Next Sunday, April 11, will be the 22nd anniversary of the day John Power knew he still had it.
t 33, the prodigal son of Kilkenny hurling was no young wannabe – but he hadn’t played for his county since 1997. And now, facing Wexford in the first match of his second coming, under a rookie manager called Brian Cody, an early litmus test like no other awaited.
“When I went back in training in ’99, I got no league game apart from the last game against Wexford in Nowlan Park. I played on Liam Dunne,” he recalls, “and myself and Dunne had great acquaintances that time. I knew I was back, and I knew it was in me to play after that game. And I think Brian did as well.”
Power’s head-to-heads with the Wexford centre-back were the stuff of legend in the South-East. Dunne once compared their duels to “something you might see in Vietnam”.
The Callan man laughs when asked if the metaphor was an embellishment of the truth. “Well, I’d say he was soft on that!” he says. “’Twas absolutely ferocious. We didn’t care what bones we broke or what we’d done but, would you believe it, we’re great friends.
“There was never a game that we didn’t turn around and shake hands with one another and give one another a hug coming out of Croke Park.
“But when the game was on, it was ferocious. It was kill or be killed, and there was no relent on either side.
“And he was a wonderful player; he was a great ball-player and made of steel, and he had a great mindset to win. Like, he did an awful amount for the ’96 All-Ireland (win) for Wexford, and I think they’re underestimated, himself and Larry (O’Gorman). They talk about Tommy and JJ . . . they’re the Tommy and JJ of Wexford. And they had to come the hard route to it.
“But, sure, there were things that we did, and if it was done now you wouldn’t play for the rest of the year and, I suppose, rightly so when there’d be young lads looking on.
“But I didn’t really care that time. You just tore into it and, come hell or high water, it was just break him down. And there were some days he broke me down, and there were more days I got the better of him. But a great friendship.”
It was, he stresses, “far from” what you might call dirty play.
“I’d say it was testing one another’s mettle out to the very inch. Who was going to back out of a tackle, or under the high ball,” he explains. “But still, when it came down to it, he was able to play the piano as well as carry it.”
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Power retired in 2002, having relished every one of the “four wonderful years” that comprised the glorious autumn of his days in black and amber. He had been dropped from the panel by Kevin Fennelly in ’98 – a “wrong decision”, he still maintains, even if he has come to appreciate some of the thinking behind it.
He had won back-to-back All-Irelands in ’92 and ’93, but then hurling’s revolution years as Offaly, Clare and Wexford took over coincided with a nosedive in fortunes for both Kilkenny and Power.
He picked up an injury in ’97 as well as pneumonia that spring, which meant he didn’t play much of the league. In that same year, his wife Margaret gave birth to twin boys, James and Seán; Billy and Caoimhe would arrive later.
“When they (Fennelly’s management team) sat down to add it up, they were saying maybe he’s at the end of it,” he surmises. “I was mad at the time but, looking back on it, they were trying to get a new team off the ground . . . but I think ’twas a wrong decision because they had no replacement at the time. I wouldn’t see any sense in getting rid of a fella, not unless you have someone.”
Reporters approached asking if he had retired. “No, I’m not retired, don’t write anything about me, I’ll be back!” he would respond.
“And in fairness Brian came in then and I played a club match against James Stephens and I played very well, and I suppose he was eyeing me up.
“We had a chat around Christmas time, and he gave me the option of coming in with no strings attached
. . . and, God, I was humming and hawing with it for a week or 10 days, and he rang me and he said, ‘Either in or out now’ and I went back. I went into the CBS one night and started training. I got four great years with him.”
The rest is history: a splendid comeback season unfairly overshadowed by final defeat to Cork in ’99, All-Ireland redemption against Offaly in 2000, and then even a fourth Celtic Cross in ’02, coming off the bench for a late swansong against Clare in the final.
By then, however, another flame-haired colossus had moved from elsewhere in attack to lay permanent claim to his old No 11 jersey. Henry Shefflin was in his early 20s but already moving into his pomp.
“It was time to pack your bags and run when he appeared!” says Power, who had intended to retire after ’01 only to be convinced to stay on after Andy Comerford assumed the captaincy.
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Hard to believe that, almost two decades later, Cody is still there. “Well, I’m not really amazed,” Power demurs. He has never met a coach or a GAA man with such passion.
“People in Kilkenny are saying maybe that he’s there long enough,” he reflects, “but I think he’ll have a big part to play in Kilkenny hurling until he vacates the world because, you know, he’s unique.
“I know people would say maybe we didn’t win for six years – but asking Brian not to be there, I think that’s wrong.
“I think there are bigger undercurrents in Kilkenny hurling that [explain why] we’re not successful at the minute, going back down through our development squads, and I don’t think Brian is answerable.”
He name-checks Shefflin as an obvious contender to succeed Cody, given his All-Ireland club triumphs with Ballyhale, but adds: “Who knows with Brian? I’d like to see him being left alone; he’s after giving so much that he deserves to be able to relax and go in his own time.”
What is clear, however, is that Cody’s reign has straddled two very different games, even if the fundamentals of hurling remain unaltered.
“I wouldn’t think that it’s gone too soft,” says Power – more so a case that tactics and possession-retention are now king.
He highlights Kilkenny’s history for producing wing-backs, often small in stature but with great wrists. They were “lifting-and-striking men, first-time down to the forward line, and the spectator saw off-the-cuff hurling where we really didn’t know what was going to happen.
“But now a little bit of soccer is after coming into it,” he adds, alluding to those pass-between-the-lines moves now in vogue. “The mystery has gone out of hurling to a degree, I think. It’s build to the score now, and I suppose that’s coaching and videos and having team talks, the opposite team is being scrutinised.”
Would he enjoy playing it?
“No, not really. The straightforward and free-flowing game – it’s lovely to see that,” he replies. “I’d enjoy it more carefree and the hair flying without the helmet, and you’re out there to enjoy yourself. Like, there’s a lot of pressure on players now. I know players always had pressure . . . but to a degree it was [pressure] to play reasonably well.”
Whereas now it’s about fitting into the system. “You forfeit a bit of your game. You have to do X, Y and Z, whereas before the hurley was ‘bet’ off the table and everyone got psyched up and you were going to war.”
There’s another factor that might have constrained Power’s hurling career if he were 30 years younger: his first love, the land. He and his two brothers, Jim and Edmund, are in partnership, milking 500 cows while also engaging in some tillage and beef farming. It’s a busy operation.
His commitment and devotion to the jersey were never in doubt but, when you ask if he views himself primarily as John Power the farmer or hurler, he replies: “The farming way above everything else. That would be my passion. Honestly, I don’t know how I fitted in the hurling.”
The land hardened his body more than any gym could. Sometimes he’d ring Cody – “not too often” – and tell him he was tied up for the week on the farm and be told, “Come in when you’re ready.” If you were honest with Cody, he adds, “there’s no better man to back you” – just don’t try to spin him a yarn to sidestep an issue.
“He gave me great opportunities in those four years. I farmed away, and there were some nights I came into training that was on at seven and I arrived at eight or half-seven.”
One night he arrived at 8pm and selector Ger Henderson offered some sage advice on punctuality. “Listen, John,” he said, “if it goes as far as that, don’t come in.”
Even by the early noughties, though, commitment levels were starting to soar. “My last year with Brian, I think we were on call every night of the week,” he recalls.
Power was lucky that, when he hurled, there were five brothers in the yard. But what of today’s farmer with county aspirations? “If you were an individual on your own, there’s not a hope. A dairy farmer in particular,” he reckons.
“I don’t think the present-day regime is doing anything for it, because it’s too time-consuming.”
