It’s always the little things that get you.
Wandering in from the yard back in Cork yesterday, this cluster of wooden sentinels triggered a twinge of emotion as I recalled playing hurling myself as a kid.
I was never a particularly gifted player but there really is no sport like it in the world (in terms of speed and sheer acrobatic watchability). Given my lack of access to the game over the last few years (oddly enough, there isn’t that much hurling going on in France or New Zealand), having a chance to watch my nephew and his friends battering the sliotar (the hurley ball) around over the last few years has proven much more satisfying than anticipated.
