Learner Dad: We’re a bit of a GAA family now, like those you see in Aldi and SuperValu ads

It’s not like we’re a gene-pool GAA family. I played a little bit of Gaelic football in Kinsale. Picture: Piaras Ó Mídheach/Sportsfile

You know you’re settling into a community when you get to wash the GAA gear .

There are 17 jerseys billowing away on the line outside, girls under 10.

It’s not like we’re a gene-pool GAA family. I played a little Gaelic football in Kinsale, but you need a bit of the dog in you to play GAA, and I didn’t have it. A career-low was when I turned up for a match once and was asked by the coach if I’d lend my boots to a guy called Jimmy. Jimmy went on to score 1-3, while I stood on the sideline in my socks, pretending not to mind.

My son never took to GAA — he’s a soccer man at eight and not the kind of guy to change his mind. His sister played a bit in the city, under 7’s girls' football, which was mainly chatting and cartwheels as far as I could see. She stopped going when it got cold. 

Now we live in rural east Cork and she’s taken it up again, training with the local team because her friends from school are involved. She reminds me of myself when I played, chasing the play around but not getting her hands on the ball very often.

I’m not sure if she’ll stick it out, it’s hard when you’re playing with girls who have been playing solidly for a few years.  But she’s determined when she puts her mind to something, so here’s hoping she keeps going. B ecause all the cliches about team sports are true.  They’re a reminder that there is something more important than just yourself; they show what can be achieved with  positivity and determination, and they’re a great place for parents to pick up a bit of gossip.

We went to a blitz in Cloyne the other night. For the uninitiated, a blitz is where a few clubs get together and they all play each other over the period of an hour or two. The parents stand on the sideline, some watching the game, others wondering if anyone would notice if we sidled off for a sneaky pint.

If this was supposed to be a relaxed friendly, no one told the girls. It was full-on from the first whistle, with tackles and shoulders and a few parents getting stuck in with encouragement. I tried to act calm and supportive because that’s what you’re supposed to do, but I also found myself getting sucked into it. 

So mething happens between under-7 and under-10, where they move from cartwheels and chatting to proper Gaelic football.

These summer evenings are special, they won’t last forever. It was striking the way the whole community seemed to come out for the blitz, with grandmothers and newborns making up the crowd along the sideline. 

The GAA is our version of the Italian passeggiata. While they walk around in designer gear eating ice cream and eyeing each other up, we stand around on the sidelines, slagging and laughing and telling Orla to get stuck in, sure it will toughen her up.

The sun was shining in Cloyne, so we all went for ice cream afterwards. I drove home on a high. The GAA will do that to you, even when your team loses.

My wife is a better community person than me, so she made a bee-line for the coach and brought the jerseys home to wash them. (We’ve great drying up here in Maytown). 

So I guess we’re a bit of a GAA family now, like one of those families you see in Aldi and SuperValu ads. I hope my daughter sticks with it, the blitzes are brilliant for everyone. As long as no one asks for a loan of her boots.