The scoreline from last Saturday’s league game – 4-11 to 0-9 – is misleading in the extreme. Of all the afflictions which can beset a team, none is quite so debilitating as the concession of four sudden goals against the run of play, ten minutes either side of half-time.

But it wasn’t just the dramatic upturn in the display that had Nancy and myself buoyant. It was the conversation outside the dressingroom, which, yet again, illustrates the growing camaraderie between the lads and me.

"A word, Noel," said JP Darmody as Nancy loaded the portable goals into the Sunny. I girded myself for a showdown over why I had taken him off after 19 minutes, even though barely a ball had come up to his corner ("tactical," would have been my answer, "it was the last thing they expected us to do.")

Turned out JP wasn’t spitting fire at all. The warrior in me was disappointed, for it is in ferocious after-match exchanges with disaffected players that the essence of a team is forged.

Something else was on JP’s mind.

"Noel," he said, "An idea came to me during that half-seafoid phase when you’re neither awake nor asleep. It could create jobs to keep lads at home."

How often, I thought, have people sought my counsel on business ideas? I possess generally reliable judgment, yet I am not fettered by convention.

"Noel," as an attacking wing-back said on local radio, after winning his McNamee Award in the Most Imaginative Use of a Punctured O’Neill’s Size 5 category, "doesn’t laugh when you tell him something daft."

Anyway, I digress. "Noel," continued JP, "my old lad’s place, no more than your own, is full of old programmes, magazines, newspapers, and, in your case, autographed posters of you in your playing days. We’re expecting the fire officer any day now, it’s gone that bad.

"And, like, you’ve got all Nancy’s memorabilia too. The entire west wing of your house is choked with stuff."

I was immediately wary. "JP," I said, "I have turned down a thousand offers to auction off the lot. Charities all over Ireland have their eye on that stuff.

"John O’Shea has my head bursted on the ‘phone, and you know what John’s like yourself."

I was insistent: "I made a solemn promise to Sean O’Siochain. It’s going to the museum. Apart, of course, from the medals from the eleven-in-a-row, and the four Texaco awards. I have 15 grandchildren. They’ll get one each. It’ll give them a start in life."

JP was unperturbed. "No, Noel, not the medals," he pressed on, "I’m starting a range of fashion clothing, all made from recycled GAA publications. I’ve been onto the Companies Registration Office already, and, amazingly, Too Cul For An Treoir Oifigiul is available.

"I’ve done market research. Ppeople are very interested. Liz Howard has kindly agreed to wear the hat I’m making out of the Our Games ‘72 annual to Congress, the one with Liam Sammon on it, as long as I achieve a shade of turquoise to set off her eyes.

"Evanne NiChuillinn has me plagued for a skirt from the 2004 Strategic Review report. I think it’s too dowdy for her, better off with the manuscript of Jimmy O’Gorman’s programme notes for the Munster U21 final.

"Can’t you see Nancy turn heads at the Shinty final, and she donning a hat and match scarf created entirely from Goodbye to the Hill by John O’Leary?"

I have to admit, I was hooked. ("Hooked, by Justin McCarthy" he joked, "an elegant cravat for the older man.") We debated the idea for close on four hours.

I let the engineers run wild. "It’s the subliminal connection you’re going for," I said, more than once, "tapping into the sense of heritage attaching to the games. That’s deep within us all. Not just paper. A shirt and tie from old sideline flags would be a winner, too.

"I’ll get Patsy Devlin’s togs from’74 – a grand tablecloth for a mid-market restaurant. Genius, JP."

I knew I had inspired him greatly when he said he planned to spend Sunday travelling the county picking up discarded towels, hairbands, jocks, socks, t-shirts, and sundry other items that lie in dressingrooms everywhere.

"My father went to college with Breandan O’hEithir. A first-edition Over the Bar will fetch top dollar as a scented wrap," he added. Truly, JP has the germ of a magnificent business. He confided in me that would need my help, and I gladly offered as long as he guaranteed me never to offer me payment of any sort.

"Who would have thought you had such creativity lurking within? This could turn the town of Ballybore around," I observed, "all I’ll ask is that if you ever come across original hand-written correspondence between Padraig O’Caoimh and myself, make me a tie to go with my charcoal grey suit. They can put me down in that."

He nodded enthusiastically. "I’ve the team list from Nancy’s first All-Ireland," he added, "but I don’t know whether to make a belt out of it, or ear-rings."

We jawed on for another three hours. JP is bubbling with enthusiasm since he cut out Molly’s and got serious about his football. A successful business will give his game that spark of vitality. I foresee him having a big role in our season.

Noel leaves his imprint on the entire community. Email him at This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it ; visit www.knowledgeablenoel.com; or pick his brains on Facebook (Knowledgeable Noel.)

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