‘When he was 15, all of his buddies would have taken a drink. James would be in watching Match Of The Day’
THE BOY “YOU know he started off as a goalkeeper,” laughs Patrick ‘Waxsy’ McClean, as he settles back into his chair in a living room that is stacked with family photos. We are sitting in a house on Creggan Heights that is only distinguishable from the others on the estate because of the two nice cars that are parked outside.
There’s an open-door policy for friends and family and it’s a hive of activity. James’ brother Brian comes in and then departs with a gearbag over his shoulder. An uncle, Paul, drops in to sit on the couch and listen as the proud parents, who are understandably guarded at first, discuss the household name that grew up between these four walls.
Shauna comes in and out as there’s a child making noise in the kitchen. Waxsy does most of the talking. “I used to be quick, like lightning, and the older boys in the estate called me Wacky after that cartoon Wacky Races,” he says, revealing the origins of his nickname. “It got cut down to Waxsy.”
He’s a jovial character – the earlier gruffness is really just natural suspicion – and he laughs heartily with O’Doherty as they recall a story from the memory bank when ‘Doc’ was brought in to manage his Saturday morning side. The experienced football man was trying to make things look professional and was going along the line inspecting the studs when he made it as far as Waxsy who was wearing a pair of slip-on shoes having failed to make it home from the night before.
His son would doubtless shake his head at that type of match preparation, and not just because of passion for football boots that always put them at the top of his birthday and Christmas lists as football began to dominate his every thought.
Gerry Colhoun, his manager at Trojans from 9 to 12, didn’t spot star potential. James was a quiet boy – that is O’Donnell’s recollection too – and a diligent trainer. “He was just one of the average local players,” says Colhoun, who comes into the kitchen of the Corned Beef Tin with the Trojans’ 75th anniversary book in a plastic bag. “He never missed a session and would play at left-back or left midfield.”
At the age of 15, he was pitched in with the Sunday morning adult team, a character-building experience. “We believe it was around then where James mentally made the decision he wanted to be a footballer,” says Colhoun,
“It was like he flicked a switch. He didn’t drink or smoke, he just trained his socks off.”
Waxsy recalls the family watching a David Beckham documentary where the subject spoke of being in bed on Saturday night watching ‘Match of the Day’ when the local lads were out on the street drinking.
“I think that planted a wee seed in James’ brain,” muses Waxsy. “When James was 15, every single one of his group of friends would have taken a drink, a bottle of cider, the normal stuff. James chose not to; his buddies would be out until all hours but James was lying watching ‘Match of the Day’. That’s guaranteed.
“He was a slow starter, that’s true, but he was dedicated and knew where he wanted to go.
It was all football, football, football.
“I got him into training to work for a guy who does air conditioning, a friend of mine, and he came back to me a week later and said, ‘Waxsy, there’s horses for courses and he’s not made for the building sites. All he does is talk about football’.”
Staff in the Corned Beef Tin have vivid memories of the fair-headed boy who invariably had a ball at his feet. Then there was the running, the non-stop running that continued right through to his pro career. The hills around Creggan were made for endurance training. Sightings of James running around Sheriff’s Mountain alarmed Derry City staff, but any protests were in vain. Even in the snow y winter of 2010, he set off for a Christmas adventure.
On another occasion, he happened upon a half marathon that was kicking off on Creggan Drive. Despite his improper attire of a tracksuit and flat shoes, he managed to wangle an impromptu entry. His mother’s eyes light up at the anecdote. “He came seventh!” she laughs. “There was a fella in a bar who was telling us he’d trained the whole year for it and James shot past him.”
As a first-teamer at Derry City, he would still venture up to the Trojans’ facility off Circular Road, hop over the fence and carry out his own training session for an hour.
Colhoun remembers going over to tell McClean to call ahead whenever he was planning to pop in so they could put on the heat and let him have a shower or a cup of tea. But the offer was refused. “He would never want to be a nuisance,” says Colhoun. “Other boys were in the pubs on Shipquay Street and James would be running past them. Derry’s had a lot of talented footballers, but if they had half James’ dedication we’d have a lot more players in this town.”