“Bend your back,” Nancy roared at a young wing-forward scrimping and scraping not 30 yards from us last Tuesday evening, “and…

…but JP Darmody, as ever, interrupted with yet another example of the flashing repartee that’s such a feature of the Ballybore team this season…

“…and get your free,” he shouted.

There was great mirth across the wide open spaces of Lagadasheeen Bog. Oh, how they howled! Nancy winked conspiratorially (that’s one of many winking methods she uses. My own favourite is the disbelieving wink, but there’s nothing wrong with her suggestive wink either.)

Both of us know we are onto something with these lads.

There was some resistance at first, of course, but I have been running my Strength Agility & Quickness* training since long before anyone heard of Jim Kilty. Fifty years on, since I first rolled the programme out with the minors, I continue to use exactly the same format, though, like all good managers, my antenna remains ever-alert for useful modifications:

April – Lagadasheeen Bog;

May – ‘The first a May, the start a summer/The second a May, the Fair a Ballycumber.’ On foot;

June – Byrneses Meadow (round here, we prefer the ‘es’ to the apostrophe outside the ‘s’, just a local quirk);

July – Croagh Patrick, often the morning of a championship match; Lagadasheeen, too, of course; and the foreign trip – the Festival of San Fermin, head-to-head with the Edinburgh Military Tatoo, or some such;

August – the Loch an Bhora annual swim;

September – The last round-up in Lagadasheeen;

October – the county final, the Frank Franks, and the three-week tour of the four schools in the parish, all on foot, in preparation for the provincial club championship.

I intersperse these field trips with our usual sessions. The players learn to think on their feet, make decisions, and that promotes leadership. And, as any astute student of the game like myself will tell you, after skill, bravery, dedication, single-mindednes, and bad-mindedness, leadership is the most important attribute of all.

A team without leaders is no team at all. There aren’t that many ‘I’s in ‘individualism’, I often tell them.

“There is only so much Noel can do on the sideline,” I say to them before every match, “and Noel will do that, and more,” I add, “but it’s not worth a curse if you men beyond the whitewash don’t know when it’s time to lower the blade.”

Last Sunday evening was a time for lowering the blade. Tournament games are a personal favourite of mine. “Sure, you often said it yourself, Noel,” Nancy reminded me on the low road, “that if a man couldn’t balance the books in a tournament game, he wasn’t a man at all.”

We found ourselves locked in a grim battle. I was delighted with our response: I have yet to meet a man suspended after being sent off in a tournament game.

Broken teeth can grow back again, but if word emerges that a team backed down in a tournament game, the shame will endure for life.

“Mighty stuff,” I told them at half-time, “they thought Ballybore would be a soft touch, like you were the last ten years. They’re getting their answer now. Wire into them, lads. I’ll take care of the paperwork afterwards.”

They appreciated my making it clear that I would do whatever needed to be done. That sense of oneness is the most important attribute of any team.

“Nigel,” I clarified, “Go long with the kick-outs when we’re trying the two-man right half-back tactic.”

The second-half was a marvellous exhibition of tournament football. I counted five sendings-off. I don’t know how many they lost. It ended up like a seven-a-side. The referee, notably impartial in the circumstances (sent off his brother-in-law), said we had drawn it. Nancy was adamant we were beaten by a point.

I embarked on a different tack. Of course. “Lads,” I said, in the dressingroom, “Nancy has it there on the clipboard that we won by two points, 2-15 to 19 points. She has the name of every scorer for both teams. We were robbed.”

I continued: “But is fada an bothar,” I said, “is fada an bothar. Now let’s get everyone dressed. This crowd can keep their sandwiches. We’ll show them hospitality when they come over for the replay, and we’ll take the gate too.”

With that, a defiant cheer went up. Through encounters such as this are the fundamentals of team hewn, and coming home, playing tapes of some old Gerry Russell county championship commentaries, Nancy and I were so overjoyed we didn’t speak a single word.

* JP, ever the wit, labelled it: Strength, Awkwardness, and Thickness. Nancy took umbrage. I took him aside and told him his good humour is a critical component of our success. Mind you, he is still not making the team – his range of recycled clothing has him all over the country. “I can’t believe how it has taken off.,” he told me just last week, “I’m working round the clock to get out an order of tie-dye tshirts made from discarded Cormac MacConnell notebooks.”

Noel turns and foots his own plot, and if everyone did the same. Visit www.knowledgeablenoel.com; or let a roar at him on Twitter (KnowledgeNoel.)

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