Kangaroo court [n]: A sham legal proceeding or court that denies due process in the name of expediency. The outcome of such a trial is essentially made in advance, usually for the purpose of providing a conviction, either by going through the motions of manipulated procedure or by allowing no defense at all.

IT was unreal, from start to finish. Before they buried Considine, first they came and praised Paidi. From the floor of the conference room in the West County Hotel, Noel Walsh accepted that while his initial optimism in O Se had been misplaced, and that "as the year went on, it was clear his heart was not totally in it", O Se was still deserving of their gratitude.

The sentiment was echoed from the top table by the chairman, Michael McDonagh. O Se, he claimed, had been "an utter gentleman" and that "if Ventry had been 50 or 60 miles closer" to Ennis, he would probably still be Clare manager today. For a few minutes then they spoke about how they'd go about finding his replacement before McDonagh read out a personal, official statement.

And from its opening passage, it was obvious that Clare would be seeking a new senior manager in hurling as well, and that in this case there would be few words of thanks for the previous incumbent.

McDonagh claimed his children had been ridiculed in school after how the papers had portrayed their father over the last year. He bit his lip before quoting a line from his own father, "You're measured twice and you're cut once", and swore that he wouldn't recommend his position to his worst enemy.

Then he listed the achievements of the board over his four-year tenure, all of them, for off-the-field activities. The redevelopment of Michael Cusack's home in Carron; the purchase of land in Tulla and Clarecastle; the imminent redevelopment of a new Cusack Park; all had happened on his beat.

Then he had another list, and again, they were all off the field.

Davy Fitzgerald ("Say what you like about him but he hurled for Clare for 17 years. He wanted to hurl. We thought we'd solved it but the saga went on and on too long").

The removal of the team sponsor and county secretary from the dressing room in Meelick.

The departure of Dave Mahedy ("As far as I was concerned, he was there for the long haul").

The resignation of Ger Ward. The secret challenge game against Tipp without the team doctor. The midsummer club-versus-county fixtures standofff There had been another flashpoint three days before the All-Ireland qualifier, he revealed. Pat O'Connor had to be persuaded not to resign and prevent another "media frenzy". At the time O'Connor had acceded but now, just hours ago, he had stepped down after talking with McDonagh. A management team originally made up of six people was now down to three. And the top table were now proposing to remove that management team.

Sitting among the delegates was a member of that management team. Ciaran O'Neill was a selector to Tony Considine, and as his manager and Tim Crowe were abroad on holidays, he was now representing them.

McDonagh and O'Neill had been friends, and as O'Neill announced his presence at the meeting, McDonagh declared he was more than welcome "any time" for the service he'd given Clare GAA through the years.

It was only right he was extended such a courtesy.

O'Neill is probably the only man alive to hold Maurice Fitzgerald scoreless in three different games, including Clare's famous 1992 Munster football final win. He played senior for the county hurlers, was the heart of the DooraBarefield team that contested two club All-Ireland finals and was coach to the Kilmaley team that won the county three years ago. As a teammate, trainer, man, he was in the mould of Larry Tompkins. Teak tough. Whatever it takes. Loyal to the last.

Now he was staying loyal to Considine. He pointed out O'Connor had health problems all year; that's why he was stepping aside. Then he urged delegates to postpone any decision until the September meeting. Let Considine give his side of the story.

Because, as O'Neill put it, "it's some story".

McDonagh wasn't interested; instead he offered O'Neill the floor there and then. O'Neill declined; anything further from the management would have to come from the manager himself.

But McDonagh tried to engage him again.

"How long was Dave Mahedy [meant to be] in for, Ciaran?"

"I'm not answering any questions without my management team."

Later, when McDonagh was losing control of his emotions and the meeting itself, he remarked, "It's all well and good to laugh, Ciaran. Look, if truth be told, you should go and I should go!"

And for the next hour or so, emotions and opinions and suggestions continued to fly across the room. Delegates expressed their hurt over Ger Loughnane likening them to "village idiots" and "mushrooms" and Considine's failure to challenge his buddy over it. Others spoke of how, for the first time in 15 years, they had been able to coast into Thurles on the day of a Munster championship match. Images of OAPs cursing their radio and Considine after they'd been sold a dummy team for the Limerick game were conjured up, while Clarecastle delegate Pascal Russell reiterated that his clubman Ward had been done a "foul deed" while others had spoken with "forked tongues".

The central argument though was O'Neill's plea for the right of reply.

Some delegates . . . particularly those from the same clubs as O'Neill, Considine and team captain Frank Lohan . . . spoke in favour of it; others against, claiming such a forum would descend into everyone "throwing S.H.I.T at each other". McDonagh was firmly in the latter camp, saying if such a meeting took place, "then I won't be here".

He couldn't preside over "a meeting of who said this and who said that". Clare couldn't have another "media frenzy" or "another year like we've had, nearly killing each other".

Some delegates kept pushing him; the least Considine and his selectors deserved was the right to give their side of the story, possibly in a specially-convened meeting a fortnight later. And when they did, McDonagh would grow continuously exasperated. He repeatedly said that if the three remaining members of the management team were to have their say, then so would the three who departed and he'd already spoken to them and he knew who to believe. Ward had given him a 14-page document that would cause consternation if McDonagh was to ever break his confidence and reveal its contents.

The right of reply was mentioned again, and McDonagh snapped, "Look, the right of reply was there all year." As a neutral observer, it was impossible not to feel some sympathy for him. No one else at the top table was saying a word and here he was flapping to keep his head above water.

The right of reply argument was made again. This time, McDonagh's response was a plain, "I'd like to think I'm a good man, that I'm an honourable man" before he stopped and thought of the headlines that would follow the inquisition some were calling for. He couldn't put his family through it. So he walked, or at least started to walk, slowly across the top table, down the side and towards the door, shaking his head.

But he was waved and prompted back by the moans and gestures of delegates and by the to-then unflappable county secretary Pat Fitzgerald. It was like that famous routine from a James Brown revue, and this time McDonagh's encore featured his biggest hit. He put forward the motion again: that this management team be changed. It was now 11 o'clock.

The patience of delegates had snapped. This meeting had gone on long enough; this year had gone on long enough.

A few minutes later, hands went up and they were counted. Forty-five delegates had voted in favour, six against and 14 had abstained.

The meeting would continue but the court was no longer in session.

Ciaran O'Neill stayed in his seat for the rest of that meeting last Tuesday, to hear out a Shannon action group spokesperson call for as many Clare GAA people to take part in the solidarity walk the following Friday night, and though O'Neill heard enough to attend that very demonstration, his head was still reeling from the execution of Considine. Although he made a point of not displaying any emotion . . . "I wasn't going to give any of them the satisfaction" . . . he admits that if he'd a gun at the time, "I'd probably have mowed them all down."

Tony Considine's character had been shamelessly assassinated this night; why not those who'd lived by the gun too?

He's now prepared to give the management's side of the story. So is Tim Crowe, who returned from the Canaries late last week.

In Crowe's eyes, the crux of this issue is very simple. His fellow Sixmilebridge man Davy Fitzgerald wanted too much leeway in his training and Considine had compromised enough, and one Tuesday night in Crusheen, Fitzgerald informed Considine and then O'Neill out on the field that he was gone.

Crowe expected Fitzgerald to return but the following weekend the story broke in The Sunday Tribune and after the team's Waterford Crystal game that evening, Considine . . . says Ward . . . told Ward to contact the Sixmilebridge club and tell them "if the player goes to Tony Considine, it'll be sorted out".

The following morning, says Crowe, he relayed that message to his club chairman. "Get Davy up to Considine and it'll be sorted out."

"That offer, " he says, "was never acted upon." Fitzgerald could still have gone back to Considine but no way was Considine going racing after Fitzgerald.

A few weeks later someone was racing back to Considine . . . a three-man delegation team from the county board - to resolve the standoff. Considine rightly baulked at it . . . this was an internal team issue, not a county board issue. If this had been another player, there wouldn't have been any county board delegation. On principle, they couldn't acknowledge it. Fitzgerald should have come alone, not with the county board to fight on his behalf.

Considine and Fitzgerald did meet though, for half an hour in Fitzgerald's jeep parked in Crusheen, while O'Neill and McDonagh sat and waited in Considine's car.

But as we all know, nothing came of it. And by now Ward and Mahedy had departed the scene.

Crowe and O'Neill accept that Ward resigned because he disagreed with aspects of Considine's managerial style.

It was regrettable, they say, but hardly extraordinary;

other counties routinely see selectors depart the scene in mid-season.

As for Dave Mahedy's departure, they say his brief official comment said it all;

work and family commitments. He was meant to be there for the whole year but on the first day of the year the panel had conducted a fitness test at University of Limerick and Considine found the team's fitness to be well below the required level.

Pre-season training would have to be intensified and increased to four and five nights a week, a commitment Mahedy could not honour.

Team sponsor Pat O'Donnell and Pat Fitzgerald were never ordered out of the Meelick dressing room by name, insists O'Neill; instead Considine had kindly requested minutes before the game that if everyone bar players and management could leave the room "where you could barely swing a cat". O'Donnell and the management, they claim, had an excellent relationship for the rest of the year after Considine explained no offence was intended. O'Donnell, they say, was the first man into the dressing room to congratulate Considine after the wins in Down and Antrim. So why did it keep coming up?

Same with the closed doors game against Tipp. Yes, they didn't inform the board about it because they didn't want the board's "friends" in the local media knowing about it. Insurance wasn't an issue because that was covered by the presence of the Tipp doctor. As for the dummy team against Limerick and Gerry Quinn's last-second inclusion;

so what? He'd passed a late fitness test. John O'Mahony routinely makes last-second changes; who complains about that?

The first full squad session they had after the Cork game was only 10 days before the Antrim game because of club championship games; that, they say, is why O'Connor threatened to resign. Their training programme was seriously hampered by that break, and while they got away with it against Galway, it told against Limerick.

Then, last Tuesday, O'Neill heard on the radio the future of Considine was to be discussed at a county board meeting. It was the first he and Crowe or Considine had heard about it.

That's their side of story.

O'Neill was right. It is some story.

? ? ? When you look at it all, it's hard to think of anyone, bar the players, and possibly O'Neill, that emerges from the saga with any credit.

Considine complains about the board's "propaganda machine" when he did little to engage with the media enquiries and offered ambiguous, contradictory statements when he did engage with them, namely on Mahedy's departure. Failing to attend a meeting with Ward in February was also fresh coming from a man who then complained about the board not meeting him face to face last week.

He should be familiar with a character from the movies who declared: "Don't mess with the boss's wife. Don't mess with the boss's wife.

Don't mess with the boss's wife." He should have known that there's a slight variation on that when it comes to Clare. "Don't mess with the boss's son. Don't mess with the boss's son. Don't mess with the boss's son."

Ultimately Considine was a lot more sinned against than he sinned. The board have no authority to sack him, because their performance this year was hardly more impressive than his. As heartfelt as McDonagh's confession about his family's duress might have been, did he think Considine's family was immune to such hardship too?

The smoking gun that was Ward's statement was waved too often, just as Pat Fitzgerald's remark last spring that he'd "have plenty to say" when the controversy was all over, and then last Tuesday, to say nothing was hardly the response the delegates expected.

Considine is only the latest Clare coach this past 12 months to be shafted while on holiday. Donie Buckley formed the joint-management team of the county footballers in 2006, and was in America last November when his wife phoned to tell him his job had suddenly become the property of Paidi O Se.

There's been a lot of bloodshed in Clare this past two years; remember, 2006 was as nearly as contentious as 2007.

There was the snubbing of Loughnane at the awards ceremony in the Armada, the departures of Colum Flynn and Ger Hartmann, and the bizarre Lough, Cop and Barrel saga that ensued.

The county hasn't contested a Munster hurling final at either senior, minor or under21 level since 1999. The county footballers are in Division Four. And yet O Se's management was never questioned at a board meeting while Considine's routinely was; in fact, if it wasn't for his circumstances, O Se would still be Clare manager today.

The county needs a Genesis report. A new vision. And at the top table, new blood.

Because on the ground there's been far too much blood shed.