The power and the story
I broke my arm in that game, was in plaster up to the elbow, missed the semi-final and the final, against Galway, a dirty game up in Thurles, very physical, that set things up for the All-Ireland final in 1987 when there was no love lost. I got the cast off, came back. Seán Fennelly had taken my position at that stage and the Fennellys had kind of the upper hand, the Shamrocks going so well (seven Fennelly brothers on the team that won the county in 1988, four of whom played with Kilkenny at senior level). I knew it was going to take a hell of a shove for me to get back for the championship and I never managed it — on the panel but never made the team.
In 1987, I was wing-back again, played the league there. I was head to head with Liam Walsh from Glenmore for the position, with Tommy Lennon also on the panel. I played in the Leinster final, didn’t play in that All-Ireland semi-final against Antrim — injured again. Tommy got on in the final alright, but I didn’t (Kilkenny lost to Galway).
The following year, I made my first real championship start, midfield with Ger Fennelly, scored 1-2. Wexford beat us but I got a goal in the last five minutes, that was a big thrill. I won a Railway Cup at wing-back in 1988, played there again in 1989 and got the man of the match in Casement Park in one of them.
Pat Dwyer, Willie O’Connor and all those came through in 1989. I was a year or two ahead of them in experience, but we were the same age. We beat Wexford in the first round, I got man of the match in one of the papers. I was brilliant the same day, never hurled as well at wing-back. We were up against Offaly in the Leinster final and on the Wednesday, Thursday and Friday of that week I got a dose of the runs.
Dr Bill Cuddihy came out to the house and gave me a load of tablets, rehydration drinks, the whole lot. I was adamant I’d play, but he was advising me against it.
“Don’t play,” he said, “you’ll think you’re fine but your muscles won’t be right.”
That was it anyway, I played, was on Mark Corrigan, their free-taker. He ended up with 3-6, but I’d say I was responsible for only 1-1, played reasonable enough. He got no point from play off me, one goal, but Jaysus I was hounded after that, suffered torture that summer. I was hearing it on the radio: “John Power is not good enough for Kilkenny, can’t take the pressure of the big day, will never make it.” That’s why I treasure the All-Ireland medals I won afterwards so much — people have no idea of the hardship I suffered.
Dermot Healy took over in 1989 and ’90, and I was very determined to make my point. I’m not sure what he thought of me though. In the run-up to the league in 1990, we had a game in John Locke Park in Callan, Healy in charge. I was the only Callan man on the team and I wasn’t played, not even as a sub. We were having a bit of grub afterwards and Healy was passing me.
“I didn’t like your attitude today,” he said. “To be quite honest, Dermot,” I said, “my father is 85 years of age; he’s not able to go Croke Park, he’s not able to go to Nowlan Park, but he was able to come to John Locke Park today, the only chance he’d have to see me play with the county. I’m that disappointed with you, as a person.” I didn’t hold back. “If you had one man in Conahy [Healy’s home club] who was on the county panel and there was a league match being played there for the first time in the history of the club, wouldn’t you like to see him playing? In that situation I’d put you on, so I hope you understand the working of my head on this one. And we’ll leave it at that.” I made my point.
Through the league in 1990 I’d say I was brilliant in every match — tunnel vision, I was so scalded by the criticism on papers and radio. I remember a fella, Prionsias Ó Duinn, from Kerry originally, on the radio one day said I shouldn’t be on the team, I wasn’t able for it. I was listening to it on the tractor and Jaysus I could have dived into the radio, I was so mad.
We won the league in 1990, Eamonn Morrissey was brilliant in the final. I was on John O’Connor (Wexford), played well again, I’d say it was a toss-up between myself and Eamonn for man of the match but he got it. We played the away final in New York, I was on Harry Ryan, a Kilkenny-man. The two of us were going for the ball, he was coming like a train for me, and whatever way I caught him with the elbow, into the ribcage, I nearly folded him — down he went... ! He didn't complain though, in fairness to him. (Ray) Sampson from Limerick came over on me then, a big bulky lad. We won handy enough eventually.
Reigning league champions, we played Offaly in the Leinster final. I was still at wing-back and it was supposed to be a foregone conclusion, we were going to beat them by 20 points. They beat us by 18 instead. The World Cup was on in Italy and Kilkenny people left early to go away and watch the games, we were that bad. After eight minutes we were three points down and a few minutes later, myself and DJ (Carey) found ourselves back in the dugout, taken off. The funny thing was, neither DJ nor myself ever took a drink and I wondered if that was a factor, that we didn’t join in with everyone else in the celebrations in New York after the league win, that maybe our faces didn’t fit. Back on the farm again anyway, out of the championship in early July.
My mother died then on 19 July, after a week’s holidays in Tramore; just dropped dead at the table ... I don’t know what happened club-wise that year, but we didn't go great either. After what had happened the year before also (1989), I was cannon fodder now, over and done with, could never be put back out again for Kilkenny.
That October, Ollie Walsh took over.
I was after winning a junior All-Ireland with Ollie back in 1986, at wing-back, up in Thurles, got man of the match. First thing Ollie did was draw up a panel and we were all to go into Kilkenny in October to a players’ meeting. With all the criticism I was after getting, all the disappointment, and with my mother after dying, I was in no humour for that, completely devastated. All I was doing was working, 6am ’til midnight. I didn’t show for the meeting. We played Waterford in the park (Nowlan Park) and my name was still on the panel, but I didn’t go in for that either. About three weeks before Christmas, a bang came on the door — Ollie. “What's the matter?” he said, “Aren’t you coming in?”
“No, Ollie,” I said, “I have no interest in hurling, I’m so disappointed, I’m giving the whole thing up.”
“Don’t do that,” he said. “Have a think on it. I have a jersey here for you. It’s not number five, it’s not midfield, it's not 25 either — it’s number 11. I have that jersey for you, I want you to do a job for me there. The next league game, that’s where you’ll be.”
“Why is that?” I said.
“I’ve been looking at you since you were a chap. You’re the best man in the county to carry a ball and that’s what I want you do to. When you get the ball, take them on, carry the ball. I’m putting it to you this evening. If you want a jersey, it’s there for you. We’re back training on Wednesday night, you’re welcome to come. I understand only too well what you’re after suffering with the loss of your mother; if you want another month to think about it it’s there for you — but two months isn’t there.’
The following Wednesday night I was there, in the gym with Mick O’Flynn — he was after taking over the training — and I spoke to no player, I was still that down, still devastated. I was coming out of the shower and Ollie came up to me. “Are you coming down to Langton’s?”
“Ah I won’t, Ollie, I’m going home.”
“Into the car with me now,” he said. “There’s no more going home.”
I got into the car. He had a brown paper bag, handed it to me. “There’s your jersey now for next year,” he said. “Number 11. Get yourself in order for it. I told you the other night what you have to do, and you don't have to do anything else.’
We were playing Wexford a few weeks later in the park. I was marking Liam Dunne and absolutely tore him to shreds. I ran myself into the ground, scored about 1-5, and I’d say that was probably the best I ever played in that jersey. Dunne leathered me, but I just walked in over him. After that, with Ollie, I just went from strength to strength, my confidence kept growing. And that’s how I ended up at centre-forward — desperate hardship. But I’d be very grateful to Ollie, always, for what he did for me.
* Hurling: The Warrior Game by Diarmuid O’Flynn is published by The Collins Press and available now
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