Take Your Belly To Training Day
Talking Balls Comments
The groundbreaking scheme was inspired by what we witnessed at a club training session near you last Sunday. This was the third or fourth week of pre season. Players had to contend with a gruelling series of fiendish and evily conceived training runs designed to build speed and endurance. The air was blue with gasps of breath as they completed another set of 30 second runs and bluer again with individuals calling their trainer all the f**ers of the day. Red faces, coughing, extra layers shed, the odd bout of retching from a fella who maybe thought he could handle the beer the night before and the running the next morning. Not so my friend.
Talking Balls watched with interest, feeling an odd twinge in the left hamstring which we took as the body longing for the days of forty or fifty laps of old round a mucky field. None of this new fangled shite with heart monitors, resting heart rates and ‘eighty per cent runs’. In our day it was 110% or nothing.
Beguiled by the intrigue of the session the eye was drawn to one fella who appeared to be in obvious distress moreso than the rest. He effed and blinded in a curious tongue and a casual enquiry revealed that this fella was a ‘former Kerry minor’ currently stationed in the dark North because of work. In a misguided attempt to regain his former glory this boy had reported for duty at the nearest club and to his horror he discovered that these boys trained like demons driven on by Mephistopheles the Manager himself, aided and abetted by Satan the Strength and Conditioning guy and Beelzebub who completed the backroom team.
At one point we distinctly heard the Kerryman groan ‘Why the f**k am I here. . . what am I doin’ here?’ and then ‘. . . aghhhhh this is terrible.’
All the time the cheeks puce, the hands shook, the shirt front stretched and distended over a gut that protested too much, and groaned the waistband of shorts that looked under more pressure than Peter Robinson on an episode of Spotlight.
But fair play to yer man, he was there going through the pain barrier and breaking the sound barrier more than anything else. What about the other lazy hoors lying at home chawing bacon n eggs, black puddin and the works to help work off a feed of Saturday night stout or wine? Those are the boys that we’re after.
If you know someone that should take his belly to training, let us know and we’ll think about sending his a specially modifed tee shirt with room down below for the large lad.
