Éamonn Fitzmaurice: Micko was a force of nature. In Kerry he is a deity.

Who was Mick O’Dwyer? He was many different things to many different people. He was an entrepreneur from Waterville that, by his own admission, was completely obsessed with football. Addicted. He loved cars and driving. He considered doing the Rally of the Lakes once, but a call-up for Kerry intervened, divine or otherwise. 

In his varied business life he ran a garage, a supermarket, fast food outlets, a dance hall, a pub, a hotel and he even was an undertaker. That entrepreneurial spirit was in him from a young age. His father bought him a football when he was seven years old, an extremely rare possession in 1940s Ireland. He fell in love with the game and spent his time kicking that football, he even took it to bed with him. 

The only problem was every evening after school every kid in the parish wanted a kick of that same ball. A second ball would need to be sourced. Micko charged the other kids a penny to play football with him, and his football. With the money he gathered he bought a second football and all was well. Business and football intertwined from the start.

His love affair with Kerry began in earnest when he attended the 1953 All-Ireland as a 17-year-old. He cycled from Waterville to catch the famous Ghost Train from Caherciveen at midnight, that was put on especially for the All-Ireland. It arrived into Kingsbridge (now Heuston station) in Dublin at dawn. It was his first time in the capital and he loved the place from the off. Kerry beat Armagh that day. He was hooked, and he never let go. 

In Kerry he was living deity. He was viewed through a variety of lenses, depending on a person's particular generation. Mick Dwyer, the classy footballer, to elders and peers, the Silent Generation and the Baby Boomers. Dwyer the force of nature and all-conquering manager to Generation X and Micko to subsequent generations. Micko eventually became the universal term for him, one of affection and respect.

Nationally he is best known as the manager who maximised the potential of whatever group of players he had at his disposal, and earlier as a skilful high-scoring forward for Kerry. The numbers merely scratch the surface of his profound impact. Eight All-Irelands as manager, four more as a player, a Texaco award in 1969, a Leinster championship with both Kildare and Laois, and a Tommy Murphy Cup with Wicklow when he was 75. 

He was involved in 21 senior All-Ireland finals. Of course he had his disappointments along the way as well. Galway and Down were his twin nemeses as a player. He admitted to thinking at least once a week about 1982, and that sickening late defeat to Offaly. The wheel went the full circle when he finished off with the Waterville Dromid under-14 team in 2015, when they won a division 5 county league title.

Prior to becoming Kerry manager I had met him a few different times over the years. I remember bumping into him after we won the All-Ireland in 2000 in Croke Park and he shook my hand and congratulated me. I was delighted that he even recognised me. 

Just in case I was getting carried away with myself I met the great Jack O’Shea a short time later and he hadn’t a clue who I was. We are good at that in Kerry. Keeping the feet on the ground. There is always someone who has done more or done it better, to learn from. The passing of tradition from generation to generation. 

I got to know Micko better after I became the bainisteoir. I called down to Waterville once a year for an audience with him. I always left the better for it. I would get onto his son John to check if it was ok to call and from there we built a relationship. Generally I went down pre-championship. 

I am rarely nervous but I invariably had butterflies in my stomach when I turned off the main road down towards Waterville Golf Club and his home. Often over the years I would pinch myself with regard to my involvement with Kerry and how lucky I was. Basically, I was a hurler from north Kerry. I never grew up harbouring ambitions to play for Kerry. It wasn’t on my radar. I just didn’t think it could happen. But then it did. To end up as manager afterwards was inconceivable. Sitting in Micko’s kitchen chatting to him about managing Kerry and learning from him was a moment when I appreciated that privilege. 

I always immediately relaxed in his company. He was such fun. Witty and confident. And that laugh. His husky laugh was infectious. He had a great habit of laughing at himself, which I found hilarious. The two of us would be in stitches laughing at something he said. 

He was a complete rogue and loved rogues, from Páidí to Darragh. And Maurice Fitz. He was mad about Maurice. He always had a twinkle in his eye. He would often preface what he was about to say with “I can assure you.” Believable or not it was convincing. 

I can’t say I got to know him well but I loved those visits. He would text on occasion. When my father passed away in early 2019 he was one of the first people to arrive to our family home in Lixnaw to sympathise with us. He would always have plenty of yarns from the old days. Some I knew, some were new. When speaking of his own playing days he was always brutally honest. 

While he started off for Kerry as a wing-back he was by nature a stylish forward, who loved high fielding. And scoring. He regarded himself as a selfish player and compared himself fondly to Pat Spillane in that regard. His argument for being selfish was, as he said himself, “why would I give it to ye when I can score myself?” followed by the familiar laugh. Some of those scores were followed by his distinctive upper cut punch of the air that became synonymous with him on the sideline and the steps of the Hogan Stand as Sam Maguire was being presented.

When he joined Kildare there was rumours doing the rounds about the huge sums of money that he was going to be getting up there and about the helicopter that would be ferrying him north for training. The day that he was unveiled to the media in Kildare he drove up from Waterville. He landed on in a crock of a Mercedes to meet the locals, to stop the tongues wagging, but as he said afterwards, “I left the good Merc below in Kerry.” 

I loved the audacity of the man and the way he was willing to take on the establishment. He struck a deal with Adidas to wear their jerseys. In return he got £20,000 (a huge sum of money at the time) from the German company for a players fund to put towards the world tour in 1981. Croke Park were dismayed. The day before the final they sent a set of jerseys to the Kerry base in Dublin, The Grand Hotel in Malahide, and instructed them to wear those jerseys or the game wouldn’t go ahead the following day. 

Micko stood his ground. He sent a reply back to say they were wearing the Adidas jerseys, and if the game wasn’t going ahead could they let him know asap so that they could catch the last train to Kerry that evening. In the end the match went ahead, Kerry won the four in a row and the GAA fined them £500. The businessman from Waterville was happy with that profit. 

Similarly he got £10,000 from Bendix for the famous photo with the washing machine in 1985. As he said himself, “Croke Park were on. I didn’t give a damn.” It was all for his players, to enable them to have the trips around the world that they still talk about. He was a complete players man. He loved them and they worshipped him. When Mikey Sheehy, one of his main men, was involved with me as a selector we shared many a car journey as we criss-crossed the country going and coming from matches. Mikey while publicly quiet is fantastic company and a great raconteur. One thing that was clear from him always was the absolute respect he had for Micko. Right up until the end he had them all eating out of the palm of his hand.

On my visits south when talk would turn to the upcoming championship he would go through the team with me and have a comment on everyone. Sometimes he could be quite critical. This reminded me of his column in this paper when he would be picking at Cork when he had finished up with Kerry himself. The impact of this was highlighted very well in Adrian Russell's excellent book ‘The Double’, on Cork in 1990. Back in his kitchen in Waterville I would often find myself defending my players while he would be smiling away at me. He always left me with the same advice - “run the shite out of them!” - before wishing me luck. 

He had great time for Paul Galvin and always asked for him. Paul called regularly to him as well. On one of the trips he brought up the iconic photo of a dashing and handsome Micko standing outside his garage with his name over the door, with Mary Carmel and one of the lads. Paul told him if he was on the go now he would have him modelling his clothes ranges. Micko loved this and always mentioned it.

Prior to playing Dublin in the 2016 All-Ireland semi-final I asked Mikey to invite Micko into training the week of the game. I wanted him to speak to the players and present the jerseys to them for the following Sunday. I felt we were in a great place and a bit of his magic might be the grain of rice that would tip the scale, as Páidí put it. Micko and Dublin. Dublin and Micko. At that time we would have gone for food in the Brehon Hotel after training but Micko wanted to meet us in Fitzgerald Stadium. That was his natural habitat. 

Home of so many great days and housing special memories for him. He came in and watched our final session on the Thursday before the game. Afterwards he spoke. He was incredible. While I can’t remember the detail I can remember that he had the hair standing on the back of my neck and that we all felt ten foot tall afterwards. He then presented the jerseys one by one to the lads. He had a word for all of them. The whole thing was perfect. It was spiritual. I thought we couldn’t lose. Somehow we did. The Monday after he sent me a text “Hard luck great display mick o dwyer.” 

The following April when we finally beat that Dublin team in a game of significance in Croke Park the text came through the following day “Well done keep it going mick o.” Happy to beat the Dubs but thinking of championship straight away. As always was his way.

He will be hugely missed, by his family in particular. He was larger than life, a warm rogue who loved football, Kerry and Waterville. As he said himself “I had a marvellous run but wasn’t I lucky to be born in Kerry?” 

Weren’t we all Micko. Rest easy, a chara.