During the National League, Championship time never strayed far from your thoughts.
Every performance was building toward one game in May or June.
With only one game left in the League, you also had to think of the club fixtures starting and how you would be received in the club.
As time went on, I found myself spending less and less time at Saval because there was simply not enough nights in the week and both county and club training clashed on most evenings.
You were preoccupied with the county training and when you were not at organised sessions, it was the weights room or a physio session.
I have to admit, you missed the comradery going to training, with my two brothers and one of our friends always sharing a lift to club training.
The slagging was fierce and this usually carried on well into the training session, implicating many other of our team-mates in the process.
I was lucky in the sense that I had great friends at the club and as I hailed from a rural parish the by-product was that there was a closeness and a sense of community, which I think, many urban areas struggle to achieve.
Every year, along with a couple of my close county friends, after the last National League game, we would fly out to Spain for a week’s break.
Now you can understand that the club manager was keen to get us integrated back into club training as soon as possible, so a week’s leave on the mouth of the club league programme was usually not received very well.
But when you are slogging since October, night after night, we made no apologies in looking to get away and let our hair down for a few days in the sun.
You had one week’s window off from county training and you knew when you came back that you were coming back into monastic living again.
So the club manager just had to live with it.
We always made sure though we were home for the club's first league game.
With the best intentions, you tried to keep yourself right the night before you arrived back home.
Unfortunately though, Paddy’s Point in La Zenia in the Costa Blanca region of Southern Spain is the last place one would attempt to stay sober.
All was forgiven usually when you came back in and played well and you just had to make sure you justified your holiday away with a performance.
The fact is you feel a huge responsibility when you play football at county level.
You feel it toward your family and friends and your club.
I could never say to Saval ‘Here, I’m away to America for the summer.’
I (perhaps blindly) felt I owed the club a lot when Down were out of the Championship.
I turned down quite a few summer offers for the US, and a fair bit of money too.
Even now, I do regret not spending a summer of two in the States.
My dad though was a fiercely loyal clubman and to be honest I don’t think he would have talked to me for a few months had I taken myself off America and left the club, as he said ‘in the lurch’.
County players make huge sacrifices.
Club players make huge sacrifices.
I am guilty at times in going over the top in criticising performances and teams.
You forget sometimes that these players are dedicating everything in the hope (and believe me for the vast majority of current teams it is hope) that you can contribute in part to your county’s success.
I was playing for eight seasons, before I could say that we were regularly competing with the top teams and performing well.
We had a few run outs in Croke Park over those years, however, it was only in 2010 and after we were making regular trips to play here.
I would still say though that every season up to that point in 2010 was worth the sacrifice and commitment.
Let me tell you, we had our low moments.
Beaten away in Aughrim in 2009 in a fourth round qualifier.
Beaten well by Wexford in another fourth round qualifier in Croke Park in 2008, a match when Ambrose Rogers lost his spleen after a tackle.
Beaten by Sligo in Markievicz Park in 2006; these were all real low points.
My point is that in all those games, I am sure fans were pulling their hair out at times watching us.
The criticism and the press hammered us and while the expectation was limited outside the county, from within, the achievements of county players of a by-gone era weighed heavy on our shoulders.
I knew of plenty of players who couldn’t stand the heat.
Therefore, they left the kitchen.
However, for the vast majority, we stuck with it and while we didn’t win much, we started to compete at the top table.
People dispel luck as a series of coincidences.
Napoleon said: ‘Give me a lucky General as opposed to a good one’.
The Gods conspired against us and although we lost Ambrose Rogers to a cruciate knee injury for the semi-final against Kildare in 2010, he surely would have helped us over the line in the final against Cork.
For me, Ambrose epitomised the definition of dedication.
He tragically lost a famous father at a young age, lost a spleen, tore both knee cruciates on a number of occasions and still came back from them all.
He missed out on an All-Ireland semi-final and final and no doubt he would have received an All-Star in 2010.
That’s dedication.
Moreover, if you were to ask him now, he would probably tell you that he doesn’t regret a day of it.
That’s character.
That’s why you have to admire him and the vast majority of inter-county players who give up their life for football.
Good days, bad days and ugly days.
It’s worth it all though, for one day in the sun.
