The Trialist

It's that time of year, lads all over the county have been asked to go for trials.

Trials!? i hear you say, is that where lads in flashy white boots make a name for themselves?, mates pass to their mates?, the subtle good player things are left unnoticed? every man for himself in a scrappy game of 5 quarters of players who don't know each other!? 

yep. trials. 

However flawed trials maybe, there is always the opportunity there and under new management you could do one thing that catches their eye and that's why they are still in use.

Before the players are actually on the field, they all go through the same thing.

Being asked.

First comes the delight.

The moment you are asked you instantly turn back into the 8 year old with the plastic champion ball, with red jersey, AIBP slapped across the front and the imagination of being Stefan White in Croke Park. last minute. all Ireland final, you know the drill.  (Stefan White was DE MAN when I was 8, had the swagger and took all the glory an 8 year Olds dream)

But then comes the weighing up process.

Am I good enough?

Have I the time?

Jez am i even fit enough to play a trial

What will my friends and family think?

i'm just coming off a cold!

The doubt. Bascially.

Others choose not to go, maybe they can't commit or are too scarred from trials past but inevitably most lads asked go.

Why? because it is so hard to turn the County down - plus, if you don't go you are letting the 8 year old inside you down. 

You forget all the doubts for the dream. 

We all want to play for your county put in the hard graft, improve as a footballer. represent the jersey with pride that's why we do it. 

It being, A November night, possibly getting off work early, forgetting prior commitments to go, a warm fire and avoiding rejection of not getting picked.

So, as the friends and family wave the players off they'll say.

''No Regrets.''

and the 8 year old inside everyone of them intends not to have any....