Some useful phrases to help you understand the game of hurling

You know you are a GAA shaper when...........

1. You wear white boots.
2. You are the only guy with tanned legs on the team in April.
3. You put gel in your hair before the game.
4. You have bleached hair or a pony-tail.
5. You have to get a hair cut before every match.
6. You wear your collar up to your ears.
7. You have at least one life threatening injury per game.
8. You hang around outside the dressing room after a match (still togged out) looking for people to tell you how good you played.
9. You warm up looking into the crowd.
10. You wear the latest range in thigh supports, knee bandages, etc when in reality there's shag all wrong with you.
11. You sulk every time you lose, you blame the pitch, the wind, the sun, the ball etc, if you miss a chance (above all it was not your fault).
12. You complain that the backs never play good ball to you (you are always a forward because they score (backs get no glory), probably wing or corner (because you can pick up a handy score there and also wave to the crowd)) and if the selectors knew anything (which they don't) they would make you captain.
13. You insist on making yourself available for 2 championship matches on the same day.
14. You threaten to quit the team cause the manager won't pick your brother.
15. You make your own speech in the dressing room after the captain and mentors have made their speeches.
16. You leave in two soft goals...one dropped out of your hand....and you complain of a shoulder injury when trying to puck out the next couple of balls.
17. You wear white boots, white socks a white helmet with a white club jersey.

A Typical GAA Junior B Line up.......

Goalie - must have 'great goalmouth presence'.... which is secret code for being fat enough to have his own gravitational pull. Always in the 40-50 age bracket, this is a gent that will almost convince you that he played minor for the county in goal, even though the last time he got his knees dirty diving was at a ceili in 1965 when his version of the Hucklebuck went out of control, with numerous casualties.

Right corner back - the quiet man of the line-up he seems to escape the jokes in the dressing-room just because no-one has ever seen him angry and are afraid of hidden depths. Unmarried farmer with severe emotional baggage. Contact with a woman consists of the handshake at mass on a Sunday morning.

Full back - First started playing football some time in the Pleistocene Epoch. Nicknamed Sledge like "yer man outta U2". Will get a nose-bleed if he passes beyond his own 50 yard line. Utterly, utterly useless and yet is a great hit with the fans. Quite likes the smell of blood.

Left corner back - Has all the footballing skills of a piece of cheese and yet has been known to disappear up corner-forward's arses for days on end. An absolute cast-iron guarantee to be made mark the other team's young and absurdly fast superstar in the making.

Right half back - just out of minor, this boyo is sadly not going to get anywhere near the senior team... and yet hasn't missed a training session since early 1989. Selection is basically the manager's way of proving that he "doesn't give a damn who you are, if you're not down training we're not going to give you a game".

Centre back - disgruntled former senior player, tried to remove senior manager at agm and now has about as much chance of playing senior as he does of playing Hamlet in the Globe. Hasn't been junior training all year and is still absolutely guaranteed his spot on the team.

Left half back - county u-16 star, great white hope for the entire club. About 5 foot 4, he is still told to get under the kickouts and 'take the game to the opposition'... secret code for don't pass it to anyone unless your life is in serious danger.

midfielder - chronic alcoholic who last scored a point in the late 70s and yet reckons he is justified in having a go for a point from anywhere inside the opposition's half. Well-liked character because he always gets his round in at the post-match piss-up.

midfielder - the full back's older brother, who sports a rather strange looking bandage on his knee - probably hiding teeth marks or something. Prone to making strange guttural noises every time he strains himself. Eats five dinners a day and is a prime suspect for a coronary.

Right half forward - quietly-spoken business-man who hails from the village but is living in Dublin. Drives a flash motor. Lads who live in the pub in the town don't know what to make of him "but he was an awful annoying bollox in national school".

Centre forward - third of the set of brothers that includes the full back and midfielder. Is the target of all the brother's clearances... ALL of them. Probably the local A.I. man or something... by the way that's not A.I. in the Steven Spielberg meaning of the word.

Left half forward - utterly, utterly useless 25 year old who by some fluke of nature happens to be a deadly accurate free-taker. Tries to avoid open play altogether as he is far too important to the team to get injured. Is basically the team's only source of points.

Right corner forward - happily married man who hasn't played football since he was 12 but has suddenly decided to take up the game again. Natural talent (like his genitalia) completely and utterly over shadowed by his beer belly. Guaranteed to bag a goal or two and gain for himself some ridiculous nickname like "Schillaci" or something.

Full forward - hasn't scored since the end of the war but is captain of the team and an all-out nut case. The line commonly quoted to excuse his complete inability to find the target is "he's a good man to bust up the play." Doesn't feel satisfied unless his jersey is stained in blood... not his own. Will no doubt be marked by a similar figure playing for the opposition. Only at junior B will the full-forward and full-back play the game the exact same way, and could even switch positions with no effect on how the team plays whatsoever.

Left corner forward - the village thug, who invariably sports an ear ring and a seriously dodgy haircut. Will be involved with the referee within five minutes of the throw in. Plays the foreign game with the town five miles down the road and is hence viewed with suspicion by all and sundry. Has had a running battle with the aging club secretary who secretly fears for the virtue of his youngest daughter.

Some useful phrases to help you understand the game of hurling.......

Mighty - very good

Hames - a right mess - e.g. "He made a hames of that clearance"

Timber - intimidation of a hurling opponent - e.g. "Give 'em timber!!"

Welt - a slap - e.g. "I gave him a right welt into the ear!"

Lamp - a good thump - e.g. "I lamped him!"

A Crowd – e.g. "that crowd from Ardrahan are a right shower of shites"

Schkelp - a good thump

Bullin' - angry. E.g. "the centre half back was bullin' after I lamped him"

Bull thick - very angry

Joult - a push

Joshel - a shoulder push

The Comm-it-eeee - Local GAA bullshitters in general.

Bushted - eg. "Jayz me arm is bushted"

Bomber - a very popular nickname for a GAA player

A hang sangwidge - consumed with tay on the sides of roads after matches in Croker or Thurles.

Citeóg - he hit it with his citeog. ie. left handed/footed

Warp - hit something hard as in "I'll f**kin' warp you"

Rake - Also a great amount of anything, usually pints of Guinness

A Shamozzle - a group of players shkelpin' one another but not exactly hittin' anyone at the same time!

Flakin' - usually goes on for a whole game..... eg. "Jayz Mike Murphy gave Tony Delaney an awful flakin' below in training on Sunday". To "flake" a lad for a whole game usually starts off with a bit of the aforementioned "joshellin'" and "joultin'" and develops into a bit of "weltin'" and may even result in a good "lampin'" for the victim especially if he gets "bull thick".

D'namajaysus - What was that for, referee?

Ya-bollix-ya - Corner back's formal recognition of a score by his opponent

Leh-it-in-ta-fuck-would-ya - Full forward's appeal to a midfielder for a more timely delivery of the pass

Mullocker - untidy or awkward players

Horsed - bout of rough play or intimidatory tactics as in "We horsed them out of it!"

Horse - untidy or rough player. There's one in every club (The Legendary “Horse” Delaney)

Row - Fight involving four or more players swinging hurleys like lunatics

Massive Row - Row involving both team,substitutes and supporters jumping fences

Running Row - A massive row that continues out in the parking area and/or dressing room areas

"Come up ta F*ck"- A corner back trying to rise the ball .

"Lord Lantern Jaysus.." - "The next time you do that I'll f**kin kill ya"

"a hape" - A big quantity (Heap) 

"in the paw" - To catch the ball.

"a Brawl" - A collection of bodies in disagreement with each other.

"a Dinger" - Usually a fast wing forward who can leave his opponent "for Dust".

"a right C*nt" - The Ref was a bit biased towards the other team.

GAA Characters......

Made one inter county wintery league substituted appearance back in 1978 and has been a regular full back on the club team, since then after having acquired golden experience and regularly deferred to as the Club expert on any scenario on the field. Wears supports on both knees, both wrists, both elbows, has no teeth left from horrendous off the ball incident involving the priest at wing back on opposite team. Completely grey from shock of farming accident 15 years prior. Wears size 8 boot which are very small feet to carry considerable girth of a man his age and width consequently has dreadful difficulty staying on his feet but can always be relied upon to drag his man down inside the square. Unbeatable on a high pulling ball and under a dropping ball has been known to ruin many a hurling career, sex life and marriage prospects of many's the young hurler. Level head on the team and can always be called upon to make a passionate call on the annual first and only round of the championship what it means to wear the colours of the parish and fellas that are years younger than him retired long ago just because they don't understand the pride, at which point he breaks down. Wants to die on the hurling field only problem is he seems to ensure it happens to many's the hurler who comes or pulls across him. The Legend!

Regular supporter, generally retired, ended up holding the medical kit one day and ever since the lads have called him the Doctor. Well versed on psychology that applies in serious medical emergencies on the field. In fact his most recent comment upon viewing the broken leg of one of the star hurlers was "Jesus his leg is f***ed lads!". Has been known to light up cigarette for player while tending to his injuries and is especially well versed at herbal remedies for wounds liberally applying distilled potatoes from a barrel to a muscle wound with the caveat 'Don't waste it'. Generally complements his medical knowledge with detailed recollections of even the most mundane club encounters of the previous 20 years. Club allocates 50 pounds a year to his budget for medical seminars run by the county board amounting 850 pounds of club service and as many pints that have been bought in the seminar's stead. Generally is a pipe smoker and his smell of tobacco lingers long after him in the dressing room.

Generally hailing from the sports mecca of Limerick this all rounder seems to have reached zenith of sports career no matter what he turns his hand to. Took up hurling at 16 years old and made the minor county team two years later pissing off a lot of fellas who had been hurling since they were born, stick in hand. He is the one lad everyone loves hopping off at training and generally sustains a lot of finger and hand injuries during training. Generally remains clean even during winter running and his kit bag is never O Neills, always Umbro, Man United or Canterbury. Never drinks with the lads in the Club and if he does it's a rock shandy or Lucozade Sport. Generally a sad individual despite the fact his girlfriend is a model. Lads have no time for him as he will never take on 7 brothers from Ballybrown for one of his own men. Bad Egg!!

Wheeled out of the pub for the start of winter hurling where the sliotar drops dead in the Square and the last man standing tends to be the Timber Merchant. Every Club has one as before the start of any game when fellas are giving their spare hurleys to someone to carry for them, it takes one man alone to carry the sticks for the timber merchant. Loves the throw in ball and has been known to run full lenght of the field for a throw in which he wins but hurley flies into smithereens. Tends to be well known among all the local clubs and generally the standard against which aspiring hard men judge themselves. Walks with the cocky gait of a gladiator on the field, his girlfriend/wife tends to be 'a brewtal looking wan' who looks as if she was dragged through the Liffey backwards and hit a few bunkers along the way. She generally tends to be the boss in the relationship, and is actually affectionately known as the Corner back (more details later). Timber Merchant generally retires early with major arthritis but his two sons are carrying on the family tradition having already been sent off and banned twice from 14 and u 16 championships. Dad is their hero.

Vies with the legend in terms of team appearances and sometimes longevity, emotionally attached to his many collections of hurleys and needs at least two young fellas to carry out his hurleys at the start of a game as he has so many. Has stick for every weather type and usually has a maggoty towel of great sentimental value that he uses to dry the hurleys. Was excused from regular physical training at the age of 22 because he was finding it so difficult, consequently now weighs 17 and a half stone, can drink 22 pints in one sitting, and is looking to retire this year even though he is just turning 26. Possesses ferocious vocabulary and can often be heard spewing vitriol during a game, and that is only at his own team. Doesn't believe he deserves criticism levelled at him during a game after letting in his fifth goal ( 4 of which scuttered under his hurley), blaming the full back line for being 45 yards off their men after collectively thundering out to pull on a ball and miss it. G'wan Chunga!!! Has an effortless stroke and wins the Puc Fada every year in the parish but never lifts his game at inter county puc fada as he can't stay off the drink. His brother is known as 'The Drinker.' (see below)

Would without doubt be the best county minor ever produced by the club except for the fact as a prodigius under 14 talent was given a celebratory pint by The Doctor (see above) after winning the first round of the 14 championship and it was downhill from there. Progressed from putting sugar in his Guinness to skulling half pints of Bulmers in the showers before the game. Can be regularly seen puking in the changing room toilets at half time, flashes of brilliance produced once a year for a few minutes enough to warrant the three old men on the sidelines to mourn the loss of talent in a youth such as him. The club in the light of his behaviour reviews their drink policy and radically alters it so that only Under 15 hurlers and upwards are allowed pints on the day of a match, upper limit set at 8 pints, only allowed cider and vodka, no whiskey allowed to under 16's. Had to be dragged from the local at 4am the night before the county final, eyes red in photo, scored 1-6 from play, went on a two month bender after the win, wrote off three family cars, needs to be collected for every game. Great talent.

Living vicariously through the current crop of youngsters. They attend with diligence every club game from street leaguesto senior. Hurlers on the Ditch they recall with pride the battles they fought for the parish in their days and one of them knocks with glee on the metal plate in his skull inserted after a vicious game, though he played on the full game, busted open as wide as the Hoors Gait! Not known as great supporters of the more graceful style of hurler in the club, three man fan club of 'the legend' and 'the timber merchant'. Tweed caps badly need replacing, cigarette butt almost attached cutaneously to the lower lip, two carry bad hips from ferocious games of their youth, and one has ashortened leg as a result of a kick from a ******* when younger, though rumour has it got was from his brother over a woman who left them both at the tender age of 28 for a midfielder in the next parish. Hasn't spoken to the brother since but managed to end career of other parish's midfielder with a flourish...'But the ball was there ref"

At first glance this name would elicit the notion of a player on the team, however this is in fact the affectionate pet name for the Lady of the team. Currently engaged for 9 years to the Timber Merchant her own history is as long and varied as the club's. A great supporter of the senior hurling team, a spin with the corner back was as necessary as a game of junior hurling for any u-16 youth wanting to be blooded for senior hurling. A very supportive young lady she has had flings with the entire full back line, half back line, midfield pairing of three years ago and 4 of the forwards, the other two having retired 7 years ago, though rumour has it she was a great supporter of them too. Her name constantly appears in the changing room banter, all the lads slagging each other about her and how they would never go there yet upon reviewing college hurling team newsletter her name appears as "Corner Back Mark 2, Corner Back mark 4 ,Corner Back 7..." and so on. Eventually settled for the raw charm of The Timber Merchant, likes her men -ahem!- hard and loves to boast about her fella cutting the head off the opposition. Has been known to stray after 17 pints of cider and gives a rousing rendition of 'Sean South' after every championship match. A great girl altogether, also regular full back on the ladies camogie team, football team, puc fada champion 23 years running assuming the title after her mother retired, herself a virgin like her mother before her.

Bitter about his unsuccessful inter county career he embarks on a mission to bring his crew of 19, desperate hurlers from U-15 ranks to senior inter county champions in three years. His loyalty to the Club is unquestionable. His red with white stripe O'Neills cotton tracksuit can be seen as the solitary figure cutting grass of a saturday morning at 8am in advance of that afternoon's league game. His passion is unquenchable he finds it hard not to get frustrated at the lackadaisical attitude of some Under 13's. Guaranteed to fall out with Club executive committee over some of his training practices, expects complete infallability and loyalty, generally loses 3 - 5 players during the year through rows about their attendance. His car tends to be a Ford Capri or Ford Cortina, or indeed has a Honda 30. Guaranteed to have 122 - 150 hurleys of all sizes in the boot, replete with sliotars, bottles, deep heat, umbrellas, damp anoraks, odd football boots, steel toe capped boots, mars bars, hats, flags, caps, two helmets, nets, two bags of filthy smelley jerseys, 1982 version of Limerick Leader July 2nd and Sindo of 1988. Great Club man, but bitter, bitter, bitter.

A plethora of 'Characters' with a collective hurling experience in terms of years of 383. Matches collective waist size in terms of inches. Meet every tuesday night and discuss deplorable standard of hurling in the club. Blame soccer, rugby and The Spice Girls. Decide to remove cider from Club bar as too many lads have psychotic episodes with same, cagey about new committee member of 28 years of age, slow to change, ruthless in political manoevrings, utmost respect for the county board though the *******s didn't change our Junior B final even though we had three girls and three lads in the Scór finals. Struggle with the accounts and often reply that things have always been done that way. Strictly adhere to committee rules and procedures, everything must go 'through the Chair' and minutes are minutely recorded and scrutinised. Due to age of Committee large amount of Club budget goes on purchasing Mass cards for recently deceased member of opposing hurling teams of old, ar dheis Dé....

Great for sandwiches and tea after the big games always bring finer touch to Club noting that ashtrays should never be left full in the bar. Often the flirting going on between committee members and ladies committee is horrendous especially as most of them are married to one another. Fairly liberal users of bad langauge, have been known to question the lineage of many's the referee in their day. Very suspicious of new ladies wanting to help out and generally politely refuse offers of help throughout the year. Mother of keeper, full back, and timber merchant on the committee.

And, of course, you couldn't have a GAA Humour Page without the ledgend that is Micheál Ó Muircheartaigh...

Micheál Ó Muircheartaigh Quotes......

Colin Corkery on the 45 lets go with the right boot. It's over the bar. This man shouldn't be playing football. He's made an almost Lazarus-like recovery from a heart condition. Lazarus was a great man but he couldn't kick points like Colin Corkery. The ball is kicked out by Declan O'Keeffe it's dropping......"

"1-5 to 0-8. Well from Lapland to the Antartic that's level scores in any man's language"

"Pat Fox has it on his hurl and is motoring well now....but here comes Joe Rabbitte hot on his tail...I've seen it all now, a Rabbitte chasing a Fox around Croke Park !"

"Pat Fox out to the forty and grabs the sliothar, I bought a dog from his father last week. Fox turns and sprints for goal, the dog ran a great race last Tuesday in Limerick. Fox to the 21 fires a shot, it goes to the left and wide......and the dog lost as well."

"Sean Óg Ó Hailpín....his father's from Fermanagh, his mother's from Fiji, neither a hurling stronghold."

"Teddy McCarthy to John McCarthy, no relation, John McCarthy to Teddy McCarthy, still no relation."

"Teddy looks at the ball....the ball looks at Teddy..."