GAA: HE'S COUNTY - A WARTS AND ALL DIARY FROM INSIDE THE CAMP:WHEN I burst onto the scene, well, I burst onto the scene. One week, scoring 2-2 for the minors; next week, on the bench for the seniors.

"Debs last night – provincial championship today" was how the Sunday Independentdepicted it, with a snap of Jennie and me suited and booted.

By the time the paper came out (24 hours later) Jennie was yesterday’s woman. With all the attention I was getting, what chance had she? It was a Debs, for God’s sake!

It was form-an-orderly-queue time.

The following day I leapfrogged three long-faced forward subs and came on. I made my intercounty championship debut before I’d even played club championship. Google it and note how short, and stellar, that list is.

Was I bitter about being taken off 15 minutes later? You bet I was. Only one ball came into my corner.

I won it, popped a pass, and he kicked it wide. Usually I’d have taken it on myself, but I wanted to be seen to play ball.

Lesson learned. Now, I’d definitely go for my own score.

I got taken off and he was left on and – I won’t name him here, tempted though I am – he’s still kicking wides six years on, and, bizarrely, I’m back on the bench again.

He’s got that whole “serious face, head down, work hard” thing going on, and, around here, that’s enough to keep you in favour. That’s what I’ve been trying to buy into myself these last few weeks, as you know.

Anyway, back to my debut. Jennie’s text was sitting on my phone by the time I got to the dressingroom. “What goes around comes around. Not nice, is it, when people treat you like crap?”

I put six Rs on the end of “whatever” and sent it back to her. She blanked me for, oh, all of a week, but she’s no Cameron Diaz (in any way) and she couldn’t hide her ongoing interest.

“I’ve forgiven you,” she told me a couple of months later, though I hadn’t even apologised.

She’s still knocking about and I’d say she would, in a heartbeat. Well, in fact, it’s not even a matter of speculation: she would, and she did, on a few occasions.

The first two years was when I really made my name. The most common description used in the media was “unmarkable” though often followed by “when in the mood”, for some reason.

I reckon I ended more careers than Mr Gilmore’s groin.

I remember a league game against a county you know only too well, but, fair is fair, I won’t identify them here. I always keep an eye on my opponent in the kickaround.

I had him clocked from miles out: I knew by his run, the scrunch of his shoulders, basically everything, that he was a buff.

In point of fact, he was The Buff.

He arrived into the corner, all red-faced from the grunting. He drove straight into me. I love it when corner-backs do that. It’s the fellow who’ll shake your hand and wish you well that you have to worry about.

“Who let the apes out?” I roared across at my full-forward, forget who it was now. That drove The Buff lunatic. He started swinging and flaking. Bring it on. I went to ground, of course. Before the game started, he had picked up a yellow card.

All I needed was a supply. One drifted into my corner early. I slowed down as I went to pick it up, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation. Sure enough, he lunged for murder: but he connected full on with a whole load of fresh air.

I kept it low, stuck it, and jogged back to my spot. He didn’t know which way to look. You could see the fear in his eyes. In these circumstances, a buff will always start playing you from the front, as if that will make any difference.

Out he’d go, all guns blazing. I copped a bit of grief when he caught the first two and cleared them. Third one, he ran out – and so did his luck. He judged it wrong, and dropped the rock.

“Thanking you, sir, much obliged,” I shouted, zipping away with the ball. Low, same corner, same result.

“Taxi for a beaten docket,” I shouted, resuming my position. Yes, I was hot then. Still am, still am, and I’ll prove it yet too.

Imagine my surprise a couple of weeks back when reclining on the couch I spotted The Buff on The Sunday Game. He's still making the team! And still at corner-back!

Can they not take a hint?

I’d give anything for a run at him in Croke Park. It’d be his worst nightmare, I’m sure. Mind you, he’d have no problem getting a taxi, I hear there’s an over-supply of them in the capital city.