School taught John O'Shea how to win, how to lose, but it didn't tell him about the Third World

MY FATHER worked in a bank so we moved around quite a bit. I started my school career in the Convent School, Charleville, Co Cork. When I was five we moved to Westport, Co Mayo, and I went to the national school on the Quay. The school would be flooded at high tide so we always had a short winter term.

I spent some time with the Christian Brothers in Westport before moving to Dublin when I was 10. I was brought along to St Vincent's School in Glasnevin where I lasted only a day. The teacher asked me some difficult questions - I did a runner and refused to return.

After six months in O'Connell Schools, the family moved to the southside and I started at CBS, Monkstown, where I remained until I was 18. I loved the school from the start and have only one bad memory.

I was very much into sport, playing tennis, basketball, rugby, Gaelic games and, for a local team, soccer. One day, because I was one of the organisers, I chose to play soccer against a Protestant school rather than take part in a school rugby match. As a result I was banned from wearing the school colours and was forced to write on the blackboard that I had taken my blazer and trampled it in the mud. That was the only sour note during my time in Monkstown.

This was the first time that I stood up to authority and I was pleased that I chose to honour a commitment.

Because of my love of sport, I wasn't a great academic and just about got my exams. I went back for years to coach the youngsters in basketball. My only serious regret about my time in school was that I was never told about the Third World. I wouldn't have spent 24 years in journalism had I been aware of what was happening in the Third World.

My competitive instincts were honed at school. I learned how to get on with people but also how to take a belt. In sport we suffered great defeats and we learned how to loose.

I meet up quite regularly with the friends I made at school and a month never goes by without my calling up to see my old history teacher, Eddie McGettrick.

My father wanted me to follow him into the bank, but I refused. I applied to join the army but failed the eye-test. I took a job as a clerk in a coal yard for £6 a week. I progressed to become sales manager.

While I was there I decided to go to night classes at UCD. My passion for sport led me to ask Tim Pat Coogan, a friend of the family and then editor of the Irish Press, for a job. I ranted and raved about what was wrong in sports journalism and they gave me a weekly column on the Evening Press.