Fierce shook. Sure we knew, but it would still catch you on the hop.
We did. But it doesn’t make it easier. A great man.
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In the words of JBK ‘Time is a killing thief’
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Was surprised how tall he was when I saw him in the flesh. Always thought he looked small on the tv. Shocked at how shook he is now but time does that to us all.
I could have done without seeing it to be honest. Old age is a cruel mistress.
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It’s an odd photo for the time of year.
Me too. Fuck it
Tough & beautiful all the same.
God love him.
He lived a serious life and I’d envy the fucker for what he’s done all the same.
The mischief is gone from his eyes which sticks out most to me there.
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Credit to Jack, there’s love in the eyes there
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That stands out. Micko is beauty. Life is tough. God bless him. He’s part of us all.
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Jesus lads I’m not the better of that
Ah jesus 
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He’s had a long life well lived lads. No need to over egg it
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Part of us all?
The Micko documentary made a few years back narrated by himself is one of the greatest bits of television of all time.
There’s a hard moon risin’ on the streets tonight
There’s a reckless feeling in your heart as you head out tonight
Through the concrete canyons to the midtown lights
Where the latest neon promises are burning bright
Past the open windows on the darker streets
Where unseen angry voices flash and children cry
Past the phony posers with their worn out lines
The tired new money dressed to the nines
The low life dealers with their bad designs
And the dilettantes with their open minds
You’re out on the town, safe in the crowd
Ready to go for the ride
Searching the eyes, looking for clues
There’s no way you can hide
The fire inside
Well you’ve been to the clubs and the discotheques
Where they deal one another from the bottom of a deck of promises
Where the cautious loners and emotional wrecks
Do an acting stretch as a way to hide the obvious
And the lights go down and they dance real close
And for one brief instant they pretend they’re safe and warm
Then the beat gets louder and the mood is gone
The darkness scatters as the lights flash on
They hold one another just a little too long
And they move apart and then move on
On to the street, on to the next
Safe in the knowledge that they tried
Faking the smile, hiding the pain
Never satisfied
The fire inside
Fire inside
Now the hour is late and he thinks you’re asleep
You listen to him dress and you listen to him leave like you knew he would
You hear his car pull away in the street
Then you move to the door and you lock it when he’s gone for good
Then you walk to the window and stare at the moon
Riding high and lonesome through a starlit sky
And it comes to you how it all slips away
Youth and beauty are gone one day
No matter what you dream or feel or say
It ends in dust and disarray
Like wind on the plains, sand through the glass
Waves rolling in with the tide
Dreams die hard and we watch them erode
But we cannot be denied
The fire inside
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Poor auld Micko. Shocking to see him so shook. I was only watching him recently again in “A year til Sunday”. As soon as Micko walked in to the raucous dressing room after the final a hush descended.
The great man held the room in the palm of his hand. He hit all the right notes, not a hint of sourness from him. Acknowledged how big it was for Galway and all the West coast.
Beautiful scenes. Micko is the GAA.
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Love that scene.
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1:04:00
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