There’s no escape for goalkeepers
If you are wandering through Lisbon, daydreaming as you soak in the atmosphere being generated by the whole population of Madrid which has been shipped in for the Champions League final, the one person who will recognise you will be a Kilkenny fella. They have spies everywhere.
The other certainty is that goalkeeping, like death and taxes, and Kilkenny men will always track you down and try to finish you off. I’ve watched Iker Casillas for a long time. Fourteen years ago, a few days after he turned 19, I watched him play in his first Champions League final. Cocky as a Corkman. He breezed it. Two years later he came on against Bayer Leverkusen in the 2002 final and made some incredible saves. That summer in South Korea he made an amazing save against Robbie Keane when we played them in the World Cup. He had that power. He could win games on his own.
