Jarlath Burns was back playing cards in Silverbridge clubrooms the Monday night after he lost the GAA Presidential election.
They play 45 in the ‘Bridge. Jarlath was partnered with Peter Hughes and they won the first game.
Peter is a brother of Paddy Hughes, who was also playing.
“No harm to you Paddy,” said Jarlath, “but I think your brother Peter is a better 45 player than you.”
“No harm to you Jarlath,” said Paddy, “but I think that Yankee at Congress was better at getting votes than you.”
Before continuing this column, I too should lay my cards on the table.
Here’s the deal. I like Jarlath Burns. I really like him.
And in discussing his merits as a GAA President, there is absolutely no point in me pretending to be objective. So I am not even going to try.
I would say this though. Jarlath could be a truly terrible President.
He could be a terrible President because he hasn’t got a political bone in his body.
If the business of the presidency is deal-making, strategic alliances and offering cushy committee jobs – then I can’t think of someone more ill-suited to the job.
But Jarlath could also be a truly great President. He could be a great President because he hasn’t got a political bone in his body.
If the business of the presidency is connecting with the ordinary clubman, having a passionate love for our games, and a deep-rooted understanding of what the GAA is supposed to represent - then I can’t think of someone more suited to the job.
If you don’t know Jarlath Burns, let me tell you about him.
The first thing you should know is that he’s fantastic company. Be it yarns, theories or opinions – he can trade like JP McManus in all three currencies.
Jarlath loves the craic. A friend and I sometimes meet on a Friday afternoon in Maghera to discuss whatever needs to be discussed.
Last summer I invited Jarlath to join us.
And guess what? Jarlath joined us.
One fine, sunny afternoon – he drove from Silverbridge to Walsh’s Hotel in Maghera for a carnival of chat.
Jarlath informed us that day he was thinking of running for the presidency.
We urged him not to do it. Our logic? He was too good for it. The price he’d have to pay wasn’t worth it.
Knowing what I know about the GAA, it didn’t surprise me that Jarlath lost, but the defeat still left a very sour taste. It still does.
Because let’s remember the following facts.
Whenever the Gaelic Players’ Association was at the peak of its popularity, who did the GAA ask to be the face of the establishment?
That’s right. Good old Jarlath.
It took a lot of guts for Jarlath to accept that job. Only a man with a genuine devotion to the GAA would have accepted a role which forced him to go head-to-head against former team-mates.
The same was true whenever the GAA banned pitch celebrations in Croke Park. You had columnists like myself wailing that it was a crime against our forefathers and a total heresy.
Once again, when the public was crying foul play, who did the GAA go running to? That’s right. Jarlath Burns was appointed Head of Pitch Presentations.
Whenever the GAA need a popular face to enforce an unpopular edict – they had no hesitation in turning to Jarlath Burns.
Jarlath Burns has served his time in the trenches for the GAA.
At Congress, the GAA had a duty to recognise his bravery and outstanding contribution. A disservice was done.
However, the other thing you need to know about Jarlath Burns is that he’s no Labrador.
Underneath that amiable exterior there lies a man of jaw-dropping determination.
When studying for his Masters in Education, Jarlath, a father-of-six, would rise at 2am, complete two hours study, then return to bed.
I gained my first insight into the driven Jarlath when I started doing triathlons.
Jarlath met us at Camlough Lake when we drove down to South Armagh for our first open water swim.
Swimming in a lake is an entirely different experience to a swimming pool. It’s freezing, you can’t see anything, and there are waves.
It’s an intimidating experience for a decent swimmer. For a novice swimmer like Jarlath Burns it would be absolutely terrifying.
By way of letting us know what lay in store, Jarlath told us about his first experience in the lake.
He thought he was going to drown. When he reached the first buoy, he clung onto it for dear life.
Cold, out of breath, disorientated – he was genuinely scared.
“What did you do?” I asked, expecting Jarlath to tell me that he doggy-paddled back to the pier.
“I said to myself: 'If you’ve come this far, you may as well do the rest of it',” he replied.
And that’s exactly what he did. Like Andy Dufresne crawling through the sewer.
When I finally got chatting with Jarlath last week, I had one pressing question for him.
“What’s the craic with Paddy Hughes and the 45?” I asked.
When we moved onto presidential matters, my advice to him had changed.
“You’re at the first buoy again,” I told him.
It’s not in Jarlath’s nature to turn back.
And he won’t.
