As Max Bygraves used to say: “I wanna tell you a story.” But first let me say that football player, club manager (currently of Cardiff City) and international manager Mick McCarthy’s accomplishments and honours speak for themselves. Some time maybe I’ll come back to that and spell them out.
When I first met Mick his playing days were more or less over. That was in 1992, and he was manager of Millwall F.C. One of his players was Clive Allen, son of Les Allen who was part of the Spurs 1960-61 double-winning side. I was anxious to talk to Les in connection with my proposed museum project, and I hoped Clive would help me.
I approached Mick and asked him if he would introduce me to Clive. There wasn’t the slightest thing standoffish about Mick then, or since. He brought me straight into the dressing room where the players were preparing for training, and introduced us to each other. Within an hour I was talking to Les. I was grateful to Mick McCarthy then, and I still am.
Fast forward from 1992 to 1996, the year Mick was appointed manager of the Republic of Ireland team. By this time he and I were on such friendly terms that he had given me his home telephone number in England.
The Ireland squad used two separate locations for training purposes. One was in Dublin — the Airport Complex — the other was in Monaghan. Their first-ever training session under Mick was at the Monaghan venue, and I was there.
Typical of Mick’s generosity was his gathering of the squad on that occasion to pose for a group photograph that included me — I’m the one in the middle, the only one in the entire lot not dressed in football attire! (You’ve probably recognised the tall guy towards the right of the photograph. Yes, it’s Tony Cascarino, all 6ft 3ins of him.)
I became a frequent visitor at the Ireland training camps — Mick would phone me and let me know which venue was going to be used. Most of the Irish squad pitched in to help me with my museum project. Mark Kennedy, who was with Liverpool at the time, even asked me to pose for a picture with himself and his mother — because I was the holder of three world records then and was in the Guinness books.
Mick, who had won a Scottish Cup Final with Celtic, was always interested in and enthusiastic about the museum project. He offered me a long-term loan of his cup-winner’s shirt for our Celtic showcase. Framed, it was sent over by courier, and Mick himself subsequently came to Galway to open the showcase. I have minded, guarded, and cherished his shirt for 26 years.
Out of the blue last week I got a letter from him. I had tried to contact him by letter some time back, but had never got a reply — which mystified me. It was so unlike him. Last week he revealed the reason: he had never got my original letter.
Now, however, he was reacting positively to a suggestion of mine — that his cup winner’s shirt (the one in my possession) be auctioned, the proceeds going towards bowel cancer research. (I suffered from bowel cancer almost 40 years ago.)
He said in his letter that he would be very happy for the shirt to be auctioned, as he had lost his father to bowel cancer. He thanked me for looking after the shirt for so many years.
All of this adds up to a measure of the man, and I feel blessed to be able to be counted among his friends, and to count him among mine.
And, incidentally, who knows, you might be interested in putting in a bid for the shirt yourself.
