I'M too old to be leaping aboard any bandwagon. No jersey-hugging for me either. Each to their own, but sweaty men don't do it for me.
So I'm not going to claim to be a Clarkesman – although my best man happened to be one.
All of us of a certain vintage from that part of the world, though, are Dungannon men and women, all born in 'the South Tyrone'.
The local rivalries may remain for some, but most will be delighted that the Clarke's have finally regained the O'Neill Cup as Tyrone senior football champions after 64 years. 64.
A town perhaps now better known for soccer, rugby, even basketball, is back on top of the Gaelic football tree 'among the bushes', in the O'Neill County.
The congratulations came, of course, from Dungannon Football Club – one for the rugby cognoscenti there – and from the Swifts and Dungannon United Youth, who have shared many players with the Clarke's over the years.
They even came from slightly further afield. A reporter from mid-Tyrone, one of the greatest curmudgeons I know – and he'll take that as a massive compliment – declared to me: 'The GAA needs clubs like Dungannon to win.'
Before the penalty shoot-out he was confident of the Clarke's triumph, making tongue-in-cheek comments about 'soccer men' and the self-belief of 'townies'.
I'm so glad he was right.
Trillick would have been worthy winners, undoubtedly, a terrific club with great players and people.
Yet even my famed impartiality was sorely tested by the sight of county chairman Michael Kerr striding onto the pitch, urged on to announce a replay by an increasing number of voices, just as the Reds missed their 10th penalty in the shoot-out.
'He better flipping let that boy take this,' I opined – or words to that effect, with upholding the rules and regulations foremost in my mind, obviously.
That boy Ciaran Barker is now a living legend for Dungannon Clarke's, having also secured the club's place in the final with the winning score in the semi-final.
Yet the Clarke's triumph is a story of incredible collective effort, a 'never say die' attitude, a barely believable run of four games going to extra time which would be ridiculed as a movie script. A tale of the unexpected worthy of Roald Dahl.
It happened, though. It happened.
It's a pity, surely, that more people couldn't have been present to witness the drama and the delight, but the right people were there.
Almost every time I've gone through the gates at Healy Park the first man I met – and who stopped me for a chat – was Mickey Kelly.
There he was again on Sunday, stewarding as usual. There seemed to be an awful lot of Clarke's stewards about the place, but Mickey's place was fully merited.
We bumped into each other again on the pitch after the game, bumped elbows as I offered my congratulations, Mickey looking a mixture of delighted and bewildered.
Beforehand, the next familiar face I spotted was James 'Baggio' Slater, a former striking star for the Swifts who later played his managerial part in the Clarke's rise through the ranks.
Then, holding court in the stand, was Adrian Logan, 'our Logie'. I have an especial fondness for the incorrigible, irrepressible 'Logie' – the man who, when I challenged him once about referring to himself in the third person, shot back 'Ach, that's just Logie'. The legendary Joe McAree of the Swifts takes the blame for getting me into sports journalism, but it was Adrian's brother Pat who pushed a directionless, unemployed graduate into journalism.
For all his years in the limelight on television, Logie spent most of our conversation earlier this month pointing me towards others in the club more worthy of attention and interest.
The long wait is over at last. Over those years, the Clarke's have promised much but delivered nothing at senior level – until now.
Looking at pictures of successful Clarke's juvenile teams in the club's fabulous centenary history book, I spotted the photograph of the *year too fuzzy to read* Tyrone U16 champions – including half a dozen or more 'boys' who spent the early part of the new millennium drinking around Belfast with the likes of me.
Perhaps that was part of the Clarke's problem, fellas drifting away from the town to 'the big smoke', drifting away from the game, as often happens to such clubs.
Reminded of that 64-year gap, Dungannon man and manager Chris Rafferty acknowledged that it had been far too long, honestly admitting: "We haven't always been as conscientious in our carriage of Gaelic games but we are working hard at it at all levels now. You put the hard work in, you get the rewards."
On the way back to my Belfast residence on Sunday night, I took a brief detour through the town. Skilfully guiding my car past McAleer's, the scenes around Ann Street were uplifting.
Dungannon has changed since the Clarke's previous glory days of the Twenties, Thirties, Forties, and Fifties, but Ann Street not so much.
The area of the town that's always supposed to be due for some multi-million pound redevelopment was an appropriate setting for this revival of the famous Clarke's.
One visible difference, however.
Amidst all the green and saffron, were many young people of colour, draped in Clarke's flags.
My hometown has taken plenty of criticism over the years, including jibes about the number of immigrants, mostly of Portuguese extraction, coming to work in various factories around and about.
It's wonderful to see their offspring absorbed into the Clarke's community. Let's hope a few more exotic surnames are on senior team-sheets soon, along with the Joneses, the Morgans, the McNultys, the Mallons, the Molloys, the Walshes, and so on.
When we spoke on the phone a week or so before the final, Logie recalled the tension of the semi-final against Errigal Ciaran, saying 'People were white as sheets, they were drinking water…'. Imagine – water!
There wouldn't have been much water drunk around Dungannon on Sunday night, although bucketfuls were probably consumed sometime around Monday lunchtime.
The Champagne, the beer, the spirits, could all have been consumed without worrying about the future, or the past.
The Clarke's won't get their first ever tilt at the Ulster senior club, but they won't care in the slightest.
As Chris Raff put it well, "There is not a club manager in Ulster who, having won it, can complain about not getting to play in Ulster. We should be that grateful to win it. We are not going to complain about it now."
Down with the begrudgers – up the Clarke's.
