McRae is really good but I found that extremely boring and can’t understand why @Bandage brought it to wider attention. A rare misstep from him.
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Which of his books would yo recommend starting with?
I though it was interesting on several levels, mate.
I’d get shot if I said his one on South African rugby which is extremely enlightening on white South African society pre and post Apartheid. Because I won’t be recommending that I’ll suggest Dark Trade.
Recommendation to read a rugby football related book received.
Much obliged.
Nominations for William Hill Sports Book of the Year:
This could be a decent read
This is a spellbinding book. Fucking magnificent. 
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Brendan Cummins is bringing an autobiography out now.
Bits of it serialised in the Indo today. The most controversial thing in it was how Babs used to invite some elderly citizens on to the team bus on match day and how on one occasion a kind elderly lady asked him did he want to read her newspaper.
Looks like a book to avoid. Brendan is bland which makes him ideal for a slot on The Sunday Game for the next 30 years.
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Not an out and out sports book, but former Dublin sub keeper John Leonard’s book is excellent. He’s lived a mad life but hopefully has come good out the far side. Some great insights to Pillar’s time in charge of the Dubs.
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“Ya look it you know what I mean!”
Must pick this up over Christmas.
Seems to be an absolutely mad story, very tough life between being abused as a child and getting into drink and drugs. Seems to have come out the other side anyway. Fair play to him.
I read a bit of Leonard’s book, keeps referring to Gaelic football as GAA (gahhh) in the book like most dubs do, it’s annoying
Seems to have had a mad life to be fair
Adre Agssi, seems like a decent bloke, the way he went after Steffi Graf was a bit stalkerish
One mans Agassi is another mans glasagusban pulling the stomach out of himself in a park.
what about Jonny Wilkinson, the poor bastard has a severe case of ocd if I ever heard of one
Big Sam’s book should be a cracker.
“Mein Kampf”?
I’m reading Donald McRae’s book “A Man’s World: The Double Life of Emile Griffith” at the moment. It’s really, really good, chaps. I highly recommend it.
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To be fair, the Donegal boys would at least have a few good yarns…this is a doozie
In an extract from his new autobiography titled ‘Winning’ Kavanagh recalls the scene following the battering from Mayo …
As we drowned our sorrows, a few of the lads dubbed it… ‘The Rory Kavanagh and Eamon McGee Retirement Party’.
We decided to go somewhere quiet, so we headed for Downings. It was where it started for us all under McGuinness, and in August 2013 it seemed like the place it would end as well.
I’d been substituted against Mayo and Eamon was sent off. We’d not even said much about possible retirement but at the same time, we fuelled the fire.
‘We’re gone,’ we’d both say… ‘… gone!’
And we were soon gone. [My wife] Kathryn arrived in Downings to pick us up. She was double-jobbing; she was told by Eamon’s girlfriend to get him home as well.
We had poor Kathryn tortured the whole way home. We were soon plonked at my kitchen table, eating crisps and talking shite.
Kathryn popped her head in the door. As she turned for the living room, she said, ‘aren’t you two boys glad you’re home?’
Eamon shook his head, looking at me in disgust.
‘Eamon McGee doesn’t take orders from anyone,’ he then said, for some reason now speaking in the third person.
Our discussion, getting increasingly serious now – no shite talk – turned to how could we get out again? The evening was still young.
After all, it was OUR retirement party. We’d our ups and downs in our careers but sitting at my kitchen table eating Hunky Dorys buffalo flavoured crisps on a Monday night would’ve been a sad way to go out.
We needed a plan.
With no key for the back door and with Kathryn watching television in the other room, our main avenue of escape out the front door was blocked.
‘I’m outta here,’ Eamon said, as he walked towards the kitchen window.
‘Headed for the town.’
I turned to watch a 6 feet 2 inches, 14-and-a-half stone man try to manoeuvre his way out my kitchen window. But he did, and off he went into the darkness. I sat there for a minute or two, thinking.
I sized up the window.
I’d a bit more difficulty than Eamon but was making commendable progress. I’d swung a leg out the window.
Now, I was half-in and half-out. Just as I was about to lift the other leg, the kitchen door opened. It was Kathryn.
And she just stared at me.
I stared back at her.
We didn’t say anything for a minute. We just continued to stare at one another. And stare some more.
I had a look on my face, like the little boy who has just got caught with his hand in the biscuit jar.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ she demanded.
I was still staring.
‘Eamon’s away out the window,’ I replied.
‘I better go get him.’
I swung over my left leg and landed safely in the back garden.
I took off, still wondering how far he had gone.
I soon found him. He was out at the entrance to the estate, waiting on a taxi. We flagged one down and off we went into the night.
Nobody tells Eamon McGee what to do.
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