In the dark days of the early 1980s, Croke Park was a different kind of stadium. The sleek modern edifice people know today was but a twinkle in Paddy Buggy's eye. It pains me to say it but the place was more pigsty than Hawkeye. Candidly, it was a kip. As an Artane Boys' Band trumpeter I visited this national treasure on many a Sunday. We lads - there were no girls in the band back then - would be corralled on the Hogan Stand near the Canal End during the minor games. The ground was only starting to fill up so we always got seats. In this waiting period we were proffered sandwiches of rubber ham on damp white bread, and a bitter apple. Chatting and paying scant attention to the GAA goings-on, we waited to take the field. A smoke was out of the question, as you would definitely get caught. When our moment came to shine, we would assemble with the drum major beneath the stand and march out onto the sacred turf to lead the teams, play some county tunes, and top off the per...