Keith Duggan/Sideline Cut Am I alone in finding the departure of Setanta more than a little devastating? And why has there not been more of an outcry down in Cork?

There is nothing so clear and piercing as the Corkonian shriek of indignation, and we might have expected the good folk by the Lee to shatter chandeliers all over Ireland with their howls of outrage at what amounts to the theft of an exalted son.

Perhaps everybody thinks this Aussie Rules experiment is just a bit of a lark which Ó hAilpín will soon tire of. It is the time of year when it is customary to hear rumours about GAA stars considering the pursuit of unusual dreams, be it place-kicking for an American football franchise or heading off to a Tibetan monastery to make peace with their inner hurler (You really thought John Troy just retired?).

So when word leaked last weekend that Setanta, instead of enjoying his social debut at the All-Stars in Dublin, was in fact Down Under learning to love the oval ball, it was mildly worrying but hardly alarming. The GAA's high society remarked on Setanta's absence that evening, but there was no hint that the association was about to lose the kid forever.

If it were serious, Frank Murphy, looking sensational in black tie, would surely not have spent his night "getting on down" to the infectious sounds of popular beat combo The Strokes.

Instead, he would have been holding midnight counsel in his chambers in the Páirc, sandwiches and brandy and cigars for sustenance, and he and his brethren would have plotted and worked out a way to keep Setanta in Cork.

Because already it is hard - and depressing - to think about a Cork sans Setanta.

There may have been debuts more technically successful and polished in Irish sport before, but never has a young player created such a forest fire of excitement and anticipation as Ó hAilpín.

It seems ridiculous, but Cork, of all counties, was the breath of fresh air that this year's hurling championship so desperately needed. Sure, the county may be part of the anointed trilogy that dominated the game throughout the last century, but such is Kilkenny's present hegemony and so dispiriting is the lack of credible opposition that Cork's zestful rediscovery of their game was exhilarating.

And although Ó hAilpín's quiet, young Na Piarsaigh team-mate John Gardiner was probably the most important player Cork had this year, Setanta was the story.

I was lucky enough, in retrospect, to be in Páirc Uí Chaoimh the day that he (and Gardiner) was given a full debut. It was one of those damp spring Sundays that seem to muffle the very atmosphere, but the game was cracking and free-flowing, and although Kilkenny essentially gave Cork a lecture, Ó Ailpín's play led to the early withdrawal of Philly Larkin and encouraged a rhapsody from DJ Carey afterwards.

What was tantalising about that performance and Ó hAilpín's subsequent unveiling in the Munster championship was that it was supposed to be just a beginning.

Still only 20, still getting used to his height and developing athleticism, still raw but yet full of unorthodox touches of class - you had to wonder about what he would be like in his prime.

Of course, he hardly met Ring's idea of the ideal hurler - 5 ft 7 in being the height which the legend believed optimum - and there were a few sniffs about his being over-rated.

But Setanta had it.

It is rare in ball sports that a crowd will audibly and visibly react to the mere prospect of the ball travelling towards a certain player, but that was the case with Setanta. With him, people expected the unexpected.

That constant intrigue, the unforgettable name and the classic looks made the Cork youngster the most marketable star the GAA has ever had. And more pertinently, he was the best thing to happen in hurling in quite a while. To outsiders looking in, Kilkenny's young hurlers play the game with such heightened levels of skill and concentration that they take it further into a private, unknowable realm. They leave us gaping from a distance. And that is not to criticise Kilkenny.

But Setanta's gift was that he appeared, at least, to do the opposite; he was so demonstrative and clearly delighted to be out there that he brought us closer to the game. Setanta had the power to make kids growing up outside the hurling strongholds want to play hurling. The value of that cannot be overstated.

You can't blame Setanta for going, though. Blame Australia. Too sunny, too pleasant, too full of beaches and girls. Way too happy a place, in my opinion. Too intent on telling the rest of the world that it is Party Central.

Remember at Christmas years ago when Gaybo would reunite loved ones lost down in Oz by telephone with their folk back home? People who hadn't spoken for 20 years suddenly confronted with this voice from the past on a crackling telephone line and Uncle Gaybo, the medium, clucking and soothing and at the same time hurrying them along because international calls cost about £800 a minute back then and this was the 1980s and everyone was broke.

It was hearing those harrowing, awkward calls that made me suspicious of Australia, made me think it was a bad idea. And it is typical of the place to just breezily sweep in and "have a punt" on an athlete whose impact on the game of hurling will now be a matter of eternal conjecture.

The appeal of Aussie Rules for someone in Setanta's position is easy to see. I don't think it is so much the opportunity to make money as the chance to play sport all the time. Because the GAA gave him the chance to do that as a kid, playing club, minor, under-21 hurling and football. God knows how he found time to sculpt those sideburns.

But he was reaching the stage in life where work was going to constantly interrupt that schedule.

And he would have observed the experiences of his brother Seán, noticed how tiring and hard it is to balance employment and playing top-flight GAA, and have come to the conclusion that if he didn't bolt immediately he might live to regret it.

Of course, there is always the chance that Setanta just may not cut it at Aussie Rules and he could be back in Cork in two years, still only 22 but then carrying the physique of a full-time athlete. My own hunch is that the kid hasn't failed at any sport yet and will master the Australian game.

His statement that he might someday come back home if the GAA went professional is destined to become one of those seminal utterances.

Of course, that won't happen in Setanta's life span as an athlete, but it is hugely significant that the association's brightest light should openly and casually hope for such a time.

Seán Kelly was right not to be alarmist. Setanta's route will not set a trend; not every kid would be adventurous enough to go and, anyway, not many would make it. But the fact that it has happened once and so swiftly somehow feels like a small but vitally important footnote in the gradual metamorphosis of the GAA.

I'll miss Setanta when the hurling starts up again, though not, I am sure, as much as Cork. The Rebels lining out without Setanta is like Jack Nicholson with a missing tooth. The smile will be recognisable but hardly the same.

And already, each of Setanta Ó hAilpín's senior games for Cork seems like a precious jewel. We will see highlights of his great moments over the years as we hear fleeting reports of his career in Australia and think, wow, we lost something special there. Boy, he lit up Thurles and Croke Park for those few weeks.

May he go well.