The making of McClean
On the eve of Ireland’s World Cup play-off against Denmark, Daniel McDonnell travels to Derry to meet the people of Creggan – the place that made the Ireland talisman
THIS is Creggan. It’s Friday lunchtime and Tony O’Doherty is pacing up and down in his usual spot outside the Corned Beef Tin, the area’s community centre on Central Drive.
The 70-year-old is wearing his Derry City jacket because he will later function as head steward at the final home game of the season for a club where he served as both player and manager.
In Creggan, he has the presence of a manager on the sideline, monitoring everything that is going on in front of him. There is a wave, a shout or a gesture for everyone that passes. The beep from a milk van gets his attention.
“Alright Charlie,” O’Doherty shouts. The driver, Charlie Ferry, was his team-mate on the 1974 Finn Harps FAI Cup-winning side.
They know their football in these parts.
Across the street from where O’Doherty is standing, there’s a mural of his younger self, a decorated player in both the Irish League and League of Ireland and a twice-capped Northern Ireland international.
He was one of the chosen ones when artists were tasked with producing portraits of sporting stars to cover the graffiti-laden walls dotted between shop fronts. The theme was local heroes.
To the right of the profile of O’Doherty, there is a sketch of Olympic boxer Charlie Nash.
To the left, there is an artist’s impression of Creggan’s most famous sporting son, with a flame-coloured border tracing his distinctive features. It’s a proud Irishman with an 11 on the chest and a face that appears to be roaring in celebration. James McClean is instantly recognisable.
Around these parts, there are constant reminders that he is one of their own. In truth, it only takes a matter of seconds.
“Look,” barks O’Doherty, “There’s James’ mother now.”
He points to a couple coming out of a shop and getting into a car. O’Doherty flags the vehicle down and introduces McClean’s parents, Patrick (Waxsy) and Shauna, to the stranger from Dublin.
He asks if they would be open to a chat with a journalist looking to learn about their son’s background. Waxsy pauses. “Aye,” he says, gruffly. “Bring him up to the house.”
It turns out that O’Doherty, a mentor to the young footballer as he climbed the ranks, is a man who can quite literally open doors.
On the short walk to Creggan Heights, he provides a brief history lesson. The first part is viewable along the way. Just around the corner from the murals, and past a car wash, there is a giant display presenting a black and white photo-history of Bloody Sunday.
It chronologically lays out the events of that fateful January day in 1972. The last board features a row of coffins laid out in the neighbouring St Mary’s Church.
“The march started just over there,” he says, pointing in the direction of the Bishop’s Field sports complex next to the Corned Beef Tin – a centre that is named as such because the old building on the same site looked remarkably like a Fray Bentos container.
School is about to break up and the memorial means the kids from the Holy Child Primary that stream out onto Central Drive will always be aware of the area’s history. Their present is shaped by the past. McClean is their modernday idol.
Outside of here, he can be depicted in less flattering terms. The aggression when he’s on the pitch and the tackles, the tweets, and maybe even the tattoos, are used to cultivate an image. And in November, the month where there is a space on his shirt where every other professional footballer in England wears a poppy, that image can be spun into a caricature. There are people who see what they want to see.
But to understand James McClean, one must understand Creggan. This can be the only starting point for his story.