Inside Track: It’s better when you’re able to shout for your team

Time was when a scribblers’ sett (aka hacks’ hutch, aka press box) was the preserve of only those who were at games to take notes for the purpose of writing reports.

Now the place at some venues can be bunged out with statisticians, referee assessors, or, as happened at one of Louth’s National League games this year, panellists who hadn’t made the 26.

Even though Croke Park still issues me with what a Louth supporter called a ‘golden ticket’ when he saw me getting a trouble-free passage through a gate down in Portlaoise and he well back in a long queue, I’m not now a regular visitor to grounds’ higher echelon.

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The doorsteps and cuppa at the break and the chat with long-time colleagues were always looked forward to, but not the interlopers shouting for one team or the other, and sometimes having arguments.

Notes can be taken on a terrace, but the sketchier they are, the greater the likelihood of errors appearing in accounts. (That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.)

My main reason, however, for abandoning my former match-day abode is the freedom being on the terrace brings me. I can wear my colours and bellow to my heart’s content, telling Louth to go forward, get a hand in, watch the break, go at them, or, fill the corner, by which I mean, exploit the open space that can often appear when the team is attacking.

I can also have a barney with the opposition’s supporters, or argue my corner if there’s a difference of opinion. And if it’s a win, there’s handy access to field to congratulate the players, or, in the case of a defeat, commiserate with them.

There was nothing to dispute at either of the recent games in Inniskeen and Newbridge, just something to celebrate. Hopefully it will be the same at O’Connor Park on Sunday.

A wee story to finish. Louth had just taken a hammering in a match at Croke Park, which I had watched from the holy of holies. The lift taking us down was full of hacks. One of them asked if I was going over to hear what the managers had to say.

“I’m a Louthman, do you not think I’ve suffered enough today,” I replied. By then the door was open to let me out – they were going further down – but before making a quick exit, I added: “Anyway, interviews are only for ordinary journalists.”

I think they saw the humour in it, because those I know, spoke to me afterwards.