More than okey jokey

You think you know Bill O’Herlihy. He’s like that inoffensive ornament on the living room mantel that blends in against a beige wall. The background noise you’ve got used to.

The uncle that’s always there at special occasions, good humoured and chatty, but you don’t delve deeper into his personality and before you realise it he’s gone, back to his day-to-day meanderings you know nothing about.

But whatever about you underestimating a man too often introduced shallowly as the chair of a football discussion, you wonder does he undervalue himself? Back at the beginning of the year, when the suggestion of ghosting his autobiography crept up, we went for a cup of tea together to discuss the finer print. He was warm and engaging, but he was reticent too as his opening words were as worrying as they were humble. “To be honest, I don’t know if anyone wants to read about me,” he announced. “And I’m not even sure I’ve done enough to justify a book. What is there to write about?”