Sideline Cut:If we are to believe what we hear, then most GAA All-Ireland winners like to carry their medals about their persons in alarmingly cavalier fashion. "Sure that man is happy: he has an All-Ireland medal in his back pocket," is a comment we have all heard a hundred times.

It would be a sad thing to deny any citizen the right to have a Celtic Cross or two bouncing around with the spare change in his Levis or Chinos. Players sweat blood and tears to win the thing and where they choose to keep it is their own business.

Still, the promise of Enda Kenny and company to rid the country of crime notwithstanding, it should be suggested at the outset of the championship that carrying these valuable trinkets around willy-nilly is something of a foolhardy practice.

Of course, we have to allow that it makes practical sense, particularly in those counties where winning the All-Ireland comes as a once-in-a-lifetime novelty. The chances are that those All-Ireland heroes are plagued by family, neighbours and friends curious to see the medal up close, in the same way as in the 1970s, small town Sex Pistols fans constantly caught chill from having to show off their newly pierced nipples or back tattoos to the wide-eyed conformists.

And it is plain to see that the Celtic Cross affords it owner unrivalled social cachet. For instance, if he fancies a Friday night game of pool in the local, instead of leaving his fifty pence on the side of the table to secure his place in the next game, the medal holder can casually place the All-Ireland over one of the corner pockets. The sight of that iconic trinket glinting under the table light would intimidate even the most cold-blooded pool shark.

Or at a Tuesday-night visit to the movies, the young and single All-Ireland medal winner might impress the girl behind the popcorn stand by reaching into his jeans for change and "accidentally on purpose" handing over his medal to pay for his low-calorie treat.

One can understand how a player could quickly form an attachment to his medal. After all, there isn't much fun to be had by wrapping it up and placing it behind the good crystal in the cabinet for the best part of a century, when it will probably pass on to some grandniece living in San Francisco who will promptly post the thing on sale for eBay. For champions with one or even two All-Irelands, they are probably right to carry them around. After all, they are no bigger than the old tenpence piece.

Still, in counties like Cork and Kerry, it must play havoc. It is common knowledge that many football greats from the 1960s and 1970s have complained that their backs and joints have been giving them grief in recent years. The popular notion is they are suffering now from the severity of their training regimes, but it is also possible the toil of lugging several kilos of All-Ireland bullion in their hip pockets is beginning to take its toll. After all, if every Kerryman with an All-Ireland medal were to gather in Páidí's bar and decommission them, the place would look like Tutankhamun's tomb.

Páidí has collected something like eight Celtic Crosses in his playing days. We cannot be sure whether he likes to put them in his back pocket, though he used to walk the line with such alacrity when he was managing the Kingdom that the probability is he does not. And that is surely wise.

Life is faster nowadays and if the most successful All-Ireland medallists were to persist with carrying all their baubles through their daily lives, it would be a disaster. Lads would be flinging that hard-won 1960s medal into the baskets at the toll plaza on the M50. After a few jars, they would be trying to jam a medal earned with concussion and a broken hand into the smokes machine in some random pub. And going abroad would be a nightmare. Can you imagine the palaver if Ger Power walked through an airport X-ray machine carrying his All-Ireland haul? Ryanair would probably charge him freight costs. It just would not work.

Still, having an All-Ireland medal nestling against the wallet must be a terrific feeling.

Years ago, it was fashionable for young men to carry plastic combs in their rear pockets, a practice surely inspired by The Fonz on Happy Days. Those were simpler times and running a comb under the cold tap before solemnly sculpting the slicked-back look could be considered the height of sophistication. But the combs have long been ditched, and as a fashion standard the back pocket is in dire need of an alternative use. It is unlikely Valentino and the other Italian fashion magnates design their trousers based on the consideration of All-Ireland medals and John Mullane's posterior. But who knows?

In any event, the All-Ireland medal in the back pocket is a fashion statement only an elite few have the privilege of making. For the rest of us it is but a dream.

In recent times, the leaders of our two main political parties did a turn with a hurley for the cameras. Bertie Ahern was content to hop the ball off the stick with the passive expression of a man who has spent 10 years conducting such jaunty sporting stunts. Enda took his opportunity with the rampant enthusiasm that has characterised his campaign, ditching the jacket and running at a stoop on to the sliotar, like a man chasing a hen, before executing a passable flick and finally catching the ball with a delighted expression - to the intense relief of the crowd. It was a boyish and brave moment because you felt a stumble or a slip would have provided one of those irrevocably ruinous political images, as well as destroying the temperamental Mayo GAA sense of confidence forever. But he was probably reverting to boyhood mode. Enda Kenny, after all, belongs to a famous GAA dynasty and chances are that as a younger man he entertained the fancy he might some day hit the dancehalls of Mayo with an All-Ireland in the back of his Wranglers.

Plenty of Irishmen, like Jack Lynch and the Donnellans in Galway, have proved carrying All-Ireland medals is far from a burden when it comes to the election game.

Both Enda Kenny and Pat Rabbitte will be in Galway tomorrow to cheer on Mayo in the opening game of the championship and the chances are Bertie Ahern will seek a few hours' respite in Croke Park. Although they all seek to pilot the country for the next five years, they are content to be part of the crowd for the 70 minutes of drama and excitement as the chase for the latest set of All-Ireland medals begin.

And the thing is, the All-Ireland medal men in the crowd will cause a greater stir than the prospective leaders of the nation.

"See that man there eating the ice-cream?" some man will say to his young fella. "Well, he has four All-Irelands in his back pocket."

And the kid will probably check under the seat as the crowd vacate the stadium afterwards - just to make certain that one hasn't got lost.