As always, Nancy’s last words before we leave for Dublin this morning will be “water, Noel, plenty of water, you know you can’t take any chances.”

These days, I have to take in gallons of water every day. Mind you, I’m not complaining – I was one of the lucky ones able to play on for 15 years at the highest level after my kidney transplant. The club history makes the claim that “Noel’s finest hour came just eight days after getting the new kidney, when, clearly weakened, he stood in the corner for the county semi-final, and contributed 2-1, the goal from a penalty.”

It continues: “He did not neglect his defensive duties either, and the team management bravely decided to leave him at corner-back for the final, where he played another outstanding game.”

As editor of the club history, I ordered a footnote be included pointing out that “the medal Noel won that year became the centrepiece of the bracelet of his medals now worn by his good wife Nancy, whose insistence that he play proved once again that Nancy, like Noel, epitomises what a good club man should be.”

I have been pressurised many times to explain over the years why I no longer do my Up for the Match slot. I have kept a discreet silence, but so many untruths have been allowed to fester in the public domain it is now time to set the record straight:
1. I never charged a fee for my Noel Knows – Just Try Him? slot. I asked RTE to make a donation to the National Scor na nOg committee in lieu of payment;
2. The slot was always broadcast live;
3. I never saw the questions beforehand;
4. Despite their failure to protect me in the aftermath of the ‘Shock as knowledge king may have been wrong’ headlines in 1979, I maintain good relations with RTE, and, as always, will meet up with Mary Kennedy after the Kilmacud 7s to talk her through a few things for the show;
5. I remain adamant I was correct in 1979, and that, in response to that hypothetical – and, ultimately, controversial – question from a viewer in Lower Laois, the referee would have been perfectly right to restart the game with a throw-in.
I’m happy that clarifies matters. I still watch Up for the Match and text Mary during the intervals, things like “push Paidi about the time he broke the fluorescent in the dressingroom”, or “get Leary to explain the day he broke the nose in the puckaround.”

Nancy has not been able to let it go, though, and won’t watch the programme at all anymore. Instead, she’ll pass the two hours with the headphones on listening to music on the walkman, and preparing her statistics notebook for tomorrow.

I expect a few phonecalls in the morning, of course. Davy Fitz says he has everything covered off, but something always comes up the morning of a final.

Otherwise, the usual rituals: mass on the Quays where Fr Frank will embarrass Nancy and myself by welcoming us off the altar; down to Ned Rea’s for the papers, tea, and a chat with the man of the house; and off walking then to Croke Park to get in two hours or so before the minor final.

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