The Player: Nicky English was a prince then. His very name had a regal air about it, a touch of the old European Tsar. Course, the man was pure Tipperary. "God" they called him at training and, on some nights, when the gift was in full flow, it seemed like under-statement.

English was a sporting aristocrat during prosaic times in Ireland, inherently glamorous, a metaphor for Tipp's pined-after tradition. Maybe his finest hurling years are buried in those shivering seasons from 1982-'87, the tail-end of Tipperary's most miserable streak, a pitch-black period stretching back to 1971, back to when Nicky was a boy.

"I remember marking Nicky one particular night," says Conor O'Donovan, Tipp's distinguished defender who rose to prominence on the storied 1981-'82 under-21 side, the cream of which would eventually yield All-Ireland senior success in 1989.

"And a long ball was sent, dropping behind myself and Nicky. Ken Hogan came chasing out for it and fought for it with Nicky so I raced back to cover the goal-mouth. Now, the two of them were outside the 21-yard line so I thought I'd have a fair chance of saving the shot.

"Nicky got possession and swung and, to be honest, I ducked. He would have taken my head off with the ball and it travelled too fast for me to get my hurl up. That was when I realised how hard he hit the ball because, sometimes, his swing would look gentle.

"He had great wrists. I remembered then that he had been a good tennis player and maybe that accounted for the wrist strength. But yeah, some nights at training, he was unreal. You'd wish you were in the stand just for the privilege of watching him."

That was the way of him. He would skin you quicker than a camera flash, fleet-footed and blessed with the casual balance that is always bestowed upon the rarest talents like Georgie Best and Carl Lewis.

Global names maybe, but in the heartland of Tipperary, many saw Nicky English as equally celestial, as a once in a life time deliverance. He was a restorer of faith; when people saw him hurl, they knew it would only be a matter of time.

The Manager: Not often Nicky talks these days, but when he does, oh boy. Last week on the edge of the beloved pitch in Thurles, he was caught in a reflective mood and listening to him is the same easy pleasure as watching him play.

Words are measured with English and he speaks in slow mellifluous tones. He speaks of the game with the same respect he gave it as a player. He is excited by this All-Ireland final you can see the fervour in his pale eyes.

But he is apprehensive also because he knows too well how fraught, how unforgettable, tomorrow is going to be for his players.

"I remember the 1988 All-Ireland against Galway totally passing me by. You can try and prepare people for it, explain to them what the experience of playing in an All-Ireland is but until a player goes out and sees it, you don't know what the situation is. That's a concern for us.

"The other concern is Galway, a very strong forceful team. You can't beat hunger and, as well as that, Galway have the players. Last year, we didn't deal well with Joe Rabbitte and Eugene Cloonan, the axis that beat us.

And against Kilkenny a few weeks ago, Eugene Cloonan was fantastic. 2-9. He is on the top of his game and we expect Eugene Cloonan to score against us. Last year, though, heads dropped and we would hope that wouldn't happen this time."

It would be hard to estimate how much he wants this game. The pleasure would be vicarious, less exhilarating than when he was in his prime. Because English believes that talk takes you only so far and the essence of it is between the lines.

"Hurling is going to win this," he vows. "In Croke Park, you have to be smarter, have to be able to put the ball over the bar. We weren't able to do that last year. I wouldn't say we took poor shots.

"I would describe poor shooting in the context of shooting from places you shouldn't be shooting. I would not stop you shooting from. . . . like, an inter-county hurler from 60 yards, in front of goal, has to be able to score. And the difference with us this year is when we got the few chances up front, we could take them."

It all hinges on chances. Nicky converted hundreds; it's the rare ones he missed that hang around to haunt him.

The Player: When he was 13, Nicky English played a football match with Lattin, watched by his grandfather and father. He played terribly and, on the way home, the older folks let him know it. In the house, his mother asked how Nicky went and the elders didn't hold back . "Bit of a coward," said Jackie, his grandfather.

Years later, when conspiring with Vincent Hogan to produce that most elusive of written forms, the enjoyable sporting memoir, Nicky recalled that he cried all night. It was the harshest criticism he ever got, he reckoned.

Over the decades, the substance of that remark was tested. In 1983 against Waterford, he took a hurl in the face. Teeth departed with the gumshield. Blood soaked and transported to hospital in the back of a Garda car.

Twenty stitches and a three-hour wait before having a wire inserted around his teeth, to hold them steady. In 1993, a different hurley, same face. Mangled; two black eyes, intense headache. Still showed for work the next day.

In 1991, in the All-Ireland semi-final against Galway, a glancing back swing opened his eye, requiring eight stitches. That was minutes after a tackle wrenched a shoulder joint.

Twenty minutes later, he ripped a hamstring and was gone, booed off the field by Galway supporters. It was the last days of a bitter rivalry between the two sides.

"Oh, he was brave," testifies Cyril Farrell, Galway manager that day. "And being Nicky, he was marked out for some special attention. We always felt that if English played well, Tipp played well. Ourselves and Tipp were at loggerheads then on the field but afterwards and over time, some of us became great friends.

"I would consider Nicky a friend. Hurling was maybe even harder in the '80s and, with talent like his, you would take belts."

English could take the scars of all the summer wars but hated nature's blows. In the 90s, with his hamstring shot, the speed gradually deserted him.

"The legs are going the same, it's just everyone else is faster," he lamented in 1996.

One instance stood out, in that year's Munster final, when Limerick's Stephen McDonagh hared past him on open plains.

"I read Nicky's thoughts on that later and I actually saw it happen," says Conor O'Donovan. "It was the first time I noticed the deterioration in his speed. But I always felt the guy was right to hang around as long as he did.

"He had so much class, so much to offer. Maybe the injuries robbed him a bit in the later years but he was always a threat."

The Manager: With the team gathering and a baleful breeze around Thurles, Nicky is asked for a sound bite of nostalgia. Declan Ryan, the one remaining link to the good old days, is the subject of conversation.

Maybe it reassures Nicky to see his old team-mate still running.

"He has been a great servant and we are delighted to have him there. He made his debut down in Cork in 1987. That's a long, long time ago."

Then, softening for a moment, he turns to the more senior press men and says, "sure, we were all young then." English has seen many hurlers come and go in his 20 years of showing up at Thurles. Letting go, admitting you can't do it anymore, is sport's last laugh.

There is a chilling passage in Beyond the Tunnel when Nicky knew the light was out. It was after the 1995 championship loss to Limerick and that night they turned to the beer for consolation.

He ended up in Cashel with Pat Fox, standing in a disco, shattered and depressed, watching "the people and their detachment from the disappointment I was feeling".

Afterwards, on the street, he told Fox that it was all over and the two of them began rowing. A few bleary eyed souls watched on from the chip shop. English did play again the next year but the truth had presented itself. In sport, nobody stays God forever.

So, Nicky is mortal now, the guy on the sideline, the one who calls the shot. The crowds swoon for younger stars. Already, they speak of young Eoin Kelly with the same breathlessness as Nicky used to provoke 20 years ago.

Tonight, pensive as he might be, he will also be relieved. Because, being here, preparing his boys for an All-Ireland, it is progress.

"This is a team in development all the time. I'm reluctant to take pressure or subsequent credit on to the management. Our team has learned - it's what happens between the lines.

"We are delighted to be here because, if we had been beaten in Munster say, well starting out on the road next January, I'm sure whatever I would have to say would sound a bit hollow.

"Now, we have a 50/50 chance of winning an All-Ireland and we have to forget about the occasion and the circus that comes with it. Just have to concentrate. Of course, that's easy for us to say."

Words. He tires of them. Nicky is not the most transparent man in hurling, doesn't suffer fools.

"From a distance, he can come across as a bit aloof. But that's not him. He is incredibly decent in a quiet way," says Conor O'Donovan.

"Always good with a handshake, always ready to do a good turn. I remember too, in the dressingroom, he was very quick to compliment lads.New lads, especially. And, you know, coming from Nicky English, it would do the ego good."

The Player: Nicky has won and lost on All-Ireland final Sundays. Nerves wracked him, he shed tears, felt indescribably happy. If life were ideal, he would be on the inside of the lines tomorrow, sleek and 12 stone yet the crowd-pleaser.

This is enough, however. Guiding the boys, living it with them, it is enough. Nicky is the manager and is passionate about it, skilled at it. He calls the shots.

But deep down he is still the young player too, tremulous, godly. In his heart, hurling is a life-long season.