The Ultimate G.A.A. Odyssey

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Brussels, Belgium
A journey of triumph and despair across the roads, railways and skies of Europe, sharing in the relentless mission to develop, sustain and grow a G.A.A. club in the backwaters of the Association.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Sewing the Seeds, Reaping Rewards

Whilst the longer evenings, rising temperatures and toughening ground is welcomed by all G.A.A. players come springtime, it's what it is sandwiched between that drives me on.

Those icey cold January nights where the silence is only pierced by the heaving men and their sodden boots trawling through the mud. I love it. Tracksuits are yet to be embraced by the G.A.A. player so you'll have a field full of lads donning just a standard pair of shorts and at most a long sleeve jersey. Those nights are the nights you sow the seeds to carry you through summer and on. The excess of the off season is worn off you and its the dreams of glory that warm your body.

The summer will come and go and if you are still standing you will see the seasons rotate, maybe not back to winter but certainly until the evenings shorten and the temperatures follow suit. Now you will try to reap the reward of all the hard work which came before. I was lucky that from 17 to 24 I never had a summer cut short. Be it Minor, U-21 or Adult level, we always found ourselves in the shake up for something.

In Europe, it's naturally a little different due to the structure of the competitions. The great thing is that you know you will will run side by side with autumn into the darkness of the winter. Most importantly though, it's when Championships will be won and lost.

On Saturday, we will travel to Rennes for Round 3 of the European Football Championship. The smart money suggests Den Hague and Paris will be the men eyeballing eachother for the big price in the season finale in Maastricht. There is no reason to think that we'll rock up to defiantly defend our title.

Look at the table though and you will see that we stand in exactly the same position as we were in 2008. Two victories from reclaiming the big prize. Since Copenhagen, I've felt an energy about the whole thing that was absent all year. It's as if the body clock switched on. The back, hamstrings, groin et al seem to have decided to step back and give me the nod. It's effectively Championship on Saturday; win or bust. This is why you play G.A.A. Every drop of sweat you lose, every hurdle you jump, it is all for one reason. It's all about being there on the last day, in the final moments of the season, with a fighting chance of bringing home the silverware.

Despite the frustrations, you wouldn't have it any other way. These are the days that test your mettle and tell you whether you really have the balls to do what it takes. I can't wait for Saturday. Giller told me the other night that I haven't got out of third gear this year. I don't like hearing it but he is right. Excuses won't put the ball over the bar on Saturday. It's time to stand up, all of us to stand up, and drive it on.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

The Simple Joy From Playing Ball

I got into the car this morning to go to work, still bearing the hallmarks of a hectic weekend. The extra half an hour ensured I'd have to deal with an increased number of erratic drivers. Upon reaching the first roundabout, I gave myself a quick glance in the mirror and realised Saturday's stubble had turned to Tuesday's gentle beard. Home I went. Bad start to a long slow painful day.

The sun was shining though. The temperatures in the high 20's and football training beckoned. Tuesday night is now used for full pitch games. We filled each position tonight with the exception of the keeper positions.

We played till it was dark with some flat balls, some pumped balls. The surface was bumby and hard. The bibs bore the stench of many hot evenings pounding the ground. The lack of nets behind the goals gave everyone a breather when wayward kicks and glorious points were retrieved. We did some horrendous things. We did some brilliant things. We ran and we sweat and threw the odd dig. We argued about balls being picked off the ground, about tackles from behind and about sideline balls. This is what its all about.

Expectation Turned On Head



I flew home on Thursday night for the All-Ireland Football final filled with hope that Cork would reunite with Sam on Sunday evening. Its hard to explain the impact a County's appearance in the big house on the biggest of days can have. I didn't hear mention of a recession all weekend. From the minute I passed through arrivals in Cork Airport it was all Cork Cork Cork. Signage, bunting, good luck wishes and flags adorned electricity poles, shop fronts and anywhere else where the Rebel colours could hang.

When I walked around town on Friday, cars whizzed by with flags hanging out the window. Old men, young kids and fanciful women all wore red. Kids rushed from the Primary Schools in armies of Cork jerseys. An unbelievable sight. In the build up at least, the fans are contained within their own County Boundaries so there is an intensity which is hard to describe. Open the newspaper or turn on the radio and all you hear is debate about the match, stories about tickets or interviews with past heroes.

Cars, trains and planes rammed with fans ferry the faithful North all weekend. They descend on O'Connell Street in a force that would have done the heroes of 1916 proud. I landed in the Gresham after fighting my way through the ticket buyers and sellers at the entrance. I was meeting the Bull but before he arrived I ran into Quigs and some of the Kinsale lads. Wolfey rocked up then with perfect timing. His buddy was looking for a ticket and my phone rang on que and he was sorted.

A wave of green and gold & red jerseys then swept up Gardiner Street, drawn to the main event. The pubs were buried behind the throngs of people. The flow of beer was only matched by the banter. It's old Ireland; the biggest of rivals, shoulder to shoulder without even the slighest hint of trouble or tension.

Plenty has been written about the game. It was devastating. Devastating. I hate the shite you have to listen to after these games. Fellas reel off the same bullshit, copy and pasted from another day. If Cork won it would have been a step to far for an ageing Kerry team. The Rebels rising complete. O'Connor's head would be on the block. Darragh would be gone, the rest would think long and hard. They didn't though and all the crap came out. Cork threw it away, bottled it, don't have it to beat Kerry in Croker. All bullshit. Kerry were better and the better team won. Possession means shag all if ya don't use it.

You could make a list the length of your arm but I'll keep my opinions to three;
1)The midfield dominance and resultant supply of the Kerry men from 15-35min
2) Forward positional switches. Cork have a man for each job; Lynch v Gooch, Shields v Walsh, Miskella v O'Sullivan, O'Leary v Galvin, Canty v Kenneally. What happens when one loses their individual battle? No plan B. Walsh won the battle royale. Lynch got in foul trouble early (wrongly booked when he was fouled initially). The masterstroke though was O'Sullivan filling the #14 berth. It robbed Cork of one of the summer's great raiders when Miskella was tied to the edge of the square. Kerry dictated to us and when they had the lead they toyed us. Inserting Moran was the final blow for Lynch. Kavanagh had to be dispatched to combat the size issue. Our backs launched our summer but on Sunday they were out foxed.
3) Kerrys defence; They got an unreal amount behind the ball. When you defend, you must block the middle and leave no gaps for the opposition to canter through. We found no gap. The most disappointing point for me, and I was looking straight down on them in the second half, was the lack of movement in the full forward line. The 3 lads were on top of eachother and didn't use the space outside them. In fairness to them the delivery wasn't great and their markers were inspired. The scoresheet will still say they got their share so maybe its harsh to pick them out.

Sport attracts alot of fair day supporters. I hate some of the criticism that comes out afterwards, along the lines of 'They'll never win one now'. Other criticism is more vicious and personal. The fact is no-one has managed to beat Kerry and Tyrone in the same year this decade (i'm open to correction on Armagh). This Cork team is coming. We've some of the games brightest stars in our forward line. We've great warriors at the back. It's a long road back to September but it's one they can travel.

I'd forgotten the indescribable pain which you feel after losing an All-Ireland. It's hard to speak for a period afterwards. At some level we can all relate to it. We've all lost finals which meant everything to us, we've all felt the pain. These lads are at another level though The All-Ireland is the final of all finals. The picture in the papers of the Cork players sprawled over the Croker concrete was packed with emotion. The pain in Canty's face, the hulk Pierce O'Neill with his head buried. I can only imagine how they must feel. They give every spare minute of their life to chase their dream and to have it shattered must be unbearable.

And what consolation for them? Very little now. When the haze clears later in the week though they will find comfort back amongst their own. The likes of Quirke, Shields, Canty, Murphy, O'Leary and others will throw themselves back into their clubs quests to win County titles with the club which launched them. If they can salvage that then they'll feel the emotion pour through the streets of their villages. Their faith will be restored and they will wish winter to a close and relish another crack at the big prize.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

The Return of The Prodigal Sons

If you read the Copenhagen report you will have noted that two members of the travelling party absconded and failed to show up to the tournament. Both were members of the B squad but upon their no show I quickly fast tracked them into the A squad, leaving their destiny in my hands. They did show up and after being told by Conan that they were now in the A squad they decided to leave. I'm not sure why they never asked me for a game!

Of course they needed to be punished and to go all the way to Copenhagen and not get to kick a ball was the best we could do at that point. I received varying opinion on the choice of punishment, some thinking it was overboard!!! Still, we are not in a position to close the door on anyone so it remained open for them to return without further discussion of the incident.

Tonight they returned and I was happy to see it. I absolutely disagree with what they did but there is no point in dwelling on it. We need all the players we can get as it makes training better and fielding teams easier. Also, sport is important for lads from a social and fitness point of view so we should encourage it where possible. Wih a bigger squad this year such 'discipline' issues are rearing their head more often. It's to be expected when you consider fellas here play for all different reasons and what I see as 'indiscipline', they may just see as having the craic. I'm becoming a little more open minded lately, at least on the outside anyway. If I didn't, there wouldn't be a toy left in the pram.

Victory Reveals Big Issues

On Saturday we completed the 'Grand Slam' winning the fifth and final Pan European Hurling tournament of the year. It comes at the end of our sixth year of competition and provides a welcome break from the routine of defeat. Our win streak stretches back to Zurich last September and even in the tournament before, we showed signs we were coming when we narrowly lost the final of our own tournament. It may sound great but actually it has come with a downside.

Only ourselves and Den Hague squared off on Saturday as the others decided not to travel. Don't mistake this for arrogance but this year there has been a major gap between ourselves and the rest of the pack. We left a team behind us on Saturday that would have rattled any opposition in Europe this year. Luck and timing play a massive role in success in Europe and in the last 18 months it has fallen in our favour. However, such a gap in standards is not good for the competition and it will have sent the Hurling clubs on the continent into a winter of dismay.

Drastic discussions will be undertaken in the coming months on how to save the game but in reality it all depends on where the players land come next April. The one thing we don't want to do is return to the corrupt days when the competition became distorted by the inclusion of ringers at every opportunity. In one instance, a club official who was at the airport to pick up the referee for a weekend tournament also ended up greeting five lads off the same flight coming to play in the tournament.

If the G.A.A.'s existence off the mainland is a triumph in itself, Hurling's is an absolute miracle. There is nothing to suggest it should exist given the difficulty of the game and the shortage of players at home, not to say abroad. Exist it does though and we must keep believing and fighting to keep it alive. Zurich have dominated, Luxembourg and The Hague have had their days and now its our turn.

We celebrated our victory as it should be celebrated on Saturday night, turning out the lights in Place Flagey as we departed. Our season is not over and we will host a Dublin team for a friendly in October and prepare for the Leinster Junior Final towards the end of the year. Every extra day you can hurl should be cherished; win, lose or draw.

Friday, September 11, 2009

All Hail Those That Came Before

Cian, Fergal, Chaz, Aine, Willie and Adrian. These are some of the names who were instrumental in the start-up of what was formerly know as Brussels Hurling and Camogie club back in 2004. Their interest in hurling brought the game from Ireland to Woluwe Parc to the BSB Elephant pitches and to its current resting place in Parc 50.

Since those early days the club has suffered many a dark day but the committment to the game was never in doubt as the club fulfilled fixtures all over Europe when other more talented panels lay dorment at home. There was a hammering down in Munich in 2006 that sticks out in particular. No other club travelled except ourselves and we got very little change out of the trip.

Two factors helped the development of the team; moving into the city centre pitch and the addition of a football side to the club. Both helped attract new players and set a platform from which to grow. In 2008, Erins Isle native took over the managerial reigns from Tipp man Willie Cashin. The disappointments didn't dry up immediately though and were further punctuated with a one point defeat to a very talented Luxembourg side in our home tournament that summer. The breakthrough would come soon enough. In the last Tournament of the year we claimed the Zurich tournament on a sun drenched September Saturday in Central Europe.

The addition of new players early in 2009 meant that the team started bulging at the seams to such an extent that we threatened to put a formidable panel together. Paris was claimed before the mother of all battles took place down in Luxembourg. An abundance of absentees and the fatal blow to Crusher's knee failed to derail our team. Three periods of extra time may have had the players on their knees but it had the crowd on their feet. We won the most tense of duels against the Hague by a solidary point.

Finally we claimed victory in our home tournament but our panel was again stretched to its limit for the away day in Zurich. Eleven men drove nearly 8 hours on the Saturday to play three games that afternoon. We won the tournament and rubber stamped the Championship all at once.

With the title wrapped up, a trip to the Hague has not floated the boat of the rest so tomorrow it will be just ourselves and The Hague to battle it out for the final trophy of the year. The Championship may be won but our opponents aren't of the variety that will lie down and die. We travel with 18, just short of getting a second eleven out. Our panel is strong, bolstered by the addition of Fergal Mythen and Jim McGrath, Tipp man and former Cavan hurler. We'll be without Willie Cashin and Eoghan Kelly amongst others. Declan Hillary is unlikely to travel due to the pending arrival of his first child. Mr. Devine is also otherwise engaged and those absences would be ones we couldn't have coped with in the past.

Whilst tomorrow will lack the usual edge we will be hell bent on completing the 'Grand Slam'. And when the cup is hoist up in the sky by captain Kevin Keary, we'll spare a thought for those who once dreamed of a hurling club in Brussels, for those who persevered on shitty rainy days when they had less then a handful of fellow die hards to train with and for all those who suffered disappointments in the hurling outposts of Europe. On Saturday night, the Euopean Hurling cup, the Men's Gaelic Football cup and the Ladies's Gaelic cup will all rest proudly on mantlepieces in Brussels. I doubt they have been united like this before. The club has come along way.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Healthy Living

Not even a week into my new healthy living and I'm already feeling the benefits. Eating properly (i.e. not pizza every day) and regularily, coupled with a lash of water and you can feel the benefits straight away. Add in a decent nights sleep and it tops it all off.

I wouldn't normally refer to soccer players but Roy Keane is a role model for all Irish people. Being Cork's greatest international sportsman (and by definition this means Ireland's also) is some acheivement when you place him amongst the plethora of talent in Ireland's leading county. I reckon Keane was maybe my age or a couple of years younger when he got his act together and decided to do everything he could to prolong his career.

The thing he did that surprised most people was to take up yoga. He waxed lyrically about the impact it had on his body, especially in terms of injury prevention. The other thing he did was totally overhaul his diet. When you see pictures of him in the mid nineties he often looked a little bloated. In his latter days as a played though he reduced his body fat greatly to cut a lean figure.

I'd always been intrigued about the yoga but could never garner enough free time to get into it. I'm going to make a bigger effort now though as i need something to help fight off injuries. Pilates on a Sunday morning is the most convenient at the moment. I went once back in July but summer is no time to take up something because of the disruption with holidays and all that.

They run classes in my gym so I started again last Sunday. Its situated just off Place Luxembourg and is graced by many of the European Parliament's finest ladies. There is no pain in wandering in a couple of evenings a week. The pain may be reserved just for them. I was last in the door for the class on Sunday and everyone had their mats at the ready. I did a quick scan and there were just two lads among the bones of twenty women.

They turn out very well when they visit the gym with all the fanciest gear. I plodded in with the o'neills shorts and training top, a pair of football socks and runners still muckied from a recent training. I had to have a quick sniff to see had I even washed the gear since their last outing but it was difficult to confirm!! I plonked myself down in the only spot free, up the front.

The first thing the teacher instructed us to do was remove the shoes. Oh sh1t. I train in those runners! Even a loosening of the laces could cause a mass evacuation. I took them off anyway and then cocked my nose and looked around me to try and throw everyone off the scent (pardon the pun)!

It was a great hours work. There is a fair bit of core work and a good share of stretching. You can really feel the whole body loosen out as the exercises move on. Its hard to nail the breathing though. You have to really exaggerate the inhale and exhales and its fairly hard when you are looking at everyone with their eyes closed puffing their cheeks in and out.

Anyway, the benefit was instantly recognisable on Monday night. It was the first time I took part in any kind of strenuous sprints in a few months I'd say. Whilst I'm a good bit off where you would like to be, I was still able to get through the session without too much bother. We did alot of sprinting and it was competitive with Crusher calling the winner each time. I found myself next to Giller and Keary and we had good craic driving eachother on. I'd say I edged the short sprints but couldn't catch them in the 50m ones at the end. I might have got Keary once but Giller had the edge on me throughout. I'd have him up to half way but then he'd unravel those long gangly legs and catch me everytime.

As always, the minute I get even a hint that I might be on the mend, I go at it hammer and thongs. So it was hurling training tonight, which the back despises when its anyway out of order. According to the temperature dials on the buildings I passed going to training, it was 30 degrees at 19h tonight. The session finished well with a full pitch game. The ball moves lively off the Parc 50 pitch and with our touch a bit off it was a little frustrating. We are off to the Hague this weekend for the seasons last tournament. With the Championship already secure its been difficult to keep the momentum in training but we had decent numbers tonight so we will travel with the aim off trying to put 5 tournament wins in a row and in doing so, set the challenges for the Kilkenny's of the world!!

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Gold Dust

Two weeks to go until the all Munster All-Ireland Football Final between Kerry and Cork. The natives will be making their travel and accomodation arrangements, some with a promise of a ticket and others in hope of one. The quest to secure the magic ticket takes a nasty twist in the build up to the big day though.

The All-Ireland final is a national event and so attracts the attention of the masses regardless of their affiliation to club or county. Everyone wants a piece of the action and often the tickets fall most easy into the hands of those who have done the least to get such access.

I've sat at All-Irelands looking at lads in the stands who couldn't name even one of the players on the pitch, nevermind naming one of the players from their own club's team. They're not members of the association and are pure bandwagon fans, of the Munster Rugby variety.

The All-Ireland final is not a tourist attraction, it's not something where it's nice to be part of the occasion or any of that rubbish. It's a day where all those in the participationg counties should be rewarded for their efforts lining pitches, training teams, running lottos and doing all the other dirty jobs that help lay the foundations that a county's success can be built upon.

However, some of these men and women will be left watching the match sitting on their couch or on a bar stool outside Croke Park because they couldn't get into the big house. It's unbelievable to think that there are people who watched the Cork footballers in Dungarvan back in May and watched Kerry in some of the more unglamourous venues through the qualifiers, that won't be able to get themselves a ticket.

It rests easy on the conscience of those on a weekend jaunt up to the Capital though, because they haven't a clue. They haven't a clue what happens behind the scenes in the Association, haven't a clue how much a ticket would mean to the lad in New York, Sydney, Cape Town or in any of the other outposts where are exiles are scattered. If they knew then they should hang their head in shame when they pass through the turnstile on the third Sunday in September.

Now don't get me wrong, the big match shouldn't be reserved for just those people from the participating counties. There are Counties where the people's passion burns as brightly as anywhere but they're team may never get to the big show. The All-Ireland is an occassion for them too and they should, without doubt, get access to tickets. In the end, it is the G.A.A.'s big showpiece, a day for everyone...everyone in the Assoiciation.

Personally, I'd never attend an All-Ireland where Cork weren't involved. I'd never deprive a County man the chance to support his team on the day. Like most of the lads at home, I am still without ticket though. Am i worried? Not really. If you have the energy and are resourceful enough then you will unearth one. The feelers will be out everywhere from Kinsale to Limerick to Cavan to Longford.

Should I be depriving a lad at home at ticket? I don't think so. I've trained my share of teams, been an officer of my club and done my share in the past, and will in the future. I'm not living in Cork at the moment but I was in Fraher Field in May and I'd have been at more of the other stops if I was living at home. I'll turn over every stone and it will be all the more enjoyable to take my seat on the 20th, because in the G.A.A. we know that nothing worthwhile comes easy.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Giving Up Drink

In the dark moments after Copenhagen I pondered the way forward, more for myself then the team. I've put in a string of below par performances which have run parallel to ankle and back injuries, all the way back to Paris in April. I made some glorious committments to myself; no drink till Rennes, better diet i.e. less pizza and coke, more veg and fruit, more sleep etc.

Bad week to start as I endured possibly the worst week I've had since joining Toyota. Early starts, late finishes, barely enough time to draw breath for lunch. I found comfort in Dominos and Pizza Hut but the guilt hung over me. When the wolves were finally tammed on Friday afternoon I headed home for a quiet weekend.

By 18h, I had a thirst on me to go for pints. I relented however, convincing myself that Brian Cowan and the dislikeable Tubridy could provide sufficient evenings entertainment. Determined to get the most out of my Saturday, I was up and about early doors. I had an agenda and headed off to Woluwe Shopping centre. The list included a wok, a george foreman type grill and a steamer. With these safely tucked into the Yaris' boot I headed for Jack O'Shea's Butchers in Shuman.

As a minor, and even as a 28 year old, my physical presence would hardly make the opposing team shake in their boots. Our minor trainer of the time, Gerry O'Dywer preached the need for me to eat plenty of fillet steak. I was a believer, so I did. Physically I didn't grow but it didn't matter, the mental battle was won. Today, the lovely shop assistant obliged and sliced her knife through a glorious piece of fillet.

The spuds, the veg and all the other trimmings were gathered before I got home. Just now I have finished my first dinner with my new appliances and I can confirm it was a fantastic occasion.

Now I'm left pondering the dilemma about my personal beer ban. Padraic Buckley, a former teammate in Kinsale, has this spot on. Padraic is an outstanding footballer and has played Cork underage and Senior football in both Dublin and Cork. He gets the balance spot on because he lives life, training hard and socialising at the right times. I wouldn't have spent a whole lot of time in his company but he handles his boozing well and his performances never dip.

So why would you inflict a booze ban on yourself. I drink once a week, maybe twice if there is something that warrants it. I never have a beer at home and never pop in for a quick one after work. Binge drinking. That's my style!!

You hear of teams going off the booze for weeks or months before a big game. Physically, what effect does this really have? On a fella like me, probably minimal. If a lad were drinking four or five nights a week then you'd probably see the difference alright. The benefit is more mental. Collective sacrifice, sense of purpose and all that. It shouldn't be underestimated.

I'd have been one of the more extreme when I was playing at home and probably gave up drink on a few occassions. 2001 wasn't one of them. The Sunday before we played Courcey Rovers in the South-East Final, myself and a few of the lads (who have to remain unnamed to protect their continuing careers!!!)headed to The Spaniard, which is on the outskirts of the main pub circuit in Kinsale. We had a great night and all of us who played the following Sunday, held up our end in a great victory.

So in that sense we can say you must do what is right for yourself. The story goes (as it does with many other fellas) that Stephen O'Brien used to have three pints of Guinness before lining out with Nemo Rangers in a County Final. It relaxed him. And this is why I'm not going to proclaim that I will turn my back on drink. It's a ridiculous committment to make if you only go for the odd beer! The stress caused by not being able to have one outweighs any benefit gotten from the sacrifice.

Now I have justified why I can go drinking tonight. Thank you for listening. The fact I've teased it out has removed all the stress from the situation. I'm not off the booze till Rennes, I'm merely picking and choosing, having a few pints when I want to and not for the sake of it! Will I go out tonight? Maybe.

Friday, September 4, 2009

The Great Socialist Movement

On Sunday, one team of players will climb the famous steps of The Hogan Stand to fulfill their boyhood dreams. For some it may be the first time whilst others will have made the trip before. It will be a culmination of a journey which took them from Primary School Blitzes and their club's street leagues all the way to County Finals, Provincial Finals and ultimately the granddaddy of them all, the All-Ireland final.

Once the final whistle goes on Sunday, there will be time to commiserate or celebrate. In the post match dialogue you will hear names you never heard before. These will be the names of teachers, parents, mentors, friends; all credited with helping fellas along the way and making their contribution to their County's success.

By the following weekend, Sunday's heroes will wear the colours of the parish from which they and those mentioned above hail. They will play alongside childhood friends who sat on the edge of their seat in Croke Park, hurling every ball alongside their clubman the previous Sunday. Whether it be Newport, Toomevara, Ballyhale or anywhere else, they will blend back into the club scene, all be it with a little extra attention from their marker.

Its a unique feature of the GAA. A boy only dreams of walking up those steps in one jersey. It can only every be the red of cork, the black and amber of Kilkenney or the maroon of the Tribesmen, depending on where they were born. These players will spend the rest of the year dispersed around Junior, Intermediate and Senior clubs in their Counties fighting for their club's cause. You can be sure they would get the same satisfaction if they spent Sunday night in the village pub, with the local Championship cup on the bar, as they will if they are stood in the Burlington along side Liam.

In any good Socialist country, the gap between rich and poor is small. Maybe the GAA is the greatest Socialist organisation of them all; keeping the elite and the common man close and giving every parish, no matter how big or small, the chance to cultivate the game's future stars and share in their success.