Tremendously entertaining peek insid- e the (stewing) h- ead of Davy Fitz
TWO thoughts quickly formed on finishing this book. The first is that Davy Fitzgerald is one of only a few Irish sports stars to write a second autobiography, Ronan O’Gara and Roy Keane the other notables in recent times. Fitzgerald’s second go is better than the vaunted efforts of the other two.
And the other thought was this: life as Davy Fitzgerald must be simply exhausting.
One pictures him waking in the morning with fists already clenched, ready to roar into a world where he seems acutely attuned to every slight or contrary opinion.
That has been his public profile for a quarter of a century now, since his role as a brilliant goalkeeper on Ger Loughnane’s magnificent Clare team of the 1990s.
Fitzgerald is to conflict what Laurel was to Hardy; where one was, the other could be found, too.
He seems aware of this himself, and there is the sense at times that this is a book designed at least in part to soften that public image.
One recurring feature is the insertion into the story of first-person accounts, usually from selectors or support staff who have worked with him in his management career.
It doesn’t add anything to the story, and is the only misstep in an account well told.
These testimonies take up the entire last chapter, and tend to be variants on the theme, ‘If only people got to know the real Davy …’
It is, of course, that very public profile that facilitates the publication of not one but two autobiographies, and At All Costs is mostly concerned with his career as a manager.
For those few who may not be familiar with Fitzgerald, he was the No.1 on the Clare side that won All-Irelands in 1995 and 1997.
Then, in 2008 he took over Waterford as manager when their players revolted against the management of Justin McCarthy. Fitzgerald led them to an All-Ireland final where they were eviscerated by Kilkenny.
This time makes for some of the most interesting passages of the story. Fitzgerald was just 37 when he succeeded McCarthy, his managerial reputation largely formed in the hurling varsity competition the Fitzgibbon Cup, where he took charge of Limerick Institute of Technology.
In that 2008 final, Kilkenny were at their awesome best, producing the most dominant display in memory, perhaps the best in any hurling final, to win by 23 points.
They were, Fitzgerald says, the closest thing he had ever seen to ‘hurling perfection’, and his determination that that team was the ‘greatest’ is persuasive.
Even as he inspired hope in Waterford, problems were emerging with senior players. The two to whom Fitzgerald pays most attention are Ken McGrath and Dan Shanahan.
That both went public in their own books with criticism of Fitzgerald is hardly coincidental. Fitzgerald says Shanahan was ‘programmed to complain’, ‘self-absorbed’ and ‘precious’. He mentions McGrath being in a ‘sulk’. That both have told their own stories would, presumably, be Fitzgerald’s defence against breaking the confidence of the dressing room.
If not as strictly observed as the secrecy of the Confessional, the privacy of what happens in a dressing room or at training is valued more now by managers and players than it ever was. But Fitzgerald is here responding to public criticisms, and if it upsets some big-name Waterford heroes, it makes for an invigorating read.
There is a meaner tone to his treatment of one of the players with whom he would win an All-Ireland when managing Clare.
Fitzgerald took over his native county in the winter of 2011 and by September 2013 they were All-Ireland champions.
Darach Honan came on in the replayed final win against Cork and scored a decisive late goal.
In October last year, Honan retired at the age of 27 because of a severe hip injury. ‘I put it down to poor load-management and all the training that we were doing,’ he said in an interview at the time.
This does not sit well with Fitzgerald. ‘Darach got absolutely the best of treatment,’ he says in the book, ‘and I can assure you it wasn’t exactly cheap.’
Perhaps not, but it’s the least a player devoting a great deal of his life to a team can expect.
Only a few lines later, Fitzgerald says ‘I always found him a gentleman to deal
They were, Fitzgerald says, the closest thing he had ever seen to hurling perfection
with’. Yet 150 pages further on, in describing the tough training he put the Clare players through in the winter of 2012, he mentions Honan struggling with a drill on a sand-track used for training horses.
‘Darach was probably the poorest trainer we had in my time with Clare, albeit I do accept that he was struggling a lot of the time with injury,’ he says.
It reads as a needless jibe, but it also indicates how much Honan’s comments on his retirement must have stung.
That inability to ignore criticism, be it perceived or real, stalks these pages, too.
Keyboard warriors, nameless, faceless saboteurs intent on undermining his time with Clare, in particular; big mouths shouting over the wire at matches: no matter what the source of an attack, or no matter what its credibility, it registers and nicks at him.
Gossip that another person might dismiss as second-hand news is invested with great significance by Fitzgerald.
He details, for instance, a telephone call he took before Clare started their defence of the Liam MacCarthy Cup against Cork in the summer of 2014.
An acquaintance told him that he had spoken to ‘a very prominent GAA official’, and this mover and shaker had told the acquaintance ‘they were on a mission to “sort out Davy Fitz!”’ Fitzgerald admits ‘his head was stewing’ over that call.
That phrase recurs in a chapter detailing his disastrous relationship with Tony Considine when the latter became the manager of Clare towards the end of Fitzgerald’s career.
This time, ‘a reasonably close acquaintance’ told Fitzgerald he met Considine (inset) in a bookies’ office and in the course of their conversation, Considine ‘made a declaration to him that he’d “sort Davy Fitz out!”’ When Fitzgerald would put this to Considine, the manager denied it, but it does make one wonder how genuine these friends of Fitzgerald’s were, given their willingness to run to such an emotional man with snatches of gossip. Needless to say, this all makes for a tremendously entertaining read. Fitzgerald does bemoan the one-dimensional impression people have of him, and the stress he endures has taken a toll on his health, as he has undergone two procedures on his heart.
The tenderness of the man is not much witnessed in public, but he tells a number of stories that speak to his kindness, including visits to terminally ill supporters and friendships with young people whose lives were cut short by illness.
When Clare won the All-Ireland in 2013, not only did he insist that the cup visited every school in the county, but he arranged
The stress he endures has taken a toll on his health – he has had two procedures on his heart
for the printing of cards that had a photo of the winning team on the front, and on the back they had nutritional advice and a message about the value of sport.
Where his book is most relevant to modern hurling is in his passionate and utterly convincing defence of the tactics he employs, and in particular the use of a sweeper.
For counties outside the big three of Cork, Tipperary and Kilkenny to thrive, they had to be imaginative and have the gumption to play the game in a less instinctive way.
‘Keep trying to meet the traditional giants at their own game and my view is a lot of teams haven’t a hope,’ he says. ‘It’s actually beyond stupid to even try.’ His successes with Waterford, Clare and now Wexford speak to the truth of his contention.
Soon, he will be back on sidelines again, warring and inspiring and barrelling into the headlines.
This hugely entertaining book offers some insight into what inspires him.