In balmier summers, you'd have found him on the leafy walkway by the Lee, urchineyed and city savvy, scalping match programmes to the chattering Kerry hordes or tight-lipped strangers from Tipp. Wayne's world was no different to that of any Cork youngster, an uncomplicated ritual of school, TV and hurling.

But he felt it even then; that to be from Cork was to be born with a pedigree, that this inescapable standard, this past, ghosted over the streets and fields on days when they hurled as if life itself depended on it.

"It's funny," he admits, "I never saw him play, but it was automatic that when you'd get hold of the ball you'd be saying, like, "and it's Jimmy Barry-Murphy with the ball." The catch-cry for entire generations.

The strange thing about watching Sherlock, spike-haired and economical, holding his ground in Croke Park tomorrow is that if you rewind his story by a few years, he was just an athletic kid with a sweet touch and promise. One of hundreds shuffling around the Grand Parade on a Saturday afternoon. Why him? How'd he get to be here so soon?

"Often it's not the lads with the most skill who make it," he says. It's a dusty Tuesday evening in the city and Sherlock has just knocked off from his job with EMC, the technology firm that he's been with since school.

"Some fellas don't want to take advice from the trainers or whatever. Or when it comes to summers, they think of going away. Or even heading out for the night coming up to games.

"Yeah, like, you see lads drift. See fellas that were maybe better than you when you were young and you think, God, what might they have done."

Although, his father put a hurley in his hand at a young age, there was no sporting heritage in his family. Laughs as he declares that none of the others ever really bothered with games. Wayne though, loved to hurl from the start and decided just to shut his mouth and see what happened. He still follows that guideline. His maiden visit to Croke Park was on the eve of the Offaly semi-final earlier this summer.

"Yeah, that was my first ever time in Croke Park. We'd gotten the train up and went to walk around it. I just couldn't believe it, I remember having butterflies just going around the place and it empty."

The next afternoon, he made himself push the worries aside and swore to himself he'd cherish it as they clacked their way down the concrete stairs. Hit the damp turf and there was Brian Whelahan few yards away.

"Brian Whelahan," he exclaims. "Like, I'd been watching him on TV for the past three or four years and then to be on the same pitch as him was amazing. And the whole Offaly boys, Jesus, like, they're such great hurlers, so skilful. I couldn't believe it."

He recounts that match with the wonder of a fan, little vignettes presenting themselves as he warms to the memory.

"Yeah, that time John Troy took the ball off Brian Corcoran and hit a point. I was standing so close to it, I might have caught it. But to do that to Brian while he was having such a brilliant game. At that point, I shook my head, knew it was going to be tough."

Sherlock himself though was coping fine, living with Michael Duignan on the wing.

"Not a lot of ball came towards us that day," recalls the Offaly forward. "But he was a very neat hurler, as soon as he'd get the ball, it would be gone. With other lads, you might have a chance to hook them but he'd let it go immediately. Seems very mature for a young fella, no nonsense out of him at all. That was my impression of him."

In the hazy aftermath, Sherlock made a dash towards Simon Whelahan, whom he'd gotten to know at the under-21 shinty tournament in March. The embraced, drenched and drained, and agreed to meet upstairs for a jar.

"But then we got to the dressing-room and there was a rush on to get the train. I didn't know what was going on. Wish we could have met, like. It's easy to want to talk to lads when you win but he was just after losing an All-Ireland semi-final and the first thing out of him was `see you upstairs'. There should be more of that."

So instead, he sprawled out on a double seat as the team celebrated, whooping their way through the deserted railway stations on a slumbering, drizzly August evening. Cork boys, All-Ireland finalists.

"I suppose it didn't seem like all that long ago since Cork were walloped in the Park by Limerick. I was at that match. Things were bad then, the papers were letting rip. But, like, Jimmy Barry turned it around," says Sherlock.

Barry-Murphy approached him with a written invitation last autumn. Sherlock had already made waves at minor level and came stronger as an under-21. The Blackrock youngster came with no illusions and a vague hope of making the panel. After featuring plenty in the league, he realised he was in the running for a championship start.

"The Echo had this story on a Tuesday saying there was three lads up for a wing-back spot and that I was one of them. First I knew about it like. Then Jimmy named the team that night and I was in. There was lads coming up and saying well done but it was a bit of a shock. I'd say a few people were surprised."

To Barry-Murphy, though, his selection was not the stuff of sleeplessness.

"His form was such that it was an obvious thing. We'd been aware of him for a while and called him into the panel after he physically developed a bit more. A great young fella, modest, eager. We couldn't have asked more from him."

So here he is, a chosen one. Hurling weaves the pattern now; after work, it's either training or hanging out with June, his girlfriend. Quiet life.

"Definitely, there are things you can't do. Before games I just relax. Watch a bit of soccer. Roy Keane would always have been a favourite of mine, so I always like watching him play."

Suddenly, he becomes more animated as he remembers a story.

"Sure, he was at Posh Spice's wedding and he missed all the photos because he was watching one of the championship games. Cork were playing. Your woman was giving out to him but he doesn't appear in any of the photos. He was watching the hurling. Well, that's what I heard from a truck driver anyhow."

Wayne Sherlock has never met Roy Keane. He reddens at the suggestion that to kids on Leeside, they both inhabit a stellar world.

"Ah no, sure, who'd recognise me walking down the street? Not one I'd say. And I prefer it that way, like."