Читать книгу The Boys of '93. Derry’s All-Ireland Kings онлайн

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But seven weeks later I am at his side in Clones after Derry’s Ulster Final win. In fact, I’m round his neck and his shoulder and his back, and we’re up to our ankles in the mud of the pitch. I don’t know how I got to him through the victory-crazed throng but we’re jumping and hugging and shouting, delirious with delight. His sisters and my brothers are scattered all around but I’m off into the field and I reach him, just before the gathering press pack. ‘Coleman’, ‘Eamonn’, ‘Eamonn, how does it feel to be Ulster champions?’

‘Get away to fuck outta that will yis? Sure what do you want to talk to me for?’

And they fold with laughter, not with nervousness or embarrassment but with like, ‘Ah here comes Coleman’s craic’, the elite of Ireland’s sports writers facing this Ballymaguigan bricklayer. They soothe, cajole and coax, ‘Ach Eamonn, now, come on’, and I’m jostled back among the microphones, the jotters and the bustling pens. He’ll give them what they need but first he’ll give them hell.