For Newtown fans, it was the sweetest. For us, defeat most bitter. "Lock the gates, make 'em watch it to the end!", one of those Newtown fans shouted with several minutes yet to go, memories of their own bitter losses over the past 26 years still fresh. Memories they had of 1977, when they were reigning county intermediate champions, Ballyhea county junior champions, meeting in Charleville (and what a fantastic venue that is, what a super pitch) in the first round of that year's intermediate championship.

11,000 actual fans I was later informed by a Charleville official, as opposed to the four or five thousand announced, every vantage point in this magnificent coliseum taken, and they witnessed a fantastic game. The six Newtown backs were colossal, averaged over six foot in height, around fourteen stone in weight, good enough as a unit to form the Avondhu defence, yet on a balmy May afternoon we managed 4-11 to their 4-8, won by a famous three points through a late Johnny Ryan goal.

Memories too of 1982, first round of the senior championship on this occasion (after we had won the intermediate county in 1980, followed by Newtown in 1981), and again the venue was Charleville. Drizzly day, another massive crowd, none of the champagne hurling of 77 but even closer in the end, 1-12 to 0-13.

Again Ballyhea were the winners, as we were two years later in 1984, GAA centenary year, 0-15 to 1-8, a year in which we reached the senior county final. No championship meeting at senior level since, but 1996 was another big occasion, another year when Newtown fans, and most of the current set of Newtown players, again suffered bitter disappointment at the gleeful hurling hands of Ballyhea. North Cork U-21 final, Newtown had just won the intermediate title, nearly a dozen of their U-21 team involved in that panel, while Ballyhea were long gone from the senior championship, weren't given a chance of winning. We did, and how we celebrated, how we rubbed it in.

Now this. Lock the gates, goal on goal, point on agonising point, our turn to know the pain, the torture of defeat to your most bitter rivals. That's this game lads, that's this game. Afterwards, I went back to Ryan's pub in Newtown, had a couple of pints, met a few of the stalwarts from those teams of the 70's, 80's. Billy and Simon Morrissey, first cousins, one bigger, one harder than the other, Patsy Morrissey, all three of whom had left their fleeting mark on me on the field (you always got to work next day, albeit a little the worse for wear!), an indelible mark off it, the mark of friendship. Big Bowlesy, Dermot Naughton, both with sons on this current team, John Buckley, all with a word of consolation.

Most consoling of all however, one of the new brigade. Brendan Mulcahy, full-back, extremely gracious. "We were beaten by nearly twenty points by Newcestown in the intermediate championship in 95, things looked black, but we came back to win the county in 96. Ballyhea can come back from this". We can, we will.

Isn't that sport? Isn't that hurling, this local club rivalry with its roller-coaster ride? Beforehand, during the game itself, they are the enemy and you will die, you will kill (figuratively speaking, sort of), but afterwards, you console the fallen. Over our previous four big meetings, we did the celebrating, now it's Newtown's turn, those bad memories salved somewhat.

Memories are all that's left to me now. I played in 77, captained/coached/trained the team in 82, missed 84 due to emigration, but togged out again last Saturday evening. Turned fifty and still in good shape, but due to a series of circumstances I won't bore ye with here I was later informed that I wasn't in contention on the night for any sort of serious role. With the game gone out of sight however, it would have been nice to have got five minutes at the end, round off the career with a senior championship appearance against Newtown. Didn't happen, saving my dignity I was told. Dignity? I saw only honour (though I have been known to be blind, where Ballyhea are concerned). The honour of wearing that black-and-white jersey one more time on the field of play, the honour of competing, even in a lost cause, against a team of the history, the character, and yes, the talent of this current Newtown side. Ah well. Every story has an end, good, bad, indifferent. Like so much else in a 42-year playing career, mine was the latter.