just going to the stand to get a drink of water, I’m dying with the thirst,” when in reality you had planned to meet up with a friend from another group, or to delve into the ‘treats’ in your lunch box. Smooth criminal.
3.The good coach – These guys knew what they were at. Their drills and games were good craic, they joined in the fun and they were always encouraging. To you they were a hero.
4.The bad coach – You remember them from last year and the last thing you wanted was to get them again this year. They didn’t really care about the games you played, if there was a match they’d be on the phone or sitting on a football. No craic at all.
5. White bread sandwiches – We all used to get those classic white bread, ham and butter sandwiches didn’t we. We were easily pleased and we scoffed them down at lunch time.
6. The begging – ‘We’ve had enough games, we’ve done enough drills, just let us play a damn match.’
7. The game – The wishes came true, the coach bowed to the pressure, the after lunch games began. There was one football game and one hurling game and to the camp-goers it was like an All-Ireland final.
8. The arrival of the county players – It’s actually him. It’s a county senior player and we were bloody well starstruck. Mother of God he signed my hurl.
9. ‘The kits won’t be here till tomorrow’ – Eventually they came on the Friday when we had no bloody use for them. The bags would be seen in school for the next few months, though. Classics.
10. The Friday water fight – Anticipation had been building all week. The battle had begun, war had commenced. It was every man for himself, it was ruthless, it was no-holes-barred, it was kill or be killed.
By God, we had some childhoods.
