Exactly seventy years on from the day of the famous 1939 'Thunder and Lightning' final, An Fear Rua - like more than eighty thousand other Gaels - will take his seat in Croke Park to see Kilkenny in action again...

Early that Sunday morning, a bunch of strapping lads from Gowlnacalley-John Redmonds will crowd into Dan Fortune's purple mini-bus outside Ma Molloy's licensed emporium, and begin their annual pilgrimage to An Ceannáras. Some, no doubt, will have been fortified by a couple a' large bottles of stout smuggled out by Ma herself from behind the counter, and others will have secreted a bottle or two inside the black plastic rain mac they will carry with them to ward off any passing showers over the sacred soil of Jones Road. The purpose of these bottles of dark liquid is to conquer the deep thirst induced by the consumption of the ham 'sangwidges' clenched in their other hand. Not for these lads the new-fangled carry on of hot dogs and crisps that has caught on in Croke Park in recent years. Instead, a few thick slices of Murphy's Evergreen Hairy Bacon clamped between even thicker slices of Harney's sliced pan, all lubricated with lashin's of home made butter. I mean, in ainm Dé, how far would Setanta have got pucking the sliothar along the road from Dundalk to Armagh if all he had to eat was hot dogs and crisps?

The luxury conditions of Fortune's minibus will be a far cry indeed from An Fear Rua's early days of travelling to finals in Croke Park. From early on the Sunday morning, a long line of black Fords, Austins and Morrises, packed to the gunnels with humanity, would travel bumper to bumper along the Naas Road. Note, I said 'road' - not 'dual carriageway'! For these were days long before the few miles from Newlands Cross to Naas became Ireland's first pathetic attempt at a 'motorway'. And, at various points along the way, dark capped men and boys could be seen standing at the side of the road relieving calls of nature, while the ladies in the roadside cottages - or at least, most of them - averted their gaze. Of course, this was long before the days in Ireland when young hussies - even some of our own Gownacalley camogie stars - went to see fellas the likes of the Chippendales or the Celtic Knights. This roadside ritual was abhorrent to the late Canon Edward Guiry PP VG, who railed against it from the pulpit of Saint Gobnait's church many's the time, and even threatened to give a touch of his trusty 'bod dubh' to anyone he found engaged in it, man or boy!

This annual ritual of the stalwarts of Gownacalley-John Redmonds underlines for An Fear Rua the centrality of the club as the basic unit of the GAA. AFR would be concerned at any moves or trends that would weaken the role of the club. If that happens, then the big money lads will move in even more so, and that will spell the death knell of Gaelic games. Ah, God be with poor Canon Sheahan and Matt the Thrasher and the credit of the little parish.

An Fear Rua has never been afraid to speak his mind in support and in defence of the players at all levels. Sure, man dear, without the players it stands to reason the GAA would be nothing. The recent carryon of the Gaelic Players' Association has led to speculation about demands for remuneration for players. AFR would like to see players generously recompensed for the time and effort they put into training and playing the games and he would like to see injured players and their dependants well looked after. That means good expenses, good trips abroad as a team, an opportunity to share in a pool of sponsorship money - again for the team. The team… the team… the team… Once the remuneration is channelled towards the team, An Fear Rua has no objection. What he does object to most strenuously, however, is any proposal to pay individual players wages directly. That would be the ruination of the GAA. It would cause division and jealousy among players themselves.

On All Ireland Sunday, Kilkenny will believe if they can once again triumph by a margin than what Honest Jack Lynch once ruefully termed 'the usual point'. That, of course, was the winning margin back in 1939. An Fear Rua remembers it well: Ring, Lynch, Grace, Leahy, some of the greatest hurling names of that or any other era.

By the time we got home from Croke Park that evening, drenched to the skin, Neville Chamberlain (described memorably by Spike Milligan as 'a man who did Prime Minister impressions') had been on the wireless declaring war on Germany. The end result in that struggle too was a narrow margin with, thankfully, the right team winning. Little did we know the changes the next six years would bring, nor the genocidal horrors that would be visited on the world.

Seventy years on, things are not much better... Bosnia, Croatia, Rwanda and Darfur … to mention but a few.

Neville Chamberlain... a man who did Prime Minister impressions...