Spend most my Sundays following maps
Up and down the country just to watch your match
Win, lose or draw you’ll explain that black card
Sure it wasn’t your fault, the ref was being hard
Say “he started it first” and you had to “sort em”
And so it begins, the big match postmortem.
Monday night, you’re at the ice baths
I guess this means we’ll postpone the chats
About holidays, getaways and hotels with a pool
I’m mad to book something but I’ll play it cool
You can’t go in May or even in June
There’s a two week window and that’s “the rule”.
Tuesday night training means a drive to the sticks
So I suppose this means no chill and Netflix!
Wednesdays are made for dinner and wine
But you’re off the drink cos’ it’s “champo time”
A carb free meal it will have to be
Shakes are essential and protein is key.
Thursday brings a nutrition lesson
A hamstring injury and a physio session
Concern and worry over being fit and ready
The mood in the gaff is far from steady.
Friday morning, time to pack your kit
Rushing around no time to sit
I doubt you’re listening to a word I say
So it’s a good time to tell you I booked St. Tropez.
A Saturday phone call just to check in
You’re pumped and buzzing
All set for the win.
I’ll see you tomorrow, I’ll go watch you play
Hoping the injury keeps at bay
Cheering and roaring from inside the stand
Freezing my arse off with a coffee in hand.
Driving back up toward the big smoke
Now I’m the one ranting “that ref was a joke”
You laugh and nod because I “haven’t got a clue”
That’s GAA life, sure what can you do.