The way to get the best out of Paddy — treat him mean

WHEN Bob Dylan first met Johnny Cash at the Newport (not Co. Tipperary) Folk Festival in 1964, they say that Dylan just looked up at him, like a big tree, and walked all the way around him and said ‘yeah.’

When I first met Giovanni Trapattoni, I walked around the far side, and told him to pull it tight against the wall, there might be more calling: he had to get out on the passenger’s side, over the interpreter, who never takes the lead in that relationship.

“You can leave her in the yard,” I ordered, and I wasn’t talking about the car.