SOME NIGHTS, he can only laugh. Headlights downlit on the tar, he spins away from the training field in Laragh, drained yet immersed in this strange quest. Wicklow football is a heartbreaker, but like the rest, Niall Rennick just keeps coming back for more.

"I suppose it is like a bug really, an addiction," he says. "If you look at Wicklow football in the '90s, there have been disappointments but signs of hope as well. Like, in 1991 we took Meath to a replay before we were beaten, only to get drummed by Kildare in Croke Park the following year. It sort of set a pattern. Promise but no consistency."

In the quiet of winter, however, the Wicklow team have discovered something of an even plane, anonymously maintaining the league's only 100 per cent record even as the invites for the play-off stages are being drafted. It's not often that Wicklow folk have something to smile about when the weather is about to turn warmer.

"See, I think in some respects, we are what could be classed as a very consistent Division Three team. It's when we step above that level that our results have varied. We set out this year to try and secure Division One football for ourselves. Being realistic, we aren't going to win a Leinster Championship in the summer. Come June, half the teams in Ireland will be gone from a competition they spent all year training for over the course of a few Sundays. We saw an opportunity in the new league structure of getting to compete against the top sides, which is the only way to improve as a team," he says.

Last season was bitter. The Wicklow lads put in a similar effort only to lose out on scoring average on the final day. They were casualties on the first day of the championship as well.

"As I see it, there are definite placings in terms of county football," offers Rennick. "We are lying somewhere around 18th. Realistically, we need to move up three or four places to get in the top 16. There are teams that we expect to beat, the smaller counties like Kilkenny or teams like London. But for us the pivotal game is tomorrow."

Away to Westmeath. In Rennick's native Meath and in the football pubs of the capital, they are already shifting their thoughts to the shimmering days of June and July, but for Wicklow the season hinges on a soft February Sunday in the midlands.

"That's how it is. People can argue that even if we lose a game or two we'll still be in a strong position, but after last year's experience we just want to ensure that promotion stays in our own hands. These are the teams we have to beat. Westmeath are one of the coming sides in Leinster. After them, we have a huge game against Kerry in March. But we took some big scalps last year, too, and missed out. We just can't afford to slip up now."

He confesses to knowing little about Westmeath's current form or gameplan. "Well, when they play, we play. It's hardly ideal. But, I don't know, I sometimes wonder of the wisdom of all this winter football, the early league games and the McGrath Cup and O'Byrne Cup on heavy pitches and then when the ground finally becomes dry half the lads are sitting twiddling their thumbs with no football."

They know that feeling better than most in Wicklow. Last year, they witnessed Kildare's revolution, all this white magic being spun just up the road. Might as well have been on Mars for all they could relate to it. You ask Rennick what stops a county like Wicklow from making a surge, even if it's just once a decade.

"I don't know. The usual things. Tradition - Baltinglass are the only team to have made a breakthrough at All-Ireland level. That has an affect on belief and expectation," he says. "It's not to do with skill, because there are many fine footballers around here and we have the same fitness level as any other inter-county team. In relation to this specific Wicklow team, we possibly lack for size a bit but still have ability enough to win."

So when evening falls tomorrow and they are making the short trip back home, Rennick and the Wicklow boys will know a little bit more about themselves. Theirs is a private odyssey, a small, solid push for breathing space. After that, they'll start over again.