Dick Clerkin will be remembered as the man who could make time stop

There's not much more of a compliment that you could pay an opposition player than, "Christ, I hate yer man."

Dick Clerkin and his shaved head, his bullish shoulders, his brazen aggression and his white and blue jersey was a figure you could've grown up despising as a Derry man. You never went to Clones or welcomed the Farney men up the road without some form of mental preparation for what was in store. When Clerkin came to town, he brought hell and thunder and bloody war on all who dared to stand before him. When Clerkin came to town with a Monaghan crest over his heart, he couldn't have cared less about anyone or anything but Monaghan. The legendary midfielder has called time on a 17-year inter-county career and he has done so with all the grace and glory of one his trademark high catches. In his column in the Examiner, Clerkin penned a beautiful retirement statement, recalling his touching, final moments as a Monaghan player.

"A qualifier defeat to Longford in Clones marked my final day with Monaghan. With the boys struggling with the after-effects of a gruelling two-game battle with Donegal in the weeks previous, I watched on helplessly as a Longford ambush unfolded. Warming up, hoping to get one last run, I glanced into the crowd only to see my eldest son, Cailean, smiling curiously at me from only a few feet away. "He had been running along the front of the stand, mimicking my warm-up all evening. Making way for youth, I watched the final sub being brought on ahead of me. I knew there and then I was unlikely to be togged out for Monaghan again. "Before walking back to the stand, I motioned to Cailean to go for one last length of the stand together. He won’t remember it, but I will. One last memory to treasure, from an already bulging collection."

It's a mark of the man. Pure honesty, full-hearted, raw emotion. Clerkin was inter-county football's last link to the 90s but he had to plough along for almost a decade and a half before he could taste glory with Monaghan - and, Jesus, plough he did. The best thing about Gaelic Football is when you're able to take a step back and appreciate it. We can get so caught up in the nonsense of it, the rules, the structures and the hours it commands but, on a Summer's Sunday somewhere in Ulster, a group of footballers could be playing what hindsight will deem as the most insignificant of games but you see how much it means to them and you're drawn into it too. You watch a man like Dick Clerkin furiously chasing back after an opposition midfielder, you see him diving atop the dirtiest of breaking balls or plunging forward with bodies hanging off him and you can't help but get caught up in the passion of it. You see him grab an enemy by the scruff of the neck before turning around and barking orders at his team mates that the next ball is theirs - no ifs or maybes - and you realise that you're privileged to be in the presence of someone who is so wholly committed to one game of football as if it is all that matters in the world. Dick Clerkin had this unique ability to make time stop, to force the earth to start revolving around the axis of whatever county ground he was in and, for 70 minutes, suck us all in to this pantomime world where he was both the hero and the villain. He had the knack for blocking everything else right out of sight and living his life from kickout to kickout, from shoulder tackle to shoulder tackle and, in doing so, he gave us all the licence to escape for a little while and live every strike of a ball with him. He won't go down as the most stylish or skillful player that ever was but he will be remembered. He'll be remembered for that big heart he wore proudly on his Monaghan sleeve and for the way his manic desire could shift momentum against you for what felt like endless eternity. He'll be remembered as the guy who brought blood, fire and brimstone on Gaelic fields all over Ireland. He'll be remembered for his battles. His war. He'll be remembered as the man who could make time stop; the one who could command all of your attention for a whole Sunday. Even if it was just to hate him. That's what the best of them do. That's what Dick Clerkin did.