Messi was now on the payroll of the Qataris in his day job with Paris Saint-Germain and Saudi Arabia for his side hustle as a tourism ambassador. Regular readers of this column will know that we frequently chunter on about the Saudis and the perils of dodgy despots in general.
Others mithered about separating the dancer from the dance. When it became clear that Messi was in the mood and Argentina had a shout, it was pointed out that he had sullied his soul by signing a deal to promote tourism in Saudi Arabia, because who wouldn't want to catch a mass beheading on their jolliers? It was also mentioned that he had failed to do the right thing by the Spanish tax man to the tune of many millions. This was not like Murphy, the county hero doing it for your local place, that personal, folk connection, and yet the feeling was deep and heartfelt. Everyone knows what happened next though it is still scarcely believable.Įven outside of Argentina's batshit fans, most people were rooting for Messi, mainly out of the purist gratitude for all the nights spent in front of the telly shaking your head in wonder. He's a lot smaller than Murphy and carried a bigger load. He won't be out there anymore, looking over us, toiling for us in the great struggle - it made the winter seem longer and darker and lonelier and that feeling in my belly was an emptiness because the little story I had made up would never have an ending.Ī few days after Michael Murphy called it a day, Lionel Messi toddled centre stage in Qatar. This, I thought, must be how Gotham City will feel when Batman hangs up his utility belt. Then came that blindside blow on a wet November evening. The circle would be complete and he would shuffle off to his eternal reward or as close as you can get to it in Letterkenny and its environs. He would return to his garret at full forward, there to wreak havoc with his wiles and wit and, lo, a new generation of younger players would help him back up the steps of the Hogan Stand. Age would eventually preclude him from trying to play every position on the pitch, writing the theme tune, singing the theme tune. And wasn't he newly engaged, with all the looming domestic considerations that infers?īut I always had this narrative in my head about how it would end for Michael Murphy and Donegal.
He also had one more Letterkenny sporting goods shop and one more university sports faculty to run than most of us. Sure, he had only won one All-Ireland, but that's one more than most of us. And wasn't Murphy 33 years old now, a good age for any messiah to call it quits? Greying around the temples and the great heroic body creaking lately at the weight of carrying the county on his back.
0 kommentar(er)
