And More

In all the games we see around the country, there are times when a player will perform at a level that takes the breath away. Followers of the team and rivals alike see it and acknowledge it.
It'll be one of those days when the skill transcends anything seen before. The speed, finesse, and ferocity can dazzle opponents and introduce a new level of heroics that ignites the field, inspires the players and makes conversation later for the barrooms, the carloads and the county papers.

New young players are coming in all the time, some late developers, never getting on the school team, but making the squad and the subs on the Minors, getting game time, developing their skills, then growing into solid, competent, and reliable performers, team players, coordinating the abilities of Defence and Attack, the backs and forwards, bringing the team into the Force of a fifteen-man unit.
They rarely appear to shine in their own right, but make the plays that allow others to do that. They wield a quiet authority on the pitch, maintaining order in the game plan, discipline in those moments when tempers can flare, and they help calm the moment and prevent red cards and other unwanted consequences.
Over time, they become more essential than the marquee names and finally retire to coach, encourage and mentor and influence the next generation of these driven, selfless athletes.
Many of them are remembered long into the generations following, realising their quiet but forceful legacy in the annals.

At the start of any game, you can see the hesitancy in some of the bodies on the pitch. It might be their first County game, new and unused to the pace, the ruthlessness and speed of play, the finality and aggression of the shoulders as they smash a body to the side to clear the way or race to win a ball. It's like nothing they've ever experienced before. All the talk and advice in the world can't prepare them for it; it's something they have to experience to know.
Some learn quickly. Others in an instant. Some never.
And you see it when after five, or ten, or even twenty minutes, the new man is replaced and he, and everyone in the park, suspects that he has probably had his moment of county honours.
It's not always the case.
But he'll cherish the memory, the chance he had, the consideration for the moment, when he'll be able to talk to grandchildren, or visitors from America, or maybe in some conversation when he'll think of what might have been, realise the honour of having been considered good enough, at one time, to wear the jersey.

The moment a goal is scored can bring a team alive, a crowd awake, and the fans of the scoring team into a frenzy. A game can change in the two seconds it takes for a hurl to swing, strike the ball, and shake the net. History can be made and names learned and remembered for life. Those brief searing moments will burn in the memories of new young fans witnessing their first senior hurling contest, veteran followers seeing another championship lost for want of a faster stride or a longer reach, or a single moment's distraction, or relatives catching their breaths as a brother, nephew, or cousin fires the final shot that changes the game.

Dual players are now a vanishing breed at the county level.
While many still practise both codes for their clubs, so intensive is the training, so packed is the schedule of matches, that the relentlessness of being match-fit, every weekend, for every game, and performing at the limits of their capacity, that people can burn out and crash.
The choice of one or the other is a compromise, but to the credit of the players and the splendour of the games goes the benefit.

Every now and again, a new name with a fresh face and a fresh frame of mind hits the pitch.
He knows the rules, but plays on the edge, never quite fouling his opponent, but close enough so that he causes confusion, doubt and uncertainty in the opposition. Nobody can tell you exactly what he does; they can't pinpoint his special skill, but they see opposing teams making errors, missing passes, floundering where they should be cruising when he's around.
This character moves about the pitch. He's hard to mark. He's elusive and cunning and arrives at points of play that either finish a move or destroy a perfect-looking play by opponents.
He's a kind of mystery man. He never talks about what he did or how he foiled a set piece. He never talks about himself. He's always in the thick of things and yet never seems to be exerting himself.
Opponents hate playing against him. He destroys game plans. He's unpredictable. He unsettles whole teams. When asked what it is he does, they can't answer. He's that elusive and effective.
Over time, as his followers see the devastating effect he has on his markers, they grow to love what he does. When an opposing team fields an All-Star or a prolific scorer, the fans want to see this enigmatic wizard placed on him. Then they see the genius at work, the neutralising of the talent, the levelling of activity and the inevitable outcome that this man's ability, reputation and application bring about.