I wrote this piece for my column in the Leinster Leader in March 2007. I couldn’t be prouder that our girl’s time has finally come…

A sweaty Sunday night in August 1998, the dancefloor of a seedy nightclub in Naas heaves with stumbling, drunken revellers. Nothing unusual about that, but look again, they are all dressed in white; white t-shirts, white sweaters and you think you may have seen two young men in white boiler suits hugging and crying tears of pure Heineken in the far corner. I too am in white, a dress, looking like I’ve just been thrown off Centre Court, wrapped drunkenly around an equally drunk, white-clad young man, my mad vodka-eyes scaring him from repelling my amorous advances.

                Outside in the street the cars are bedecked in white flags and streamers and those that are not parked hap-hazzardly on the street, weave through the throngs of locals, honking and beeping raucously.

                No, it’s not a strange dream, or a scene from a Naas-based Willy Wonka film, but a factual recollection of the night in 1998 when Kildare won the Leinster Final for the first time in decades. The whole county went mad and there were scenes of heart rending joy that had never been witnessed in any of our lifetimes. Men and women alike were united in a white euphoria, made all the more thrilling in my case by my discovery that Kildare actually HAD a football team…

                A fantastic occasion to look back on, had it not been for the strange fact that all these white clad revellers were so unaware of another thrilling victory that took place earlier that month – when the Kildare Ladies Football team had also won their Leinster Title. I remember remarking on it only to be told ‘Ah sure I think they win that every year…’

                I am not a strident feminist but this niggled at me, not hugely, but enough to be reminded of it recently. The Irish Rugby Team are currently the Nation’s darlings and I am almost bitter that no woman will ever achieve the acclaim of Brian O’Donoghue, or Ronan O’Gara. Even our struggling soccer team, through recent bad form, have achieved more recognition through losing than had they comprised of eleven victorious women.

                ‘Of course we have our female Irish sporting heros – Sonia O’Sullivan, Derval O’Rourke and Caitriona McKiernan,’ I hear you shout in our nation’s defence, and yes, I take your point. But there is something clean and ladylike about athletics – not like dirty aggressive football. (‘Do those girls not kick with the other foot?’ someone once asked in a hushed voice when I mentioned ladies soccer…) Like tennis, it’s the kind of sport that if girls must insist on demonstating prowess at something, well, its suitable isn’t it?

                My true sporting heroes are Jessica Kurten and Nina Carberry, they both compete against men and win. It does beg the question though, that if equestrian sports were segregated, would even these ladies get the recognition they deserve…

                My last example; one Saturday night before Christmas, seven thousand people filled the Point Depot to watch Bernard Dunne win a European Bantham Weight title. It was advertised for weeks beforehand and several thousand more people (myself included albeit heavily pregnant at the time) watched as the swarthy man from Neilstown, battled his way through 12 rounds and emerged, blood drenched to victory. In stark contrast, seven days later, at the tail end of a radio sports broadcast I first heard mentioned the name of Katie Taylor. Katie, also a boxer had made it to the final of the World Championships in India – and this was the first we heard of it?

                Could I find the fight on any TV channel? Why did our World Champion not get at least the same publicity as our European Champion? Surely she trained as hard and sacrificed as much? After all, as Ginger Rogers so aptly put it ‘I did everything Fred did, only I did it backwards and in high heels…’

So back to that sweaty night in Naas, August 1998. Kildare went on to beat Kerry in the semi-finals but then suffered a crushing defeat to Galway in the All Ireland final. The county slumped to its white-clad knees, bemoaning the existence of those ‘maroon robbers’ and ruefully began to count the cost of the previous month’s drinking.

                Oh and me? Well I don’t play sport but I scored a cracker that night in 1998; the poor lad I cornered in that grotty nightclub, well, he never did manage to escape.

                You see, you may not like to see us girls fight dirty, but sometimes the best games are won quietly…