EXAM DIARY:Tackling French will be a dodgy fixture, but kicking off with English should be no problem

SO THERE I was on graduation night, all white tie and black pinstripes looking like Clyde without his Bonnie, hanging out with my people in Mantra. And I wondered to myself, am I doing the right thing – leaving Castlebar, Mantra, Rocky, Bosch, Bar One . . . the memories, the faces?

Too right I am! No offence lads but I can’t wait to get going on the rest of my life.

Tomorrow I’ll be in there, kicking off the final chapter of school, the last bit of bureaucracy before I take on Dublin and then the world.

I have to say I haven’t done a lot to prepare for today’s exam. It’s an essay and few comprehensions. I can comprehend.

As for the essay, I plan to write about sport no matter what they ask me so hopefully the personal essay will allow me. It's usually pretty open so you can write about anything you like. I suppose the worst-case scenario would be a personal essay entitled My Life in Arts and Craftsor A Man Without a Ball.

What are the chances?

The next 10 days will be an endurance test. There are a few dodgy fixtures I would rather spend on the bench.

For example, Aidan O’Shea v French on the 9th promises to be a dirty game. Tomorrow’s Aidan v English will be a shoo-in by comparison. Irish and maths, at ordinary level, shouldn’t put up too much of a fight.

I can’t begin to think about economics, accounting and geography. If I make it that far the championship will be in the bag.

So now that I have reached the final hours before the Leaving I suppose I should do something constructive, like panic! I’m not feeling it, so a quick visit to Bebo might put me in touch with some anxious friends. On my Bebo page the old me has left a treasure chest of encouraging cliches for the new me at a moment just like this.

“The darkest moments of our lives are not to be buried and forgotten, rather they are a memory to be called upon for inspiration to remind us of the unrelenting human spirit and our capacity to overcome the intolerable,” says Vince Lombardi to me.

Franklin Roosevelt chimes in with “There is nothing to fear but fear itself.”

Some Other Guy says “Defeat is not the worst of failures. Not to have tried is the true failure.”

Okay, failure.

I suppose it’s a possibility (I don’t really believe that). I have considered options other than a sports scholarship to study business at DCU.

I was all set for the Garda for a while. My uncle, who’s a sergeant in Tralee, said I’d be better off getting a degree then joining the ranks so I guess that’s not an out-clause.

I do like the look of myself in a suit. Maybe I should go to London and work in the City, stocks and shares and all that. Although I get the sense things have gone a bit sour in that department, something about the banks? I don’t know, I’ve enough to be getting on with.

Okay, Bebo's given all it has to give by way of motivation, how about a bit of St Gerard's on YouTube: Thar an transnán, a must-watch!

Brilliant, indeed, but perhaps not the inspiration I’m looking for.

In my final hours I’ve chosen just to lie back in my messy bedroom on my messy bed in the shadows of a picture of the All-Ireland Final of 1923.

My shelf is lined with autobiographies of dead and living heroes, all sporting greats who never let a little old thing like the Leaving Cert get between them and the prize.

Still, I can’t help but wonder if I could have done more. I can swagger into St Gerard’s tomorrow and be the Big Man, but as Muhammad Ali puts it: “The fight is won or lost far away from witnesses – behind the lines, in the gym, and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights.”

So the fight might be won or lost here in this messy bedroom under the eyes of the men of 1923. The very idea makes me sleepy.

Aidan O’Shea is a pupil at St Gerard’s, Castlebar, and an inter-county footballer with Mayo