Paidi is up to mischief
Sir -- First we had the snow, then the big freeze, followed by the thaw and the slush. Stock up on milk and bread. Keep the fire burning and venture out only when necessary. All made worse by living in suburbia with four growing teenagers eating up the precious heat and space, not to mention the food.
Put bluntly, I am suffering from cabin fever. I devour every newspaper I can lay hands on. I trawl the various football sites looking for arguments and fight. So when I read Paidi O Se's piece in the first Sunday Independent of the new year I immediately recognised the symptoms. The genial Kerryman was suffering withdrawal symptoms allied to a bad dose of cabin fever. He missed the football and its associated banter. He was penned into his home village in Ventry.
Paidi was bored and missed the cut and thrust of what made his fame and name. He missed the bite of being head capo -- the planning, the scheming, the phone calls, the conspiracies and thwarted heaves. No more smiles and in-jokes with the greatest, his old mentor, that old fox O'Dwyer. No chance to get one over on the new kid on the block, young Harte from Tyrone. As he looked out his window he saw most avenues of escape blocked off. A season of backing everybody against Kerry and Jack O'Connor last year backfired. Jack said nothing; the All-Ireland garnered in 2009 said it all. Paidi had to dream.