Hurling was my world and the hurling world was my oyster

He probably doesn't remember it but William Maher stood beside me at early mass. Taller than me, he always was, and let's face it, always will be. Nearly 20 years ago it was normal for mass to be taken of a Sunday morning. Even lads of our age were familiar with the insides of chapels, churches or in my case, cathedrals. I was from Thurles you see, 'The Cathedral Town' and was at mass to ask God to help me, the taller Maher and the entire, assembled Tipperary ensemble in any way he could in that afternoon's final of the unofficial All-Ireland U14 championship, the Tony Forristal Tournament to those in the know. 

By the time I was in a position to take part in the tournament it had been going strong for over a decade and I remember it fondly for a number of reasons, chief amongst them being we came away with the spoils.

However, there were other highlights that still stick with me forever, like my father shaking my hand for the first time and my mother's beaming smile and warm, warm embrace as I walked off the field, victorious. Hurling was my world and the hurling world was my oyster. Although I went on to win club medals with Dúrlas Óg and Thurles Sarsfields I never again scaled the same heights again but it wasn't from the want of trying. 

Things not going Tipperary's way...

The same could not be said for the aforementioned Maher. I titled him as his mother would in my introduction but he was always Willie to me and others and on Sunday afternoon, 16 years after leading the Premier County minors to All-Ireland glory, he was on the sideline, this time as the Tipperary minor manager. A serious eye injury brought Maher's burgeoning career to an abrupt end 11 years ago. Wine (or more accurately Guinness), women (that's accurate) and song (not just singing but dancing) brought my career to an end around the same time.

At the All-Ireland semi-final between my native county and Kilkenny I sat with herself just five rows behind the Tipperary dug-out and within shouting distance of Maher. On a number of occasions I wanted to go down and have a chat with him, shoot the breeze as they say, ask him if he remembered the day we received our specially commissioned Waterford Crystal clock, tell him that I'll never forget the first and last day I played in Semple Stadium - the day Maher's Ballingarry (and in particular Liam Cahill) broke Thurles hearts in a minor county final many moons ago.

The time was wrong though but I'll catch him again I hope. Speaking of time, it's never been right on the clock I received instead of a medal that day as I floated from the Waterford Crystal pitch to the dressing room. We were one, Willie and me. And others. Like a band of brothers.

As I looked at Willie on Sunday I thought about my younger days and after standing, unable to stay or sit still for most of what was a thrilling hurling decider I realised that hurling is still my world.

Just like Maher, but different somehow. I suppose I saw myself in him.