Kevin Kinahan's introduction to the manager wasn't exactly formal. One Tuesday night, he walked into the dressing-rooms in Birr. This was during Offaly's summer of discontent, just days after Babs Keating had cleared his desk. "I asked someone where the new manager was. They pointed at this fella with a bald head and silver hair sitting in the corner. That was it."

Michael Bond has carried them light years away from those uncertain days. Talk of Babs is greeted with wearisome looks around the Offaly camp. They have long since moved on and are happier declaring wonder at the healing powers of Michael Bond.

But on Friday night last, the sage one was unavoidably delayed and a handful of supporters sat on the bleachers at Tullamore to watch this revitalised team puc about, awaiting his arrival.

Kinahan taps a ball across field and pauses to consider this Offaly team's latest trick, its stunning blooming at a time when the players seemed content to polish the medals from 1994 and winter out their lifespan in mediocrity.

"A lot has been said about Offaly's attitude and determination, that it's sometimes missing. But you can go out with all the attitude you want and it doesn't mean that everything will be perfect. It boils down to luck as well, you need your share of that."

Kinahan came to prominence during Offaly's most recent golden epoch. He was pitched in as a substitute by Eamonn Cregan during the 1994 Leinster semi-final, a gangly square-shouldered, obstinate defender. By the time the summer was over, Offaly were All-Ireland champions, devastating Limerick's summer with a late rush on goal. Kinahan caught eyes and won himself an All-Star.

There was talk of this Offaly bunch loitering on the throne for as long as they chose, but although Kinahan continued to excel in the heart of their defence (collecting another All-Star at season's end), Clare beat them by two points in the following year's final and they spent the following two seasons languishing in local backwaters.

"We've never seemed to click since 1995, so to be back in an All-Ireland final now is just an unbelievable feeling. It's something you have in your head the whole time, just the thought of running out onto Croke Park."

Although still only 26, Kinahan is something on an old-stager, a quiet-spoken reliable who gets on with business. While the Babs Keating affair left a sour taste, he always believed his team-mates would muster an encouraging response.

"We had a meeting shortly after Michael took over and sorted things and have gone on from there. There has been enough said about that time."

As he speaks, Michael Bond strides briskly on the field, eager to see his players work up a lather. Kinahan has grown accustomed to his coaching style now but in the beginning, he fell upon them like a rush of cold water, rousing them from their slumber.

"He's . . . we're all afraid of him," Kinahan confesses with a grin. "He really has us doing what he wants and the lads just love responding to him, he really gets the most out of his players."

So, next Sunday, they will dig deep, atone for that dismal Leinster Final-showing.

"I think if we won this year, it would be sweeter than 1994, after all we have been through. I'm sure if that happens, a few people will have a smart thing or two to say about us getting in through the back-door, but that won't matter. We have had a point to prove since that day against Kilkenny."

But that was eight weeks and a lifetime ago. Now, Michael Bond summons them with a terse whistle and Kinahan begins towards the manager. All is well again in Offaly.