My brother tells the story of the minor match he was playing which had to be abandoned.

A row broke out and it was so fierce, the club chair had to sit into his car and drive it onto the pitch to break it up.

Nobody was hurt so it’s a yarn which gets funnier with each embellished telling.

I remembered the story last Saturday morning as I took Patrick to play his first club GAA match for about three years.

He has decided to go back playing Gaelic football and I for one am delighted.

The club he was playing against last Saturday was the one my brother faced all those years ago.

I will continue to find myself rushing out of studio every Saturday morning to do the taxiing to wherever his match takes us

I hope he can continue to play with the local soccer club too. At 13 years of age, he is well able to play both as long as the matches don’t clash.

He hasn’t played much Gaelic seriously but having togged out with the school team last year he fell back in love with the game.

So between the soccer and now the Gaelic, I will continue to find myself rushing out of studio every Saturday morning to do the taxiing to wherever his match takes us.

Of course I love it but I do feel a little embarrassed when I see the team mentors in action.

They are giving of their time to train and organise the teams and keep control too, which isn’t easy with a bunch of giddy 12 and 13 year old boys while I and other parents just turn up on the sideline on match day.

Those other parents must look at me and think I am very ignorant and maybe they’d be right because I tend to do my own thing.

Once or twice I have encountered the pushy parent, trying to relive their sporting career through that of their off-spring

I don’t really mingle or chit-chat with the other parents. I stand a bit away, arms folded, and I keep my mouth shut. I don’t shout either to encourage or criticise.

That line can be a thin one so I just stay quiet. But I have to say that in all the juvenile matches I have been to, watching my children play, I have not come across any of those reported incidents of mad parents shouting at refs or attacking other players. Exuberant cheering yes, but such abuse? No.

Pushy parents

Once or twice I have encountered the pushy parent, trying to relive their sporting career through that of their off-spring.

Not really in a bad way, but still there are plenty of anecdotes of the pushy parent and that can only end in tears and it has.

I remember during my own short-lived underage career back in the last century, I played in a match and the goalkeepers’ father was our manager.

The keeper let in a couple of soft goals and the father/manager went beserk.

The keeper tore off his jersey, let out a roar or two, took off home through a hedge at the back of the goal and I never saw him tog out again.

I just say after every game win, lose, or draw: “Were you happy with how you played Patrick?”

If there’s something I think he should have done better, he will probably admit as much in his answer – reverse psychology.

Anyway it’s good to see him back wearing the local GAA club colours once more. And more importantly that he is playing sport.

Cowardly protest

We are all entitled to protest, but fairly so. To the cowards who thought it would be a good idea to gather outside the home of Minister Simon Harris last Sunday, will they be as quick to go knocking on doors themselves looking for votes in May’s local election? Thought not.