I’ll be honest, I wasn’t a fan of the GAA bringing in a rule in 2010 which forced players of all ages to wear helmets. Fair enough, make any young lad starting off have to wear them, but they should have made allowances for those of us who had played bare-headed before that. I tried adapt – I even sat watching the telly with the helmet on a few times – but it was no coincidence that I retired a year or two later.

I won’t lie, there was a certain notoriety gained in playing without a helmet. It certainly helped me to earn notice from female fans in various hostelries in the late 1990s and early 2000s and sure a few scars add character, don’t they?

While he was a lovely hurler, he was a bit too lovely at times

And yet, after moving into team management with our club’s underage set-up, I have come to consider the helmet a valuable weapon, not least in helping to conceal a player’s identity.

I suppose I have to take some blame for the fact that our star player Tony Martin was unavailable for our county minor semi-final four years ago. While he was a lovely hurler, he was a bit too lovely at times in that my fellow selectors and I felt there wasn’t enough cutting in him and set about to trying to develop that edge. We felt that it was the only way he’d develop and our tactics worked, after a fashion.

If he wasn’t playing for the opposition, I’d have loved the gasúr’s performance as it was straight out of my own playbook

In the quarter-finals that year, we were up against our not-so-dear neighbours Rathclaren, whose centre-back spent the whole game hanging out of Tony and expressing all manner of insults. If he wasn’t playing for the opposition, I’d have loved the gasúr’s performance as it was straight out of my own playbook.

Tony tried to keep his cool and did for the most part, slotting over the frees that resulted and setting up one goal before scoring another late on. That put us seven points up and pretty much through to the semis.

With the main job done, Tony decided he had earned the opportunity to layout his assailant but unfortunately one of the umpires decided that that was the moment he would take up my earlier invitation to “Do your f***ing job!” – to be fair, that was after a disputed point for us.

The red card didn’t affect the match in that we still won, but it meant Tony was out for the semi-final against Flaxfort. No amount of appeals could change that situation.

But I had an idea.

Mickey was a good lad, but what he gave in effort he certainly made up for with a lack of talent

Flaxfort were from the opposite end of the county, they were a bit of a surprise package and we had never played them before. They might know of Tony’s name, but that was about it. When Mickey Deane informed us that he wouldn’t be around for the semi due to a family holiday in Galway, I had a great opportunity.

Now, Mickey was a good lad, but what he gave in effort he certainly made up for with a lack of talent. His departure wouldn’t be that big a deal – not that anyone would know he was missing. Our teamsheet that day featured Micheál Ó Déin, but wearing his green helmet, rather than the two-tone blue one that had become his trademark, was Tony Martin. I had decided that Tony’s sending-off was harsh, so this wasn’t cheating but a form of vigilante justice.

The semi was placed at Glanduff, roughly halfway between the clubs. Tony’s girlfriend Laura lived there but he didn’t bother to mention the game so as to not arouse any suspicions – at any rate, she was from a rugby family and so it wouldn’t be on her radar.

Tony’s younger brother Niall looked not-unlike him, as my father would say, and he was lined up to act as “Tony” on the sideline, doing the usual suspended/injured player shtick of acting like an extra selector, showing how much he cared.

From the start, he controlled the game and Flaxfort hadn’t a hope

Maybe it was the freedom of the different branding, or maybe it was not having to take the frees – we gave them to Pa Dooley in Tony’s ‘absence’ – but Tony produced an even better performance than we had thought was in him. From the start, he controlled the game and Flaxfort hadn’t a hope. We won by 12 or 13 in the end and the ruse looked to have paid off, until Tony was walking towards the dressing rooms.

Like a lot of clubs, Glanduff had installed a tarmac path around the perimeter of their grounds and it was popular for walking, even among non-GAA people. Like Laura, who was there with her dog Rocky, a Maltese with a hint of a Westie who looked in the mirror and saw an Irish Wolfhound.

After a man-of-the-match display, it was the only time all day that Tony was caught on the hop. Rocky was familiar with Tony’s visits – the official ones by day and the nocturnal ones that her parents wouldn’t have been aware of. Even with the helmet, he recognised his friend and bounded straight for Tony in his usual exuberant style.

Tony drew a kick on the dog, thankfully missing, but his roars drew a few whimpers, both from Rocky and Laura, who was left miffed when she realised who was treating her pet in such a way.

Tony was back for the final but I wasn’t – I had to serve a club suspension, meaning I couldn’t attend

She fled home, distraught, and we were able to downplay the incident as a case of the dog attacking poor old Mickey Deane. While Flaxfort were none the wiser about our machinations, the club committee got wind of what had happened and I was asked to appear. Tony was back for the final but I wasn’t – I had to serve a club suspension, meaning I couldn’t attend.

Relationships come and go but your club is for life

Still, we won fairly with Tony playing under his real name. Unfortunately for him, Laura wasn’t as forgiving – then again, relationships come and go but your club is for life.

Naturally, the word went out about a tour de force by Mickey Deane and he actually got a call-up for county minor trials but he sensibly engineered an injury to rule himself out. However, to this day his Facebook banner picture still features the report from the local newspaper with his name writ large.