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

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‘Why do they put up with you?’ I ask as we relive the thunder of Clones. It’s a few weeks after the game in my tiny north Belfast home. We’re watching tapes of the great eighties Liverpool teams and talking about Brian Clough.

‘Must be the nice smile, I have’, turn of the head, flash, grin. He does that, he disarms you, devilment dancing from every pore, his smile is full frontal enamel and his green eyes wrinkle and spark. But on the sideline, he’s a demon, pointing and effing and roaring. He’s in front of the disciplinary committee so often, they tell him, ‘Just take your usual seat.’ But not this year, this year he has the best disciplinary record of any manager in Ireland because this year he has the best team. In the semi-final and five points down against the mighty Dubs, the roar of the Derry crowd lifts him out of his boots.

‘Aw God man, it was tarra’, he had thought, ‘it’d be no good if we didn’t win’.

I’d looked down the seats at my uncle, my mammy, my brothers, my aunt. They’re ashen with fear and I pray to my Granda, dead since the November before, ‘Ah Christ if you’re there, Tommy, do something’. A committed non-believer, in desperation I’m a devotee. Derry get their miracle and my family praise the day.