When I stepped down from Dublin last September, I was barely back down the M7 when some people already thought I had relocated to Galway. 

I was in the RTÉ radio booth in the cockpit of the Kinnane Stand yesterday, when the fourth official signalled there would be just one minute of injury-time.

The day of a big championship game, a fair few of the Clare lads used to think I was on another planet, that I didn’t know what nerves were, that I was so relaxed I was nearly horizontal.

When Dublin won the league title in 2011, the final ended in pretty much the same manner as it did for Waterford yesterday; a big score, the game in the bag down the home straight, the option of emptying the bench was on the table. 

When we played Cork in the 1998 league semi-final, what I remember most is that we wore white togs and yellow socks. We had never worn white togs before in our lives, not even as minors. I don’t know where the yellow socks came out of it, they were dire. We were worse. We were cat.

Watching the Dubs heading down the home straight yesterday was like watching the Grand National when you had 20 quid on some nag at long odds and you were just wishing it to fall over the line.

After Dublin’s quarter-final win against Limerick, I laughed to myself when I saw some of the lazy journalism splurged across many of the papers.

After Dublin won the Division 1B final against Limerick in 2013, we had one weekend to spare before the League semi-finals, so we decided to fit in a training weekend on Bere Island. 

The first time I ran into Henry Shefflin was in 1999. Clare played Kilkenny in a challenge in Johnstown and this young fella arrived onto my patch as a second-half sub.

I was down in Kilkenny yesterday morning for a challenge game with the Limerick minors. The match was fixed for James Stephens’ new ground on the Kells road but I hadn’t a clue where I was going, so I ended up in their old place in the city, writes Anthony Daly.