Anthony Tohill was born for these humid Sundays in Clones. He has defined himself by his feats in St Tiernach's, that old hollow of a ground which is the town's last grace note. Once a prosperous centre of commerce, Clones is now a distinctly Ulster football ritual and it is there that the Swatragh man has, at times, stood alone. His sure-footed magnificence in the dark and treacherous Ulster final of 1993 is an obvious point of reference.

Even the television lights failed to dispel the gloom and torrential rain. But Tohill's mastery, his power, somehow ennobled a sorry situation and the sight of his great surge through the mud, as Donegal men lined up and bounced off him - like shadows - was little short of humbling. He looked like an unstoppable force.

Fly through the years to last summer and Tohill is again holding Clones in thrall. It is late afternoon on July 16th and Derry trail Armagh in the Ulster final, 112 to 1-11. Mick Curley, though, has given the chasing team a free - the last kick of the ball - and so Tohill stands, some 50 yards out and at an angle. His kick has the customary distance and promise - the masses from Bellaghy and other strongholds begin a gutteral roar that dies almost immediately as the ball spins wide. Curley whistles time and the midfielder's languid frame beelines for the tunnel, disconsolate.

Between those two points lies the football life of Anthony Tohill. For some, assessing his time with Derry has been a perplexing business. It is acknowledged that the Derry team of the early 1990s ought to have left a legacy beyond their famous All-Ireland triumph of 1993. Implicit is the suggestion that Tohill, also, has never fully rediscovered the heights he reached that year. At 29, reckon some, the full brilliance may never fully be tapped. But not by those who know him.

"Well, given that Derry won the All-Ireland in 1993, the obvious thing is to suggest that it was Anthony's best year. And he was incredible then. But his form has also been superb subsequently," says Brian McEniff, who has both suffered and coaxed Tohill's craft.

"I watched him in the league final games against Meath last year and he was utterly brilliant. He scored an amazing goal and was unstoppable in midfield against no less a man than John McDermott. And what about the ball he pulled from above the crossbar against Antrim? The pity was that he was injured going into the Armagh game but he played through the pain barrier. He has had misfortune with injury. If he was fit, I daresay he would have swung the game. That free? I don't think he would have dwelt on that for too long. Half a pitch away on an injured leg? People sometimes have unreasonable expectations when it comes to our finest athletes."

Shortly after last year's Ulster final, Paul McCormack, a club-mate at Swatragh, met Tohill.

"It is hard for me to say how Anthony looked upon the free. I'm sure he was very disappointed but he is a very private person in that regard and you wouldn't discuss it. You'd acknowledge the defeat and he would appreciate that but we never actually discussed it in depth. It is not Anthony's way."

Respect for Tohill in Swatragh and across the Gaelic pockets of rural Derry is total. This is mainly because of his service to the county but also because of the person: anyone who knows him regards him as a true gentleman.

"Very cordial guy, never comes across as even remotely arrogant about his football," says McCormack. "Anthony wouldn't be one for the limelight, he simply doesn't need his ego massaged."

Hugh Tohill played football with Swatragh in the mid 1950s. His three sons, Hugh Martin, John Francis and Anthony went on to wear the jersey. Their sister Aileen captains the Derry junior camogie team. It is a Gaelic household.

"I have seen Anthony play so many great games for Swatragh that it is hard to single one out," smiles McCormack.

"Even this year he has been superb for us. He is always the focus of the other team. Ballinderry put two men on him in a county semi-final recently. And one of those markers was Enda Muldoon, which gives an idea of the way he is regarded. And he still managed to do quite well."

It is on days like tomorrow that his athletic beauty catches the nation's eye. Tohill has been to Croke Park for a championship occasion just once since 1993, only to endure a tame defeat against Galway in 1998. It is that gap that substantiates the arguments of the sceptics.

Eight years ago, Derry and Tohill were a shining success story and since then have been perennial favourites to win Ulster. But they have stuttered. Lost against Down a year after their maiden All-Ireland. Foolishly lost manager Eamonn Coleman in an Autumn putsch. Got washed away in the brief Tyrone wave in 1995 and 1996 and a year later were upended by a novel Cavan emergence.

Even 1998, their one provincial triumph since the great year, required a miraculous, last gasp combination of Geoffrey McGonigle delicacy and Joe Brolly flippancy to see off Donegal. Tohill endured the disappointments stoically but must have been conscious of the whispers.

His brief investigation into the possibilities of professional soccer suggested he might be lost to Gaelic football, just as he had almost been wooed away by Australian Rules. But a short trial at Manchester United in the mid 1990s led to the conclusion that his raw talent was incompatible with his relative maturity. Alex Ferguson allegedly told him that if he had seen him when he was 18, it could have worked. Derry folk sighed in relief as he resumed his intercounty career and across the county people waited. They expected.

That has not been lost on the Swatragh man. In a candid 1998 interview, Tohill observed: "There was a perception that I was a big nice fella who liked to play nice football. That's because I was playing in partnership with Brian McGilligan. He did the donkey work and got very little thanks for it. I did the nice things with the ball and got the credit."

"When Joe (Brolly) gets a ball, he is expected to beat two or three men and stick it over the bar," he continued.

"I'm expected to catch every kick-out, solo 50 yards and kick it over the bar from another 50 yards. That's not realistic. When you don't do it as often as people would like, they think you're having an off-day."

By then, Tohill had almost tired of the grace inherent to his game. He added the McGilligan element to his game. Graft to win. Derry had seen enough bad ends in classic games. Last year's cliffhanger has been added to that legacy. Tohill owes the game nothing. But what if he retired tonight? What would the legacy be?

"Oh, one of the greats, unquestionably," responds Brian McEniff instantly. "He would have to be. Much more than a great fielder and kicker of the ball, he covers so much ground, gets back on defence, always works. He reminds me of a former Derry midfielder, Jim McKeever, Gentleman Jim they called him. An immaculate fielder if not quite the same kicking prowess as Tohill. But Anthony has nothing to prove."

If Tohill is conscious of his place within the history of the game, he has never elaborated on it.

"Every player has a significant sporting self-esteem. They have to have, it's what enables them to train and sacrifice as they do," says Paul McCormack. "Anthony would be no different in that regard. I think he just wants to enjoy the game while he is still in it and he gives it everything. I certainly don't think he will be looking back with regret."

So, Tohill and a busy, sassy new Tyrone team, square up for Clones. Big Anthony. A true colossus. And the crowd know the stories, have witnessed the greatness first hand and yearn for yet more.

Like shadows, he tossed them aside . . .