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 “Shove it up there against the far wall, Noel – leave room for Nancy to get out,” were Donncha Cody’s first words when I pulled into his father’s place shortly before 6o’c last Wednesday evening.
Years gone by, young Donncha would take the keys and, while Nancy, Brian, Elsie and myself talked camogie inside, he’d practice his reversing in the yard. “A great yoke, the Sunny,” he often said. The gasun spent a good few summers in our place and I can still see him now, walking along the side of the field, shouting in at the cattle, who’d respond to his every prompting. Any dissent, and the mere threat of taking the peaked cap to them was guaranteed to put manners on even the giddiest of limousins. He was a terror entirely for taking a ride on Nancy’s ReXton, and that was before I tweaked the engine so that she couldn’t open her out fully. Anyway, last Wednesday evening, Nancy had a tight enough squeeze getting over across the handbrake and out the driver’s door, and she arrived in just as Elsie was serving high tea. “Noel,” started Brian, looking me in the eye, “how long do I know you? How long we been friends?” I couldn’t be sure of the year, I said, but I could clearly recall our first meeting in the flesh outside the Cat & Cage in Drumcondra. “I was coming in from the airport on my way back from a Camanachd Cup semi-final between Newtonmore and Kingussie in Inverness, when Loughnane spotted me,” I reminisced.
“Flagged me down. We had a puckaround up Grace Park Road. Savage. I lost two teeth, and dislocated my thumb. Nancy put all three back in before we set out for home.” Brian, solemnly: “That’s right, Noel, friends for years. I’ve never told you before, Noel, but there’s no-one else in the game I admire more than you.” I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable, and Nancy tried to change the conversation by bringing up the Munster U21 final, but Brian was not to be deflected.
“Noel” he added, “I look upon you as a father figure. Don’t I, Elsie? How often have I said to you that if I were in a tight corner, I’d have Noel ahead of anyone, except Fan Larkin and maybe Santino Marella from WWF?”
Nancy brought up the chronic abuse of the four-step rule in a bid to lighten the mood, but Brian said he’d come back to that later, there was something he wanted to address first.
“Noel,” he continued, “I think I’ve gone too far with them.” I had to interrupt. “Stop, would you Brian,” I said, “you’re only coming into your prime as a manager. It’s easy to give up, but you can’t. I remember well how tough it was when I did the nine-in-a-row with the club, being player-manager and all, along with chairing the club and the divisional board – but you’re made of good stuff as well, Brian.”
Brian: “I’ve been too smart Noel, I’m starting to meet myself coming back.”
And then he opened up. It was a vulnerable Brian Cody like I’d only ever seen him once before, and, like, everyone knew he was never a full-forward. He told of how training had got out of hand, after all his promptings. Too much bite, not enough crossing the ball, every man pulling hard and high in a bid to get on the team. There was pain on his face as he cited the example of Brennan v Hickey, who spent an entire Monday evening session clattering into one another. “It was non-stop,” said Brian. “Sure what’d be wrong with that, Brian?” asked Nancy, her voice betraying her growing impatience.
Brian: “Nothing at all. That’s the way hurling men like me and you always want it, Nancy. But there has to be a pull-back in everything.
“Tuesday morning I was on the way up to get the paper and there were loads of cars outside Nowlan Park. I went in, and there they were, the two of them still timbering one another in the right-corner forward position, and half the county watching them.”
Nancy: “Are you serious, Brian? Was it the O’Loughlin’s end?”
Cody: “The way it’s going Noel, we won’t have a team at all for the final. These lads will kill one another in training.” I could see his problem now. I remembered a similar conversation with Sean Boylan over a cup of herbal tea – woeful tack, to be honest – in Dunboyne before the 1988 All-Ireland final. I told Brian last Wednesday what I told Sean then: “Too far east is west.”
My message got through. And so, as the two women took themselves off to look through the scrapbooks, Brian and I designed a master plan. I came up with the motto for the remainder of the build-up: “Loosen. Lighten. Love.” There were be no more skelping, and so confident were we of pulling off this new approach, we invited Dickie Murphy in to referee. We got Brian some casual gear on e-Bay from a Hawaii Five-O fanatic outside Tinryland, and as we travelled up to collect it, I drafted this message and Brian sent it out on group text to the players:
“Whatever happens, guys, you’ll always be my best buddies. Thanks for the laughs, the good times, the wind-ups, the crack, the messing, the jibes, the jokes – that’s what I will cherish long after you’ve forgotten where you keep your medals.”
Within seconds, Martin Comerford came back with a “tks man, u rock. Not bad for one of the Village people:)” Jackie Tyrell was in next with a: “hey, does that mean u will start bringing d whistle to training again? Lol.”
Richie Power: “Big Man plot lost. Official”, before following up with another just seconds later, “sorry Brian, that wasn’t about you, about boss at work, pressed wrong button, please ignore.”
The net result was I could see the load lift off Brian’s shoulders. The famous smile was back. I hadn’t seen him look so happy since late that famous evening on Grace Park Road, as he picked the sharp end of a pillar-cap out of his midriff, and exclaimed, with all the exuberance of youth: “That’s the stuff, Loughnane, it’ll make men of us.” There was a pep in his step as the two of us set off for training that night. The players were fresh as new-born lambs and the new breathing and stretching exercises went down a treat. Mighty men. I told Brian we’d be down for the GOAL Challenge, and, once Nancy got herself settled into the car again, we headed for home with a tape of Paudie Palmer’s commentary from this year’s Munster football final playing on the tape deck to break the journey. Noel will play it any way you want. You decide. Email
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