The gift that does not keep on giving

ANYONE who loved playing football but was forced to stop due to old age and creaking limbs will have understood precisely what the 34-year-old Ronaldo experienced before his retirement.

Explaining his reasons for quitting the game he so dearly loves, the three-time World Footballer of the Year said: “I wanted to continue, but I can’t. I think of an action, but I can’t do it the way I want to. It’s time.”

The realisation that the legs can no longer follow the impulses of the mind can be a harrowing time for any sportsman.

In the days before confirming his decision to retire, Ronaldo admitted that he had “cried like a child”.

Mature adults with a proper sense of perspective — and by this I mean women — might have little sympathy for a man sobbing because he can no longer partake in his favourite pastime.

After all, St Paul did tell us: “When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.”

I can only assume that Paul didn’t know many footballers. The true footballer never really grows up. At heart he remains the young boy who gains an endless thrill from the simple act of putting his boot to a ball.

It must be stated that not all footballers share this deep-seated affection for the game. Many players like football simply because they are good at it. The game provides them with recognition and status. Once their powers start to fade, they have no problem calling it a day. These individuals rarely go to games or take an active interest in their clubs. They are more common than you would think.

Then there are the players, the Ronaldos of this world, who wholeheartedly worship a sport which they also happen to be exceptionally good at playing.

It can be very difficult for the footballer who wants to remain forever young to accept that he is becoming old and slow.

The realisation that he can no longer cut it with the younger fellas is particularly painful as in some way it represents a small death. It’s the official end of youth.

A retirement that is forced through injury is no less painful. In a recent column, ex-Donegal footballer Brendan Devenney touched the heartstrings when he recounted how he felt after being informed that his playing days with St Eunan’s, Letterkenny were over. Driving home from his meeting with Dr Eanna Falvey at the Sports Injury Clinic in Dublin , the impact of what he had been told hit Devenney.

“Coming up the motorway I couldn’t help but cry. It just sort of spilled out of me. These images kept flashing into my mind; when I was a kid kicking ball in the back garden, dreaming of playing for Donegal.”

It’s quite surprising how few footballers actually possess and convey this childlike passion for the game.

A few stand out. As a child, the hyperactive, non-sleeping Joe Brolly regularly came into his parents’ bedroom at three or four in the morning demanding that his father Francie get up and play football with him. (And people wonder why Joe was sent to boarding school!).

Some decades later and Joe not only continues to keep people awake at night, but at 40 years of age, he’s still playing club football. Joe’s team-mate and fellow double All Star winner, Enda Gormley, is another member of the eternal youth club. Enda won a Down Junior Championship when he was 42. He’s planning to turn out later this year.

Maurice Fitzgerald is the ultimate example. He’s the only county player I’ve met who played football as a form of recreation. Maurice and his friend would meet at lunch to catch and kick a ball for an hour. When I expressed surprise, Maurice countered by asking if I would have thought it strange if he went to a driving range.

From the more recent crop of footballers, Seán Cavanagh is one of the few who displays a huge zeal for football. In 2008 when Tyrone were preparing for the All-Ireland final, I remember Seán telling me how he would bound down the stairs of his work because he was looking forward to going to that night’s training session.

I’m also reliably informed that Marty Clarke likes nothing better than kicking a ball against the gable wall of his family home. Given the importance and comment which is attached to every county match, it’s easy to understand how footballers can lose sight of why they are actually involved in the GAA. But it’s important for them to remember that it’s a game they play for enjoyment. It’s vital for them to adopt a selfish attitude, reminding themselves that they play for their own satisfaction and not for the positive feedback of supporters and the media.

Last week I stated that Tyrone’s ageing squad wasn’t the problem. Rather, it was the appetite of all the players which was the source of concern. In their last outing against Sligo, Seán Cavanagh was the best player in Markievicz Park, Stephen O’Neill scored 0-3 from play, Enda McGinley crashed home a goal, and Brian McGuigan pulled the strings.

The sad day will come for all footballers, including those from Tyrone, when they will fully understand Ronaldo’s words and Ronaldo’s tears. Until such times they should celebrate the fact that they can still think of an action and do it the way they want to. It’s a gift that doesn’t last forever.

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