Mike Quirke: Being an unused substitute at Croker is the most disgusting seat in the house

I spotted him from a distance, and I knew instantly something was coming, I just wasn’t sure exactly what. This walking into town after a Kerry game was a whole new ball game to me: “Go home to youz bleedin’ cows and leave the football to us… Up the Dubs” was the exuberant proclamation that greeted me as I skulked away from Croke Park.

‘Thanks for that’, I thought to myself. That’s just what I needed. He was like a town crier, hanging out of a bar door, head to toe in Dublin blue… all he was short was the ringing bell and tricorn hat. He had the thickest Dublin accent, and he repeated the same line over and over and never skipped a beat while I was in ear shot. He bellowed at every sign of green and gold he laid eyes on, as many Kerry supporters as he could hit, like a verbal car-bomb.

That was 2011, and it was the last year I played football with Kerry. I had come back late during the league after we had lost a couple of key guys around the middle of the field to injury. It was about the time Dave Moran was side-lined with cruciate number one. I had Jack O’Connor on the phone at his cajoling best.