Farewell madness, hello helmet

Damien Irwin laments the passing of an era when bloodied, bandaged hurlers staggered across the landscape – and a player became synonymous with a gap in his teeth or a shock of red curls

IT’S nearly over, won’t be around the hurling saloons a whole pile longer. The badge of honour, lads with blood streaming down their faces, heads split open, roundy lumps on the sides of their crowns. Evidence of stitches on a cheek, lips or forehead in a form of pink, serrated lines, worn as war wounds in real GAA company and occasionally a help at the local disco.

The warrant has been signed. Where authorities once focussed on how to end faction fighting at the fairs of rural Ireland, so now they have trained their sights on ending once and for all a remnant of the Faction Fight – the freedom of a man to enter the hurling arena without a shred of cover on his face or head. The warrior who goes to war without the helmet. The end is nigh.