I'm looking for a transfer. No not from one paper to another (would you notice?) but, dare I say it, from one county to another. Yes. I'm alerting Joe McDonagh, president of the GAA, that I want to change my allegiances.
Born and bred in Belfast, I am quite happy to describe myself as a Belfast man. After all, I spent 28 years in the city. I know its ways. Admittedly, I now live in the country but I wouldn't describe myself as a countryman. Ask me again in 23 more years.
My father is not pleased at the news. "You're an Antrim man," he says. Technically, he's right. His brother, my uncle, played football for the county. Similarly, my mother is not too pleased. Her father, my grandfather, also played for Antrim. It could be a bit sticky, this transfer. But Co Antrim means nothing to Belfast people of my age. Belfast is a city. Co Antrim is the Glens, parts north of Poleglass, places where you can't get a black taxi. They're just not the same thing.
Late admission
So, at the risk of having dead relatives spinning in their graves, I want to announce publicly to anyone who is interested that I have decided to pin my colours to the mast of Armagh football.
This admission is a little late coming. I had intended to make it after the Armagh-Meath semi-final showdown this summer, in time for the All-Ireland final when the lads from the Orchard County swept all before them. (Did we ----?)
Still, I have learnt my first and most valuable lesson about following Armagh football: disappointment. Things can, do and will get worse, is the motto of the Armagh fan. To pretend otherwise is only to court even greater disappointment. Let me defend myself before you start putting pen to paper in order to denounce this heretical decision which threatens the very fabric of the GAA. I realise that in GAA you are not allowed to change counties. It's not like soccer where you can jump on a bandwagon - Man United for example - and say vague things like: "I've always supported them, even when they weren't winning anything, blah, blah, blah."
(Indeed, weemin have been known to support a soccer team on the basis of fancying the French midfielder. Can't imagine that happening in the GAA.)
County allegiance defies such logic. You can't support them unless you were born there, is the simple argument.
However, in my defence, can I really be accused of jumping on a bandwagon which, let's face it, has only three wheels? Armagh won their first Ulster title in donkeys' years this year and haven't been to Croke Park for a Championship final since the Bay City Rollers and sideburns were fashionable. Not much of a bandwagon.
But the fun, the passion, the fans. I want to join in. Officially. I don't want to skulk in the corner any more, surreptitiously wearing an Armagh baseball hat. I want to come out in the open and admit my tendencies are orange.
County jersey
Let me put it on the record that I am a member of an Armagh GAA club and have worn the county jersey at the very lowest levels of inter-county handball.
I have (as yet) not covered myself in glory - injuries, old age, lack of training, back luck, a UFO landing on the court distracted me. . . Maybe this year - if I can just avoid that UFO.
I have not, however, ever lost to anyone from Co Down. That is lesson number two: Armagh hates Down. I have learnt that lesson and would remind anyone from Down who is reading this piece that we, Armagh, tanked you in this year's Ulster final. Ha, ha. We also beat you the year before and us with only 14 players. Expect more of the same this summer. We know where you live.
You will note that I have the convert's zealous command of vulgar abuse. This proves my bona fides. Indeed, I have even gone to the extreme of marrying an Armagh woman. I have gone further still. Both my children have been born in the county. Does that not prove how serious I am about this transfer?
I admit that I have been a summer soldier over the past few years. I have tended to keep my campaigning for the Championship and sunny days in Clones. This shows a certain lack of grit on my part. But let me also add that I have already attended a National League match and watched Donegal beat Armagh in one of the worst games of football imaginable. It was cold. The seats were of concrete. My bum is still numb. Armagh lost. Bandwagon, where are you?
Henceforth, I will suffer for Armagh. I will prove that I am the right stuff. No ditch will be too slippy; no weather too foul to prevent me getting to the match. I will be there and do what all GAA supporters do - abuse the referee, linesmen and, most importantly, my own team.
Abuse your team
That is lesson number three and, perhaps, the most important lesson: you must abuse your own team whenever they are behind and sometimes even when they're in front. Gaelic sports must be one of the few events where the home fans are more vicious about their own team than about the oppositions.
In soccer opposing players - no matter how good - are routinely subjected to foul abuse regarding parents and their sexual preferences. In GAA circles that sort of abuse is kept for your own.
It's an odd way to do things, but I've got the hang of it. A friend once told me of a club meeting in which members were specifically asked to stop barracking their own team. Apparently, it was sapping morale. And they call themselves a GAA club!
So, Joe, what about it? Can I have your blessing?