‘Come on and I’ll take you to the football’ always got the Son and Heir out of bed.
Nothing will probably compare to the time we were in Edinburgh and I told him to get his coat as we were off to see his beloved Liverpool.
Understandably he thought we were off to the pub until we got on the road to Sunderland.
I teased him too when we relocated to Co. Wicklow in Ireland and I tempted him again with football.
Despite Ireland being without a professional football league such is his love for the game that he would have gladly gone down to see Bray.
But we headed the other way to see Wicklow play Gaelic Football against I can’t remember who in Aughrim.
There had been a lot of noise around their new coach, Kerry and the game’s legend Micko O’Dwyer.
The whole community atmosphere of the day caught our imagination.
Parking on a muddy verge, creature comfort food and us standing up with the crowd for the national anthem Amrhán na bhFiann.
Or Soldier’s Song, an anthem I’d learned at my Donegal mum’s knee and on the terraces of Celtic Park in Glasgow.
And I loved too that fans of both Gaelic football teams milled around together where football teams don’t.
And against his better judgment the Son and Heir enjoyed himself.
Although I don’t think either of us remember who the opposition were.
Or whether we won.
The national games
The All-Ireland Gaelic football competition and Ireland’s other indigenous sport hurling are nearing their climax in September.
And whoever wins, and it’s usually Dublin and Kerry at Gaelic football, and Kilkenny at hurling, the cups will do a tour of the counties.
And I got a taste of it when I was told of the lengths that neighbouring town lands, or village outposts, in Monaghan would go to to gain an advantage.
Read my misadventures in Monaghan’s country roads.