AS I get older I can feel myself becoming more Irish, and I welcome this reconnection to my heritage. The rolling green hills are talking to me, beckoning, a voice calling on me to become who I really am. A Murphy. An Irishman. A pale, brown-haired Paddy.

My late teens and early 20s were a time of experimentation; as most young men do, you try a few things and see what best suits you. After a brief dalliance with tips in my hair and a couple of visits to the solarium, it became quite obvious that whoever I was trying to be was not myself, only someone who I thought might appeal to others.

Over time the tips grew out, and the tan that never really took faded away. I was left to find another path. But, as they say, sometimes to go forward you must know where it is that you've come from.

Having been suspended last week by the match review panel for my heinous crime, I felt as if not only was there a one-week penance to serve, but also that I was being forced back into the shackles my ancestors wore as they boarded the first fleet. All week, as I passed the time reading Rousseau, the steel of the handcuffs and leg irons pressed against my flesh as a reminder that I wouldn't be joining my teammates to take on the Saints.

As I sat and watched my boys strut their stuff, the welts on my ankles and wrists were suffering under the heavy burden. At game's end, as I stood off the playing group and watched the boys belt out "Sons Of The West", I had my suspension lifted, and the shackles went with it. With my arms now able to move freely, and my legs stretch properly, I did what any decent Irishman would do — I went to the pub.

There was plenty to celebrate. I was a free man, of course, the Doggies had won, and it was also the eve of my 26th birthday. Having all sat down to enjoy a meal and a couple of drinks together, we raised our glasses to say "Cheers".

Well, that set Mum off.

"Do you know why we do that?" she asked.

"Do what?" I replied.

"The way we all show each other our drinks and then gently have them touch all the other glasses at the table."

Dear old mum is a bottomless well of little derivations and pearls of wisdom. Some are genuine, and some we are pretty sure she just makes up. But her thoughts about the tradition of "Cheers-ing" intrigued me.

She claims the reason we bang our drinks together comes from a time when noblemen would have a meal together to discuss money, war and politics. Remembering how brutal this time was, these men would bang cups of wine to demonstrate that what they were drinking was indeed the same, and no foul play had taken place with poisons and the like.

The colliding glasses jogged a thought about the game that day. Watching from the stands, I observed how another traditional greeting was holding up.

I noticed that nobody shook hands with their opponent at the start of the game, or if they did it was done so discreetly that I missed it. It's a topic I've thought about a bit. I have always been a handshaker; I'm not really sure why I like the ritual, but I always did it — in much the same way I "Cheers" my drinks.

But now I fear the handshake is being pushed out of our game.

As footballers we are in the business of not showing any vulnerability. Often this is to our detriment, but in the macho world of AFL, those who choose not to shake before a game are deemed to possess the dominant gene over those who think it's a nice bit of sportsmanship that should be maintained.

The shakers are wary that if they offer their hand to a non-shaker, this will relinquish the perception that, once the siren goes, it's war. Anyone who sees shaking as a sign of softness need only look at Brett Kirk and ask why he still shakes his opponents hand before they bounce the ball. He is as tough and respected as there is.

I have become a non-shaker in recent seasons, and it bothers me. After thinking about it this week, I've decided to campaign for the return of the handshake.

I may not know why we "Cheers" our glasses, but I know why I used to shake my opponent's hand — to wish him the best of luck and to let him know that I will play as hard and as fair as I'm able. If that's too "vulnerable" for the non-shakers, then I guess I'll just be left hanging.