Early last week Mr d and I were strolling along the beach in Tramore of an evening when whom should I see towelling down in the company of his family but Ken McGrath (at least I think it was him; hopefully I’d recognise him at this stage of my life). We walked on a bit then I pointed his presence out to my wife who was delighted at the scene. Having seen her pampered heroes let England down so badly during the summer, it was refreshing to see one of ours in a state of ordinary domestic tranquility. Requests to go over and say hello were rebuffed because a) maybe it wasn’t him, and b) the players are entitled to a private life. They give up enough for free without being pestered by groupies.
And just how much they give up was revealed after yesterday’s game as Ken was not informed, at the request of his family, that his daughter was in hospital after being attacked by a dog. Nothing more need be said, except to express the hope that she makes a full recovery.