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 "A bad night that has you out, Gerald," said Nancy, parking up the quad, "and you’re dead right to leave those lads on hunger strike."
The pair of them arm-wrestled around the yard for a full five minutes before he prised free his hand. "Nancy, my old flower" he said, eyes dancing in his head like Mullane after a 90-yarder, or, indeed, a ten-yarder, "it’s great to be alive, and all what’s dead.
"It’s often I jived you up and down the marquees of Munster. You were a mighty goer to the Hucklebuck. "I’ll shoot in and talk to himself." I hadn’t seen Gerald looking better in years. "Gerald," I said, "that run-of-the-mill management style never suited you. You’re like myself, a warrior at heart. If you’re not locked in the fury of battle, you’re as well off throwing stones at your jacket." I continued: "The fire is back Gerald. It could be ’78 again, the butt of your hurl just below Loughnane’s ribcage, and, gas yoke he was, he digging you back just to keep the crack going. "Tell me, have you 15?" He suddenly looked more solemn than Brian Cody at a removal. "Noel," he sighed, "I have 15 no bother, and 15 more with them, and 15 times 15. "Problem, is I’ve no leader. Someone to break it up, slow it down, fire it around, dish it out, pull it in, and maybe, while he’s at it, remind Landers hurling isn’t played on the radio." I suggested a few names: Seanie Leary, Pudge Duggan, Pearse O’Neill. "Noel," he interjected, "I’m here for one reason only." He rose from his seat, brought his right hand over his left breast, and asked Nancy and me to sit over on the couch – it would be more fitting if we could watch him in side profile. "Noel, Nancy," he started, reflectively, "In my time, garlands were thrown at my feet. I’ve experienced the validation of my peers, the acclamation of the media, and the sweet taste of ultimate success." Nancy: "In fairness, Gerald, you’d good men with you too." Gerald: "I know just how beguiling a temptress Glory can be. But, Noel, I eschewed life’s ephemeral rewards in search of greater goals – I did it not for myself, or for the trophies, and thanks for putting that bit of engraving work my way recently, I hope the cupla focail was alright…Noel, I did it for club and county, full stop. "I did is so that a farmer scaling an east Cork gate one fading September evening might turn his gaze skywards and say, ‘truly we are the chosen people. Keher wasn’t so hot today, the shaper, and Gerald Mac gave it to Paddy P any way he wanted it.’ "I did it, Noel, so that a Douglas girl, standing by a bus-stop on Pana, might eagerly grab the hand of her Norrie lover, and in those tender moments of fresh togetherness, exclaim joyfully that ‘I hope Tipp are sick for a fortnight after that hammering we gave them, and fair play to Gerald Mac, he never backed a yard’ before gambolling off into the dusk." Nancy: "That’s powerful stuff, Gerald. I know now why Sean Og chased you around all summer. I want to give you a hug too." He pressed on: "And in the spirit of humble service, Noel, that has always characterised a good GAA life, in the spirit of Ring, Lynch, and Barry, I prostrate myself in front of you today…" (He fell dramatically to the floor like a Tyrone forward.) "…and respectfully ask you to captain the team Sunday in one final gesture of solidarity. I know I ask too much. You have given more than any man has ever given. "It is impertinent of me to even suggest this. But, Noel, these young Lochinvars cannot be released to the wolves without someone like yourself. "Noel, grant me, your greatest admirer for 45 years, this last indulgence." Nancy, fierily: "Gerald, up off your knees. Stand like a man. Dry your eyes." He did. Sheepishly. "Gerald," I said, "when you started, I had a desperate feeling you wanted me to referee it. I’d have said Yes, of course, but tomorrow is no time for a man like me, or Nancy, to be refereeing. "Tomorrow is a day to stand up and be counted. Put me on the forty, Gerald, and get the rest of them to scatter out into small bundles." Nancy: "And he’ll give the team talk too, Gerald. I suppose we don’t need to check your opinion on the short puck-outs and the carrying?" We all laughed heartily, and fell into a deep tactical discussion, as we had done a thousand times before, and it was nearly morning before he left, but not before we had a good, hard puckaround in the yard. It felt great to be back. "Sure, you were never gone, Noel," said Nancy, impishly, as we went up the stairs for a few hours lie-down. Noel wins the hard ball. Except he doesn’t find it hard. Email him at
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