What is the leagues? What is their stars?

Sideline Cut: It is hard to believe that the National Football League, that hardiest of flowers, is blooming once more writes Keith Duggan.

All the signs are there, of course. Half the country is ruined with the cold and flu. Lent is around the corner. Daniel Day Lewis is up for an Oscar. Huge, gangling lads with no interest in the Gah are being hauled away from their Play Stations to see if they can do a Donaghy at full-forward. They are fighting down in Cork. And as the season begins "under lights", it seems timely to stare up at the heavens like old captain Boyle to ask, "What is the leagues? What is the leagues?"

On a weekend when Liam Mulvihill bows out after a distinguished and revolutionary working life as director general of the GAA, it seems safe to say that the football league has changed greatly under his stewardship.

The more you hear from players in the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s, the more it becomes clear that in those decades the league was fundamentally about pints and having a good time. Oh, there were some clattering good games and plenty of football men who liked to attend to their personal fitness even in the slumbering months of February and March. But it has become clear from the spate of memoirs published in recent years and from anecdotal evidence that many teams liked to think of league Sundays as a bit of an adventure, particularly the road trips that might necessitate a stopover.

Irish life has become so fast that contemporary Gaelic teams have to pencil "bonding" weekends into diaries, rigorously organised events planned for months and involving trips to the Balearics or kayaking and jet-ski "fun" on some Scottish Highlands lake that is about as pleasant as Antarctica.

The idea of these trips is fine, and chairmen will proudly announce the lads are heading off to "bond", the implication being that because the county board has shelled out 50 grand on the trip, the spoilt little feckers better bond. And usually they do, over mojitos and slammers and the like.

Then the week is over and it's time to put the Championship Mask on: no smiles until next Christmas.

It was easier in the old days. True, the Saturday-night stopover in Ballina or Tralee might not seem as glamorous as a week-long party in Florida, but it had its own charms.

There was always a good bar to be found, always a Pandora's box of a nightclub with no ice except dried ice and an unfathomable variety of Lizzy tunes. Some guys drank. Others did not. The more cash-strapped county teams travelled in cars, with full-back lines wedged into the backs of Vauxhalls or Cortinas. That, of course, could cause cliques to develop, with lads from the same town pressed against each other with nothing but Mark Cagney's late-night set on the radio to prevent them bitching about lads from other clubs.

The bus was a safer way to go. Then, even if the county board had said no to a hotel and, after getting soundly whipped in Killarney or Parnell Park, teams faced five hours on a bus back to Derry or Mayo, at least they were in it together. And a few packs of Harp and songs and jokes shortened the journey.

It is a peculiarly Irish paradox that people socialised much more when there was no money in the country. When I was at school, Wednesday night was a big night in the town, with singers like Dolores Keane or Freddy White jamming the place. Thursday seemed pretty busy too, there was always a busy Friday evening scene and the weekend took care of itself. And of course, a good weekend could easily stretch into Monday.

Tuesday, in fairness, never featured.

GAA players might have "watched themselves a bit" during the league but that was the height of it. That kind of meandering, almost unconscious, socialising has all but died out in Ireland; we are too busy and too important. And it has definitely become alien to the national league.

Which kind of brings us to events in Cork. It is hard to know what to make of the disastrous impasse the Rebel players and officials have seemingly reached at lightning pace. To quote the most famous Corkman of them all, "nobody wanted this".

It can be argued that Cork is the greatest of all GAA counties. That profile has meant this case has become a dominant news item. It leaves me with the slightly uneasy feeling that there would not be half the fuss if, for instance, Antrim or Carlow were in the same position this weekend.

Still, it was staggering to read Seán Ó Hailpín stating in this newspaper that it was time for Frank Murphy, the godfather of Cork GAA, to go. Seán Óg is not a man to make radical statements for the fun of it and he demonstrated the depth of feeling among the players. Still, within certain circles in Cork, that call will surely be regarded as treasonous. Not that it is likely to persuade Frank to empty out the office drawers and head off with a whistle and a wave.

I imagine there is dismay all around. This is a mess or, as Sheriff Bell immortally declares in No Country For Old Men, "if it ain't, it will do till the mess arrives".

Nobody wants to see the Cork football or hurling teams line out without their greatest players. But with this weekend's game against Meath already postponed, both parties have a matter of hours to salvage the season, because the league games cannot be allowed to stack up; the calendar is too tight.

From November, the players made it clear they would not play this year under the current regime. The sad likelihood is they will have to honour that vow over the next few days. If that happens, the most honourable thing to do would be to at least make it clear they will hold no grudges against fellow players who might be selected under a replacement panel.

It would be better for Cork to line out with greatly weakened teams this season than not to line out at all. Because not playing, a full year of nothing, will mean an indelible mark on Cork's proud record of participation. Who knows how deeply it could damage the morale and self-belief that has always characterised Rebel teams?

Either that, or the negotiators on both sides allow themselves to bend this weekend. There is still time to broker a compromise. This is sport, after all. This is amateur sport. When did it become so intransigent and humourless? There will be regret if Cork do not feature in this year's league and championship. But once the games begin, the regret will chiefly be confined to Cork. That is the nature of sport.

The league begins with a Saturday-night-lights match featuring the All-Ireland champions and the league champions. The league has its own fascinations - new players, new managers, new jerseys, new ambitions and that dread recognition of old failings. Lord knows who will win this year's title, but if teams and managers have any sense, they will try to wring a few laughs out of these icy days of early spring, as well as a few results. Nobody is saying that modern teams should be following the book of the carefree league days of 20 years ago. But it would do no harm to borrow a page or two.