People first, players second
You’ve just made the Championship panel. You’re king of the world. Free boots. Free gear. You wear the county training top like a badge of honour. You’re untouchable.
As a student, you appreciate it all the more. The scholarships. The grants. The prestige. Men want to be you. Women want to be with you. The envy and desire you can tolerate. You’re untouchable.
You are the darling of your club. You’re their pride and joy. You’re a young Henry Hill. You find doors are opened for you. You’re untouchable.
You find a girl. You fascinate her. Your sport makes you selfish but she doesn’t mind. You are worth the sacrifices. You make her proud. You’re untouchable.
You’re the alpha male among your friends. You are who they want to be. You inspire jealousy in one or two of them but they cloak it in passive aggressiveness. You don’t mind. You’re untouchable.
You play for your county and it is everything you expected. You love the rush, the thrill. You are the unknown quantity. Your opponents can’t get near you. You’re untouchable.
A couple of years down the line and you are an established inter-county player, but the novelty has worn off.
You’re out of college. You have a job but can’t advance in it because your sport won’t let you put in the extra hours. You’re touchable.
You’re no longer the golden boy of the parish. County commitments means you’re only a ghost around the club. Your appearances for them are few and far between. Your backslaps have turned to brickbats. You’re touchable.
You lose the girl. She can’t share you anymore. She minds. You live like a monk. She lives like a young woman. She wants more of you. You have nothing more to give because you can’t. You’re touchable.
You lose some of your friends. You live like a monk. They live like young men. You are no longer privy to the in jokes. You’re touchable.
You feel the pressure mount as expectations grow of you. You lose form. You lose fitness. You need relief.
You look for the highs that your friends have on nights out, foreign holidays and J1s and find them in the odd bet here and there. Soon that infrequent punt becomes more regular. You’re touchable.
You might become a mainstay for the remainder of your 20s. You may even see the trimmings that go to high quality players come your way. But there is a catch. You begin another relationship but because you’re unfortunate to be good enough you will always have one with your county. You’re married to it. You’re touchable.
A bleak picture? Yes, but one painted only to illustrate just how onerous life can be for the young men who will provide so much pleasure to us this summer.
Former Tipperary Brendan Cummins summed it perfectly recently when he said: “When you cross the white line people don’t care what’s gone on before. They just expect you to perform.”
At least more managers, it seems, are more cognisant of the demands now placed on inter-county footballers and hurlers. A year into his role with Waterford Davy Fitzgerald realised he had to become more than a coach to his panel. In his latest stint as Mayo boss, John O’Mahony referred to the massive challenges faced by players compared to previous generations. “Life was much simpler,” he said.
The Championship brings with it excitement as much as anxiety yet it is not a key component in depression, more so acting as a trigger to the brutal underlying condition.
“It’s important to point out that to say players are suffering from depression because of the game is a big accusation to make,” stresses GPA head of communications Sean Potts.
“From our experiences, it wouldn’t necessarily be specific to that. When we do assess players the issue of things getting on top of them can be related to being a county player.
“The difficulty in not being able to juggle college and county careers and such because they’re not mature would be an example of that.
“However, the Championship is not a specific driver of problems. The trends we’ve seen directly related to games is the vulnerability to addiction particularly gambling. Unlike alcohol abuse, it’s not visible.
“They are looking for a certain high. Providing support for those difficulties is very much to the fore of our commitments to our members. It’s about taking our social responsibility seriously.”
The tragic death of Galway hurler Niall Donohoe last year has seen the GPA redouble their efforts in the area of mental well-being among inter-county players.
They have recently provided assistance in a number of club cases too.
Next week, the official players’ body will launch an internal campaign aimed at helping players with the pressures and demands that go hand in hand with performing in the Championship.
“It’s about encouraging a conversation in the dressing room as it were. It’s about encouraging players to talk and recognising the signs in a team-mate or panellist that’s out of the ordinary in some way.
“There are different pathways available to members who might be suffering. There’s the confidential member help-line but it might be a case of someone making a call or saying it to manager, partner or mother of a player.
“It’s about making players aware of the issues that can escalate if not spoken about and run out of control if they aren’t addressed.
“Coping is a big part of it and there seems to be a deficiency for whatever reason in the coping mechanisms of young men at the moment. We don’t necessarily know why but the incidence of suicide in young men is very worrying. This campaign is about us taking a more proactive role and while there will be a public element to it, it will be very much focused on our members.”
People first, players second. As amateurs, they shouldn’t be seen as anything else.
