READERS of this column might remember, back in May, a whinge about the GAA messing up my trip to Turkey. Well, I went, leaving the 11 year old daughter behind for the trials for the "mini sevens".
Oh, what a week I had ... Every emotion was gone through guilt for not being able to change the holiday anxiety that she would not perform her best because I was not there bad temper because she was so determined not to come terror about how she would feel if the results were announced and she were not selected. So, did I enjoy it?
In retrospect I did, because yep she was selected. The letter arrived at the school "Cumann na mBunscol congratulates you, your teacher and your school on your fine display of skill at the recent INTO/GAA Mini Sevens Regional Festival. You have been chosen to participate at National Level, in Croke Park, on the occasion of the All Ireland Football Final on 15th September, 1996."
Well, the excitement was unbounded. Country cousins got in touch with their congratulations and our pecking order in the family rose. And even better two tickets are part of the prize.
But who shall go? Within the immediate family circle tempers are getting a little short. It goes without saying that her father will go. As far as he is concerned there is no discussion, no democracy. "I encouraged her all along. I watched the Sunday Game with her every week," he announced. He operates a unique gender balance n the family.
But she has two brothers and me. And I want to see the new stand that all the yuppies go to. Okay, okay, I admit I've very rarely been to a game, but I love the Artane Boys Band. And the idea of swanning around that new stand. I can't wait. I keep thinking what will I wear?
Eldest brother is near apoplectic. "It's just wrong the way the GAA distribute those tickets. Imagine an 11 year old girl being given two."
The other guy decides to take the other tack. "She's a brilliant player," he muses. "I'll give her some coaching." Out they go. He demonstrates how to solo the ball how to hand pass, how to tackle and shoulder they last 10 minutes.
"She hops before she kicks," he moans. "She thinks she is doing her Irish dancing. You're welcome to the ticket. She'll make a fool of herself.
So, that issue settled, I spend the summer wondering will we ever get there?
She has always had grazed knees that never seem to be get better before the next graze appears, but this year was worse than ever. "Keep those cuts clean," I admonished earnestly. "Support your joints," her Dad insists, even contemplating a "rub" from the Meath trainer, Sean Boylan.
July, holidaying in the west, and she sprains the ankle. The first reaction as she sat in Ballinasloe hospital was Croke Park. Heartfelt sobs welled up from herself and the husband, as he saw the tickets slip into an understudy's hands.
Ah, but my girl rallies round. She hobbled for three days and on the fourth I said I was going into town. If she wanted those jeans she'd have to come with me, otherwise no jeans. A miraculous recovery!
More trauma. Dublin and Meath play their match on July 28th. Its an awful day torrential rain and hot humidity and then Dublin lose. The chance of wearing Jason Sherlock's jersey disappears.
Worse still, August 18th makes Meath a winner. Remembering the summer that Dublin and Meath drew with each other three times, the father and two sons wince at the suggestion that Aoife might be wearing a Meath jersey.
