Jim looks to future

For a while, Jim McGuinness let himself smile and enjoy the moment.

He waved to friends and family in the stand as Michael Murphy started his speech and acknowledged the adoration of the masses when his captain lauded him from the steps of the Hogan Stand but his game face was soon back on.

His refusal to conduct a press conference while Declan Bogue, the author of This is Our Year, was in the room, draped an air of tension over proceedings that wasn’t shrugged off again until talk turned to Murphy’s tilt at Jimmy’s Winning Matches.

“It was average enough,” he joked. “He gave me a black eye as well.”

Murphy’s clumsiness when embracing him after the final whistle was born of an admiration for the man who had made it all possible.

It may be that coaches don’t win matches but Donegal would never have won this championship without McGuinness.

The man himself would blanch at that. The majority of his words yesterday evening were reserved for his players who he garlanded with praise, and he had to be all but coerced to discuss what it all meant to him personally.

“I don’t know. I’ll need to let [the memories] seep in and absorb it. It makes me feel good because I know my family is very proud today and that makes me feel good that they feel good and it makes me feel good that these lads are All-Ireland winners.

“Its a life-changing moment for a player. You are no longer Michael Murphy, you are no longer Colm McFadden. You are Michael Murphy the All-Ireland winner and that is a great title to have and no one can take that away from them.

“That’s the enjoyment I get out of it.”

McGuinness’s public utterances have taken on an import that is rare among sports figures, thanks in part to a mindset that accentuates the positives and greets the negatives with a disdain and a curl of the lip.

He spoke yesterday about how he had visualised the Sam Maguire perched on the dashboard of the team bus as it pulled away from the capital and back to Donegal.

Not once did he spare a moment to contemplate the possibility of defeat and how he might prepare for it.

“No. I never once thought we were going to get beat. I couldn’t go there. It’s just so far removed from this. You can’t get motivated by negatives. That doesn’t mean you’re going to win the match. It was just for myself to try and firewall myself and the players too.”

And yet, every defence has it’s weak point. Donegal’s Achilles heel was very nearly one of their own making: the euphoria and air of expectation their two-year assault on this day had unleashed among a feverish public.

“I think the hype got to us a wee bit,” McGuinness admitted. “We forced balls inside. Our normal running game wasn’t as fluid as it could have been as well.”

It was those imperfections, allied to Mayo’s adhesiveness, that kept him on edge until the last whistle but when it sounded he made a point of digesting the waves of relief and elation that accompanied the completion of their task. 1992 had taught him to do that.

For an 18-year old kid, it was just all too much to take in, so when he was asked to compare the two he looked not to the past but the future. He talked of how this will inspire a new generation of kids and about how the county board will need to build on it all.

It was a revealing moment — a snapshot of a man who, having conquered one peak, couldn’t help but crane his neck towards others still to come.