Although he spends an inordinate amount of time gazing skywards, Jim Gavin keeps his feet firmly earthed. Most days find him cloud-busting, instructing Air Corps cadets in aviation precision in the military airspace which stretches across north Leinster.

Then, as dusk approaches, he kicks frees with Dessie Farrell in the Phoenix Park, meticulously, with that distinctive hunched gait, the shimmy and the neat steps which precede that thunderous, left-footed release.

And on Sundays, he runs with Dublin. The guy is so busy doing what he always wanted that even pausing to reflect upon it is something of a luxury.

He is rarely still. Yet if the notion of jetting in from Paris to nail frees in a league semi-final against Armagh seems faintly showbiz, the cold logistics of it make for bleary eyes.

Gavin has pursued his goals with the singular focus associated with military life and has selflessly allocated his time to both passions. When he was accepted as a cadet, Gaelic football was firmly, if temporarily, shelved while he accrued the necessary air hours. It was only in 1993, after a seamless under-age career, that he broke into the senior ranks and won a league medal on a gloomy afternoon against the then All-Ireland champions, Donegal.

"God, everything in my life seemed to be at 100 miles an hour then," he says. "I was flying these Fougamaijsters at the time, French aircraft which possessed everything that attracted me to military aviation: fast jets, aerobatics, formation flying, military gunnery - really demanding, but great. And to then win a national title with Dublin seemed too much. But it's all in the dim and distant past now."

His pursuit of Air Corps wings was a relatively smooth exercise, but Gavin's inter-county career exploded only after plenty of time for reflection on the bench. After he was drafted in to the senior side, Paddy Cullen and Pat O'Neill gleefully melted his spirit and reshaped it to suit their philosophy. Gavin the footballer evolved in a room full of strong personalities.

"Definitely, and I suppose I was a bit meek starting off, I think everyone is, and there was a definite pecking order there. Lads would come up and say hello, you'd be made feel welcome, but it takes time to settle in."

His place was assured during a pivotal time in the Leinster campaign of 1995, when O'Neill designed for him a brief which saw him thwart creative half-backs such as Meath's Graham Geraghty and Cork's Ciaran O'Sullivan. It was a thankless, punishing role and one which was subsequently acknowledged by O'Neill as central to the managerial blueprint.

After the All-Ireland final against Tyrone, he stumbled into the dressing-room, physically shattered, and was struck by the utter relief etched on those faces he had so often seen wracked by the ghosts of previous failures.

"The game itself passed us by, it went really quickly," he says. "1995 seems a long time ago now, but I'll always remember that sheer relief because those lads went through a lot. It never surprised me that we had the hunger to keep chasing and there was always a spirit there. But that win was hard-earned."

That year took on a greater colour by Clare's winning the hurling championship. His folks hail from Clare, and that weekend he was "shifted from the bed when a load of Clare men arrived for the final". Countless summers were spent near Lahinch, and Gavin retains a natural affinity for the people. His father came from a pocket which favoured football, but as a youngster he was allowed mill through sports like assorted sweets.

And so the Gavin family will take the Cork route on Sunday, there to watch him attempt to enhance the collection of silverware. His second league final. Is it really an occasion for the butterflies?

"Look, we'd love to win it. This has been great for us, all those games in Croke Park and now a competitive match against Cork. It's ideal championship preparation. But if the GAA are serious about the league, it has got to be played in summer.

"Being honest, those mid-winter games are an effort. And it's not fair on the spectators, watching - well, I won't call it tripe - but they know it's not top quality. Why not try something different instead of saying, `This is how it's been since 1884 and this is how it'll stay'. Football is a summer game, but some counties only get a glimpse of their potential for one Sunday and they are gone."

There is a substance to the bluster which follows the Dublin team this year. Gavin is a seasoned, wily attacker at this stage, an integral part of Tommy Carr's overall plan. Although the rawness is gone - along with many of the faces he grew to know when the whole scene was fresh - he still loves it.

There is a rosy warmth to the idea of a youngster kicking street ball in the Clondalkin of his childhood, enchanted by the mystical sky traffic which purred around at nearby Baldonnel. But although the seeds were planted on those summer evenings, Jim Gavin's story is not really about vague dream chasing.

He remains an immensely approachable, easy-going individual - an increasing rarity on the inter-county circuit nowadays - but there is a slow-burning determination about him.

You see why he is who he is watching him kick frees with that dead-eyed patience and utter focus. He immerses himself in the moment until it's done, and then he moves on. Never still.