As we move away from the Leagues and into the more electric world of the provincial and All-Ireland championships, it’s worth reflecting on the different habits and characteristics that distinguish those eternal creatures that are the League and Championship fan…

Your quintessential league fan will follow his county through thick and thin, in all sorts of weather, across the length and breadth of the country in search of satisfaction from the adventures of the county team. He – and sometimes, she - will be an authority on every game the team have been involved in for at least the preceding twenty years. He is a migratory creature and as such can be found at league grounds all over the country.

At it’s most basic level the league follower or ‘Nutcase Fanaticus’ is a creature of habit. Some might say strange habit, but habit nonetheless. His adventure will begin on the Tuesday before a league match when that weekend’s fixtures will be released to the papers. He will, of course, be aware in advance of who the county team are playing, but in the winter season, venues are not always the obvious ones. In the North, exotic destinations such as Scotstown, Greenlough or Coalisland will be given big pay days in deference to the usual summer destinations of Clones, Celtic Park or Omagh.

Out west, Claremorris or Athenry may be the destinations; down South it may be Askeaton, Dungarvan, or Clonmel and in Leinster the Nutcase Fanaticus are frequently found huddled together in small groups, arse to the wind in places like Trim, Enniscorthy or Aughrim.

The Nutcase Fanaticus will hit down early on match day, and on occasion, in strange quarters, can be observed leaning out of his car window, inquiring of bemused Mass goers as to the location of the ‘park’ and the best place in town for ‘a bite to ate’. On these outings he may well be accompanied by the young of the species, ‘Wide Eyed Gosoonicus’, who will quietly follow the instructions of Nutcase Fanaticus and spend much of the day having his hair toussled by acquaintances of said Nutcase, who bear testament to the fact that ‘Jaysus, he’s getting big, in’t he?’

The apparel of father and son will differ greatly on match day. The adult of the species will be dressed in trousers, shirt and tie, jumper and anorak. The colour scheme will be anything but reminiscent of the team colours, but he may be possessed of a wooly cap or golfing umbrella in these colours, and his tie may carry the county crest, a Christmas present from the female of the species ‘Widicus Sundaysius’.

The young of the species may also be possessed of an anorak, and despite the possibility of sub zero temperatures will nonetheless wear nothing but his replica county jersey underneath, emblazoned with the name of his favourite county player, usually the hero form the previous summer’s championship campaign. For head wear, he’ll have the baseball cap in the county colours, purchased from a street vendor at the last championship game. As is the norm, this will be a size too big, with the peak seriously affecting any hope he may have had of a decent view of the game.

Apres Match, Nutcase Fanaticus and Wide-eyed Gosoonicus are usually to be found in the lobby of the team hotel with a plate of ham sandwiches and a pot of tea, both hoping for a glimpse of their county’s heroes. Nutcase Fanaticus may retire for a few quiet words with the club’s county player when the team appear in the front bar for a quick pint before the journey home. It is the custom for Nutcase Fanaticus to stand the first drink for his clubman, while wide eyed Gosoonicus summons the courage to approach the few heroes missing from his collection for the standard autographs.

The Sunday Odyssey ends for both father and son when they return to the local to deliver a full report on the day’s proceedings to the parish experts. It’s a couple of hot half ones and a few pints of stout for the old man, a bottle of coke with a straw, ‘cheese and onion’, a few 50p’s and straight to the pool table for the young fella.

Now that’s your typical League fan, creature of habit, loyal to the last and an authority on the soap opera that is his county team. These are the men (and women) that we players really respect. They share the bad times with the county team, they buy the clubman his pint regardless of whether he’s under performed or not. They are a totally different breed to the “Gobshiteius Fairweatherus” who emerge from their nine month hibernation at roughly this time of year.

They will be the first in line for the club’s ticket allocation for the big championship game, the first to complain about the price of the ticket and will spend most of the game belittling the efforts of their own team rather than lending much needed vocal support.

When defeat comes, everyone will be to blame, management, players, the referee (a perennial favourite of Gobshiteius Fairweatherus) and, of course, the county board. God help the poor lad who has been performing out of his skin throughout the league and has a poor game come championship. Sweetness wasted on the desert air. They will loudly proclaim at the end of another Championship journey that they ‘wouldn’t go to see that shower again if they were playing in me own back yard’. Unfortunately, though, they will.

So this summer, keep your eyes peeled for these poor creatures. Pity them, maybe, but keep a wide berth. Try and keep the head when faced with their inane rantings. And remember lads and lassies, when the sun has disappeared and the evenings grow shorter, you’ll be back in your huddles, arse to the wind in some town that time forgot, cheering on the boys, while Gobshiteius Fairweatherius is zombied on the couch with his cup of tea watching Sky’s ‘Super Sunday’. Your frozen, rain soaked companions will be the real fans, the ones who care. And isn’t it great all the same?