Understanding the success of one of Derry's best

XI used to coach Conor Glass.

To be more accurate, I coached Conor Glass when he played for the Glen Under-16s.

While coaching Conor, I also managed to conduct one of the most shameful training sessions in the history of the GAA.

We were preparing for the county U16 final. Team manager Stephen Murtagh was working on kick-outs. But we had a problem.

The young lad marking Conor was getting seriously disheartened – understandably.

Every time the ball went into the air, Conor was catching it near the moon.

It reached the point where Conor’s opponent just dropped the head and stopped competing.

An intervention was required.

I was never the greatest footballer in the world. But the year Glen played Swatragh in the Derry Championship it was yours truly who was given the job of marking four-time Allstar Anthony Tohill.

Why was I given the job?

Because I was good at stopping good footballers.

That’s why I entered the fray that night.

I had marked a few superstars. I knew a few manoeuvres. I wanted to pass them on to the young lad who was rapidly losing his confidence against the mighty Conor Glass.

With hindsight, I suppose you shouldn’t coach the dark arts to children.

But, it was a county final. And when you're in a county final, the law of Malcolm X applies. You win 'by any means necessary’.

The lesson went a bit like this: 'You’re going to stand in front of Conor and not allow him a run up. You’re going to keep backing into him and torment the life out of him. If necessary, you’ll hold his jersey. If necessary, you’ll stand on his toes. In short, by any means necessary.’

I demonstrated all these tips so the lad knew exactly what to do.

Then I asked for the ball to be kicked out.

The goalie kicked the ball out. It was perfect.

Right above myself and Conor. I backed into Conor, stopping him from getting a run-up.

As the ball dropped invitingly into the catching zone, I thought I might actually take this.

Then I momentarily lost contact with Conor.

The soon-to-be AFL recruit took a short step backwards and launched himself.

Apollo 11. We have lift off.

Conor Glass has been one of the star performers for Derry in the past few years. (Photo: Ramsey Cardy / SPORTSFILE)

I felt the whoosh of air as his knees flew past the back of my neck.

Then I heard the sound all midfielders dread, the soft ‘pat’ of the ball nestling safely in someone else’s finger tips.

When Conor landed, I piled on top of him. It was just instinct.

Old habits die hard.

It was a reflex action.

But here’s the thing.

I was 39-years-old. Conor was 16.

As I lay on top of Conor in the mud, the thought struck me: ‘I’ve just assaulted a juvenile’.

This was followed by the realisation that my coaching lesson had not been a great success.

In the background I could hear sniggers of laughter from the other members of the management team.

It was bad. I tried to salvage the unsalvageable.

Bouncing to my feet, I stood up as if everything had gone perfectly to plan and roared at the young lad who had been marking Conor: “And if those things I showed you don’t work, just foul him.”

Then I marched off the pitch as quickly as I could.

As a teenage athlete, Conor Glass was a genetic freak.

That’s what professional football clubs actively search for.

Whether it’s Aussie Rules or American Football, nearly all professional clubs measure the standing vertical leap.

Your standing vertical leap is governed largely by genetics. It’s in your DNA.

Your mammy and daddy basically dictate how high you can jump from a standing position.

It’s not something you can train. While you can improve your standing vertical leap, you’ll never transform it.

It’s like sprinting and punching. Once a knock-out puncher always a knock-out puncher. You can’t become a knock-out puncher.

As I learned that day in Watty Graham Park, Conor Glass has an incredible vertical leap.

But that’s not the sole reason Conor was recruited by Hawthorn.

Even though I was with Conor’s team for two years, I never got to know him very well.

I rarely had a conversation with him.

Why? There was never any need to speak to him.

When the 16-year-old Conor trained, he gave 100 per cent. And even though he was doing his GCSEs, he never missed a training session. Never.

(This week, while some of his team-mates will still be nursing hangovers, Conor is sitting his final year accountancy exams. He had an exam yesterday).

His application in games never wavered. No pep talks were ever required. From start to finish, he always gave everything. Even as a boy, he conducted himself like a professional.

Nowadays, it’s no coincidence that professional football clubs don’t just conduct physical tests.

The recruiting process also involves psychological assessments.

If you’re going to take a teenager halfway around the world, extracting him from everyone and everything he knows, the boy needs to have the mental strength of a man.

As the legendary American NFL coach Bill Belichick said: “Talent sets the floor. Character sets the ceiling.”

In many cases, the most talented individuals, the genetic freaks, never make it to the top.

Just look at all the outstanding underage talents who never play senior football.

Why does it happen? Because they don’t apply themselves.

They don’t train consistently. They don’t do the work.

The American coach Dan John knows the true formula for success.

He said: “Most champions are built by punch-the-clock workouts rather than extraordinary efforts.”

The creed we use on The Shred is: ’Unrelenting Consistency’.

Because everywhere you look, whether it’s Conor Glass or someone has lost two stone on The Shred, there is one quality which unites them all.

Unrelenting Consistency.