Breaking new ground with the unbreakable hurley

The hurley snaps. (It reminds me of tent poles I’ve seen halved by falling fat guys, late at night, after the music has long ended at a festival). But the special spine holds it together safely.

PERHAPS the thing to know about Flan Marsh is this: he couldn’t be broken – just like his hurleys.

In another monochrome week where, it seemed, more than a volcanic ash cloud hung over the island, it’s not a bad way to spend a bright Wednesday afternoon; leaning on a fence outside a GAA clubhouse, talking to someone who’s going to hurl on, regardless of economic circumstances. And when he presses a hurley into your hands and insists his new design will work, you tend to believe him.