Mick O’Dwyer had a way of talking to you. I never played under him and I would never claim to have been in his inner circle. I’d be good friends with his sons and I was around them a fair bit over the weekend. It was a hard station for them – it’s not easy letting go of your dad when the whole country wants in on it.
So I’d be slow enough to be making out that I have some sort of special insight into Micko. The lads themselves are the only ones who’d properly know. They knew by the way he threw his bag down after coming in the door from training whether the form was good or bad.
But in a way, the fact that everyone thought they knew him was the beauty of the man. Whenever you came into contact with him, you went…