The final four minutes in Clones were bedlam. Every time the whistle went, they'd tear past the stewards onto the field, certain it was over.

It was like a series of false starts in a 100 metre race. One guy would feint as if to run and trigger a chain reaction and dozens would come flooding onto the pitch and the game still on. In the corner, Oisin McConville got spooked when the idea of the invasion causing an abandonment hit him. If it could happen any county, you'd put your bobs on Armagh.

"I was shoutin' at a few of them to get off, ye know. It was a worry alright, you just don't know. Imagine, you're 10 points up with a few minutes to go and then the game is stopped."

He shudders at the prospect. When at last it was over and they came to greet the players - this cascading riot of orange - the old venue gave way to scenes of childish delight. It took McConville an age to work his way through the hugs and backslaps to the safety of the barrier and on up the steps to where Jarlath Burn was preparing to deliver a lengthy oration.

From the stands that sultry evening transpired one of Ulster footballs most poignant vistas. Burns and the Armagh players looked down upon thousands of Armagh fans, just a heaving body of orange. Right in front of the barrier, though, stood Down's James McCartan, alone and conspicuous in his red jersey. As he stood applauding Burns's speech, Armagh men strained across the barrier to reach him. They wanted to shake his hand.

"Aye, I was aware of him being there alright," recalls McConville.

"It was a class touch. See, James knew what it was all about. He'd stood where we were that day, he'd been through it all. And he would have known some of the lads through the Sigerson or whatever. I think he understood what the occasion meant to us and part of him appreciated that."

Armagh is awash with Oisinmania right now. Sure, Diarmuid Marsden is still the prodigy but McConville moves easily in the public eye while his attacking partner is a shy, private individual. Camera lights and quotes don't faze the Crossmaglen man and maybe at heart, he has a touch of the entertainer in him.

That flair was rarely as evident as in the closing minutes of the Ulster final, when McConville broke free behind Down's last line and raced onto the ball with the 'keeper to beat. He found himself trying to chip the keeper from 30 yards.

"I was doing it before I knew what had happened. Maybe it's as well it didn't go in, you know, these things can come back to haunt you. It would have made the win look easier than it was and looked kinda flashy. No harm there," he laughs.

But the move was befitting of the sense of adventure which has underlined Armagh's attack all summer. They are a perplexing bunch of forwards who tend to score on streaks and their march over Donegal, Derry and Down was based on their ability to create scores at key moments - killer goals that just winded defences. Against Down, though, they just cut loose.

"I suppose it was my best game of the summer in the sense that I scored 2-7. But there've been days I scored less and played better overall. The thing about that day was we got a lot of room to work in which was surprising. That won't be the way of it against Meath," he says.

On Sunday, McConville returns to Croke Park, scene of the famous Crossmaglen win over Ballina in the All-Ireland club final.

"That was a brilliant thing but in a way, it's more light-hearted.

You're with lads you know, friends and neighbours. With Armagh at this stage, it is more of a pressure thing. For five years with Armagh, I've just been trying to win something. At last we've done that. Now we want more. It's just a question of shutting everything out and going for it. It's what you have to do."