They were my Maltesers but I didn't mind

Perched high up in the Cusack Stand I handed the bag around. It had been two hours since we tucked into the salad, or 'cold plate' as they call it in the capital. Sugar levels were running low so I produced them. There was a spread of supporters to my right and left. Not all donning the blue and gold. No matter. 

Let's be clear. We weren't dealing with big-bag Maltesers like the ones you get in the cinema. No, just your ordinary size bag like the ones my mother used to put in my lunchbox. Some people are reluctant to dip into other people's bags of confectionery. Some need no encouragement.

Others you have to coax into it. Who knew Waterford hurling supporters fell into this category?

After shooting the breeze and playing down the Premier County's chances on the day they took me up on my offer. I am generous at the best of times and on that particularly day I was even more flaithiúlacht - see English/Irish dictionary.

After all, Tipperary were only 70 minutes away from contesting the hurling decider. Waterford, who were unceremoniously dumped out of Munster by unfancied Clare, were all that stood in Tipperary's way.

Davy Fitzgerald had taken over from the much-maligned Justin McCarthy just before the clash with Antrim in the qualifiers and expectations were low. Mine, on the other hand, were sky high.

I can still remember sitting then standing, open-mouthed, as Fitzgerald, Mullane and company rolled around on the Croke Park sod following a two-point triumph - delirous they were. Who could blame them? The Deise would take to the field on the first Sunday in September for the first time in 45 years.

Ecstasy can quickly turn to agony!

Only three players got on the scoresheet on that fateful day as Cody's Cats gave Waterford a hurling lesson en route to three-in-a-row.

One of those three was irrepressible Mullane. The De La Salle clubman got three points out of Waterford's measly total of 1-13. If he was on the ground after Barry Kelly's whistle sounded it was for a competely different reason.

Mullane was at it again last Sunday. Same opposition. Same outcome. Same Mullane.

A startling haul of 1-6, all from play, and yet he ended up on the losing team. The monotony of monotony.

"We've been doing it numerous times now," he said, "making it in the top three or four.

"We went up there in great mood, buoyant, and felt we were well capable of winning the game. Unfortunately it wasn’t to be. The next step is to break into that top two, and take it on from there."

You'd have to admire his optimism. Mullane, not for the first time, ploughed a lone furrow on Sunday. He never gave up. He has riled up rival supporters something rotten over the years. Yet his unwavering passion for Waterford hurling burns as brightly as ever. You'd rather have him than face him.

As I clutched the end of my bag of Maltesers mid-transaction I commented that Mullane always gives his all. Agreed all round.

If I'm perched high up in the Cusack Stand again and Mullane is in my vicinity, I'll offer him some Maltesers.

No, feck it, I'll give him the bag.