This is an extract from the book, 'there is an F in hurling' by Aidan Lenehan. A tale of a humble effort at a hurling renaissance. The characters in this true story come from all walks of life. The book charts their efforts at playing hurling from the early stages of a new formed team in 2008 until the 2012 season, against the back drop of a changing Ireland. For most, it was their first time to hurl. The epicentre in this story is rural north Co. Dublin but it could be any village or town in Ireland. An inspiring story of the real GAA grass roots level, where a bunch of lads against the odds attempt to get the game kick started in a hurling wasteland. Published by Ballpoint Press. The book is available from your local book store. All proceeds are going to the further development of juvenile hurling at the Wild Geese GAA club.

The day of the game I received an early call from Liam O Brien, their manager to fix a time for a pitch inspection as it had rained a lot overnight. As I pulled into their car park, I could see a number of their people working on the pitch in a bid to have it right for the throw in.

Liam and myself walked it together, the centre was okay but the top corner was only middling and the goal mouths were very wet with a lot of surface water. I had played on worse but that was scant consolation. The heavy rain had gone but the strong winds were still upon us although this had helped to dry out some parts of the pitch.

We both felt the designated referee; Tommy Keogh would be likely to pass it especially if we were happy to proceed. Liam had a plan B. He had the Ballymun Kickhams all weather pitch booked for the same time just as a precaution. That worried me. A fast pitch would not suit us and we had never played hurling on an Astroturf of that type before. I rang Sean, Mattie and Shane for their opinions. I filled them in and asked the question 'Astro turf or muck and shite'? Without hesitation, the three choose the latter. I told Liam that I would see him back here in a few hours. Fingers crossed the heavy rain would stay away for a while.

More excitement was on the way for at that very moment the Wild Geese footballers were playing a cup final in Garristown where Ciaran had got into a bit of a tangle with his marker during the game. He was on already on a yellow and when he resurfaced, he saw yellow again. As he walked to the line, he immediately thought 'Shit, that's rules me out of the hurling final'.

The first wind I got of it was when Dicey phoned me, 'We won but Ciaran got two yellows, he's devastated, he thinks he cannot play in the hurling final. Can he?'

This was the last thing I needed to be dealing with on the day of a final.

I genuinely didn't know what the story was over Ciaran's eligibility and to get a definitive answer from a County board on a Sunday morning was a non-runner.

'Listen; let's forget we ever had this conversation. See you in Ballymun at half one', I said. And there we left it.

The atmosphere in the dressing room was serious but calm and everyone sat around quietly, as we named the team. No surprises in the selection. Ed probably would have got the nod ahead of Paul Kealy to start in corner back, in terms of his experience but volunteered to stay on the line.

Then Sean Madigan stood in the middle of the dimly lit room, looked around slowly and sincerely to his team mates, his friends. He gave a passionate speech and his final words reinforced the view that 'our time had come' - the hairs stood on the back of my neck as I listened. You could hear a pin drop. You could see the togetherness and spirit on the serious faces; we had not come to lose! Tweet

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