‘I felt betrayed, I never properly forgave Mickey’
Harte’s actions on day I took ill and the nonsense in his book were an insult, it broke the respect barrier between us
ALMOST everything was going to plan as we headed into the last week of August 2009. Life was good. We were Ulster champions and about to contest another All-Ireland semi-final against Cork. I was looking forward to getting married in December.
For me, there was just one pebble grating under the door. Mummy was laid low the week of the semi-final with a flu, and while doing what little I could to help her I was also pretty concerned about avoiding the bug at such a crucial time. I got through the week without obvious symptoms and felt in flying form during our kickabout in Carton House the Saturday evening before the game.
I went to bed content and excited. As usual on the eve of a crunch battle I didn’t expect to sleep much, but that night is one I will never forget. I had barely hit the sheets when I got the shivers and began to feel weak. Then the hot flushes came. I started to run a fever and it quickly got worse.
I didn’t once close my eyes that night. Hot one minute, shivering the next. Soaked in sweat, I got up at about 3 a.m. to change the bed sheets and, while fumbling about, disturbed Ryan Mellon, my room-mate.
Trouble
‘‘What the hell is wrong, Seán?’’
‘‘I’m in trouble here, Ryan. I feel really off.’’
‘‘Try to get some sleep. It might help.’’ There was no chance. By 6 a.m. anxiety had become full-blown panic. At 7.30am, after struggling to lift my head from the pillow, I phoned Fionnuala.
‘‘I’m in bits here, Fionnuala, I haven’t slept a wink. It’s a disaster. What’ll I do? Do I tell Mickey now or do I just give it a rattle and see how long I can manage on the pitch?’’ Fionnuala was a rock of calm. ‘‘Don’t say anything to anyone yet, Seán. The game is still eight hours away. You might perk up before then. You’ll get through this game just like you do every other one.’’
I dragged myself out of bed and headed for the restaurant. Normally I loved my pre-match breakfast, but this time I couldn’t put a bite in my mouth. The question was now crucial. Do I admit it to Mickey or not? Will I be straight with him or just get on with it and hope for a miracle?
Tommy McGuigan had been dropped for the Cork game, but his form in training had been excellent and I knew he wouldn’t let the side down if I dropped out. Still, I agonised and agonised – and in the end the interests of the team trumped selfish considerations. I found Mickey and Tony Donnelly in the hotel’s Kildare Suite and took a deep breath.
‘‘I’m not in good shape, lads. I don’t know if I’m going to be good enough to play. I have no energy, a banging headache and I didn’t sleep a wink. I’m just feeling rotten.’’
Mickey seemed to take it in his stride. He recognised I was in a confused state and he brought some perspective to it. He said not to panic, as the game was still seven hours away and to get some sleep. Then we’d see how I was doing later on and make the call.
I went to bed and actually managed two-and-a-half hours’ sleep. By now I was feeling slightly more human and thought I might even manage a bit of grub. On the way down to the restaurant I met Tommy McGuigan and I felt a fit Tommy was more valuable to the team than me in my present state. ‘‘God, I heard you’re not well, boy?’’ ‘‘Nah, tough night, Tommy. I got no sleep, but I’m heading down to get a bite now and see how I go. I feel much better.’’
‘‘Ah, not to worry, I’m in for you anyway.’’
My heart sank. So the call had been made. The reality hit: F**k it, I’’m not going to be playing the All-Ireland semi-final! I should never have said anything!
When I found Mickey in the meeting room he said neither Tommy nor I were to talk to anyone else about it. And it wasn’t until some hours later, when the ball was thrown in and there I was on the subs bench, that people, including team-mates, copped that I wasn’t starting. Not one word was mentioned of it beforehand.
I eventually ran on in the second-half, got on a few balls, hit the post with five minutes to go, but Cork were better than us and won by five points.
The whole thing wrecked my head, the way everything had unravelled.
Fionnuala and I were getting married in early December, so not long after the Cork game I went under the knife. During all that time and in the run-up to the wedding I didn’t hear a word from Mickey.
Then in October the extracts from ‘Harte’ were published in a Sunday newspaper. I was in Fionnuala’s house when I was handed the paper: ‘‘ROOF CAVED IN’’ screamed the headline.
Interesting, I thought. What roof could that be? And then, in disbelief, I read the text. Turns out I was the one under the falling timber and masonry.
Mickey’s take on the morning of that semi-final was very different to mine. He felt that I had buckled under pressure. The ‘‘roof simply caved in’’ on me. He was ‘‘puzzled’’ when I told him I was wrecked and hadn’t slept all night.
The extracts suggested that Mickey wanted to see things from my perspective but that, ‘‘apart from a few isolated flashes of brilliance’’, my form ‘‘hadn’t been great all season’’. I thought I had been doing okay, but fair enough.
‘‘As a player Seán had always delivered,’’ it continued. ‘‘He was an icon for us and that greatness had been rewarded in 2008. Maybe the pressure was stemming from that recognition.’’
Mickey wrote of how there was a lot going on in my life, from an impending marriage to my role as secretary of the Gaelic Players Association and too many media and commercial commitments.
He wondered if the Tyrone management had sufficiently ‘‘addressed all those pressures’’ during the year.
God, I was acutely embarrassed sitting there and reading that.
I felt betrayed and humiliated. Did people now think I had bottled it against Cork? I was in utter disbelief.
Mickey’s take on things was a shock. And an insult. I was only halfway through my career. I was 25 and I thought there was much more success to be had, working with Mickey.
In the following days, the sense of betrayal turned to shock, then disgust.
When the time came to send out our wedding invites I wondered about posting one to Mickey and his wife Marian and after giving it some thought I sent the invitation.
A few days later I got a voicemail saying he might be caught at something, but it was never confirmed one
way or the other. On the day itself he may have popped into the back of the church for Mass, but I didn’t see him. I guess I was waiting for an apology, but it never came.
Winter came and went. Our wedding was brilliant and we fully enjoyed it, and once the ankle healed I started to work on my fitness. But I had no great desire to rush back to the Tyrone team either; the whole ‘‘roof caved in’’ nonsense still didn’t sit right with me.
By mid-March, that still hadn’t changed; there had been no contact in either direction. We were struggling in the League and had lost two games out of three. Losing to Monaghan in Iniskeen made it three from four, and a couple of days later I got a call from Mickey asking if he could call to the house for a chat.
Five months on from the newspaper bombshell, I was still annoyed and hurt – I had been avoiding going to team training, preferring to work alone on my own rehab – but I agreed to the meeting and Mickey landed over, sat down in the sitting room and attempted to explain what had happened.
Blurred
His gist seemed to be that the phrasing was down to the ghostwriter and gave a different spin from what was intended, that the context became blurred, but I wasn’t buying that. In fact, that explanation annoyed me even more.
I felt he should have stood over what appeared in print. It had been a dramatic enough headline and probably sold a few books, so I felt he should have said, ‘Seán, that’s what I thought at the time’. I wouldn’t have been ecstatic with that response, but it would have seemed more honest.
There was still a fair bit unresolved, but we moved on. Sort of. It was a frosty meeting. Realistically I never properly forgave him after that. I carried this issue with me for the seven subsequent years I played for him.
It broke the respect barrier between us and whilst I never brought it up again, it was never far from my mind. For all I won with Mickey, for all the years since we first met – and for all that I admire him – I couldn’t say we are close friends. There would still be a distance between us.
Mickey and I differed in our views on several things, but sure everyone is entitled to their opinion, and my only real issue with the man was that book segment.
That whole incident is one I have mulled over ever since and even still I can get upset about it.
It’s something I’ll never forget. That one line. In my head. I paid the price for being too honest. Maybe I need to get over it.