Playing with the Little People

IT’S been a tough comeback. Last April, in this column, I expressed my dissatisfaction with retirement and my wish to play All-Ireland League rugby again before all I was fit for was gardening and sing-alongs to the ‘Lyrics Board’.

Once it was in black-and-white there was no backing down and I was subsequently handed my summer training plan and told to get busy.

However, as a succession of coaches have found out, I tend not to summer well.

Me and Gym don’t get on.

I’m always hearing about this ‘buzz’ you’re supposed to get from pumping weights, but what is enjoyable about voluntarily causing yourself pain while sleeveless men check themselves out in wall-length mirrors?

My best summer in the gym came in the mid-1990s when I was living in a 19th century hovel with three marijuana-addicted students.

Our toilet kept flooding so I used to buy the newspaper, go down to the gym, sign the book, use the lavatory and leave.

My regular signature convinced the club I had finally discovered the merits of pumping iron and they ceased giving me grief.

Sadly, this summer my bog was in perfect working order and my frosty relationship with Gym duly noted.

When proper training resumed in August there was a major shock in store. I was only away for a year-and-a-half, and have always got fit easily, so I didn’t anticipate much of a problem when I returned to active duty.

However, the bar seems to have been raised, or old age has kicked in. Either way, I was miles off the pace.

In that article last April, I had jokingly referred to minor rugby players as the Little People, but once the club saw my condition, I was handed a free pass to Lilliputia and signed up for the Dennehy Cup, the first minor competition of the year.

At this point, I wish to apologise to the Little People for that description. Minor rugby is indeed a worthy institution and some of them are actually extremely large.

That first cup game was a victory against a very handy Crosshaven side and given my woeful physical state I thought I performed adequately on the day.

I caught my share of lineouts, made a couple of runs and tackled their scrumhalf (one-and-a- half times).

However, the match report in Crosshaven’s local rag saw things differently.

The reporter noted that an Irish Examiner rugby columnist was in the second row for Dolphin and then suggested that perhaps he should just stick to writing about the game. Ouch.

The following week we were knocked out by a talented Cork Con outfit and, though beaten, I was pleased to note my fitness had improved.

Unfortunately, it was hard for anyone to tell, as rock hard ground and extra long studs meant I spent the entire second-half tip-toeing tentatively around Temple Hill.

I contemplated exiting the fray but the excuse “the soles of my feet are hurting” does not sound very manly.

And now, four weeks away from the AIL, I find myself suddenly elevated to the junior team for this weekend’s clash with UL-Bohemians.

My fitness and enthusiasm are slowly returning and I’ve cut down the gargle, but is there enough to carry me back into the First XV?

We shall see, but it is comforting to know that the King of the Little People has promised me a warm welcome in Lilliputia if I fail.

It’s been a tough and chastening comeback.