It's a well-travelled way, Dublin city centre on All-Ireland day. When Paddy Mehigan, the esteemed Gaelic Games writer and this newspaper's first GAA correspondent, known variously as "Carbery" and "PatO", wrote about the big days at Croke Park he had a couple of rituals.

One was annually to commend the Croke Park administration on their efficient organisation of the event. For example his account of the 1952 hurling final between Dublin and Cork had this to say: "We are now so accustomed to clock-like smoothness in Croke Park arrangements on big occasions that we are liable to overlook the master's hand behind it all - Mr Pádraig O'Keeffe (GAA general secretary) and his staffs had worked long and hard to achieve such smooth perfection."

It's possible Liam Mulvihill regrets the abandonment of this practice although the next line - "The pitch itself was a joy to see." - would be less of a formality nowadays.

The other reference to be found in Mehigan's reports concerns O'Connell Street and what it looked like as the crowds moved through to Croke Park. He frequently used to stroll into the city centre on the Saturday evening before an All-Ireland and report on the humour and spectacle - a habit that would be less edifying now than he seemed to find it.

But that's not to say the All-Ireland walk isn't thought-provoking. Last Sunday on O'Connell Bridge, the breeze was slightly up, fluttering the flags of the competing counties. For a Gaelic games reporter, the All-Ireland finals have additional meaning. They signify the end of the season and the passing of another year.

East of O'Connell Bridge is Custom House Quay. The GAA museum has a photograph from the 1940s that shows platoons of buses parked there on an All-Ireland Sunday.

It's always been a great barometer of ticket availability to note how close to the bridge the touting starts. If the entrepreneurs have staked their pitch lower than Abbey Street, tickets are plentiful. Otherwise, you could be up around Gardiner Street before there's any sign of business.

Further on, the hotels are always hopping. The Gresham is the more traditional. After the draw between Mayo and Dublin in 1985 a friend from around Ballina, plainly disoriented by the experience of not losing a semi-final, insisted the Gresham always showed a film of the match that evening.

He ended up questioning a baffled porter who explained he knew of no such practice. Yet my friend was convinced and swore this screening had been an invariable routine back in the good days.

Across the road, the Royal Dublin is a comparative newcomer. It's here that Anthony Daly and his Clarecastle pals had a drink before the 1992 semi-final between Dublin and Clare. Questioned belligerently by a "football man" about what they were doing at a football match, Daly responded.

"Do you ever go to the hurling matches?" - "I do. Of course." - "What about this year?" - "Every year." - "And when you went, did anyone ever tell you to f*** off back to West Clare?"

At the end of the street is the Parnell Monument, a reminder of difficult times in the GAA's history. The majority of the association backed Parnell in the split back in 1890, when the Home Rule party deposed their leader although its patrons were divided with the Fenian John O'Leary backing Parnell and Michael Davitt and William O'Brien taking the other side.

Parnell's funeral featured a couple of thousand GAA members carrying hurls with black ribbons as part of a massive political demonstration.

As you move up the east side of Parnell Square, you pass the Gate Theatre whose founders Micheál MacLiammóir and Hilton Edwards played together at centrefield in an actors' hurling team. (Actually this is not true).

Around the corner on Great Denmark Street, there's Barry's Hotel, once the centre of the universe on All-Ireland weekends. Teams stayed there and All-Ireland lunches were held there. Journalists were known to wander in and talk to players on the day of a final - a practice not recommended these days.

Up the road on Gardiner Place stands the Dergvale Hotel, site of Michael Cusack's academy, which opened in 1877 in order to grind students for the civil service exams. This was the start of an extraordinarily productive 10 years in Cusack's life.

Over that period he was hugely successful in the field of education, expanding the scope of the courses taught in his academy and also found the time to help found and be an early driving force behind the GAA as well as founding The Celtic Times newspaper.

The Dergvale is better known now as a watering hole before and after big matches. It's also one of those locations where you could pick up a ticket at face value, although I'm not sure whether that tradition survives.

Mountjoy Square used to be a prime grazing spot, where the boots of cars were popped up and foil bricks of sandwiches were washed down by flasks of tea. It's also a late pitch for touts.

The only All-Ireland I tried to attend, but couldn't get a ticket for was the 1988 hurling decider between Tipp and Galway.

The last ditch was a tout on Mountjoy Square looking for £20 for a £3 terrace ticket. I declined and repaired to the Dergvale television.

Fitzgibbon Street Garda station has a carpark around the back, something I discovered in the company of someone (not a guard) sufficiently well connected to stroke his way into it on the day of an All-Ireland.

Down Russell Street and on to Jones' Road the whole stadium approach has changed dramatically in the past 10 years. The dramatic outline now reaches all around its previous boundaries - a vista, which as I cheerfully contemplated at the weekend, will probably outlast my lifetime of big days at Croke Park.