I blame it on Joe Kernan

There are some things in the GAA which have changed beyond all recognition in the last years as teams become more professional in their approach to the game.
The club or county trip is only one example of how tradition has been stood on its head as teams strive for perfection.
It used to be that trips anywhere were all about male bonding, heavy drinking and chasing and normally included at least one game played in the haze of a hangover or bent over looking at the remnants of the previous night's Chinese takeaway consumed after a skinful.
A ferry crossing from Dún Laoghaire to Holyhead followed by a nine hour bus journey through the night to Milton Keynes was about as exotic as it got in our club until the camogs headed off to the States last season to allow us all to get to know our children better.
Now it's all training and focus and physios and shrinks as our top county sides sacrifice a week's work to jet off for some summer sun.
I blame it on Joe Kernan myself.
Before Joe took his All-Ireland winning side of 2002 to Malaga for a week's preparation early that season, All-Ireland winning captains had to ask the county board and headquarters in their victory speech was there any chance of a week off.
Once Joe's Armagh side did the business and while they were at it looking so focussed and mean that they must have practised scowling in the house at their children then everybody had to do it, after all didn't Armagh win an All-Ireland and all they needed to do was go on a package holiday for a week to Malaga.
If only it was that easy, I'd send Antrim for a month, the lot of them, hurlers, footballers, camogs and the handballers and I'd even check to see could we win the rounders while we were at it.
It's tough I suppose but now as players begin to write about the modern era I can't see any of us shaking our heads in awe at players sipping tequila slammers in a faraway land for the cause the way we winced when we read of a gut busting Ger Loughnane training session on a beach in County Clare in the dead of winter when he was convincing a bunch of perennial losers that they were going to rule Ireland.