The Press Conference Strange things, these public executions. Terribly civil and formal. The condemned man scrubbed up well. He always looked handsome in his suit, Mick McCarthy.

After all the whispering and rumour, the actual end was surprisingly easy and polite. This, after all, was the most clandestine and anticipated public farewell since CJ Haughey gave his valedictory all those years ago.

McCarthy, of course, did the State some service, but he was cut from a much different cloth than the political chameleon. Blunt and straight-talking, sometimes charming and sometimes not.

Shortly after 9.0 p.m. last night Mick McCarthy, wearer of the green shirt for 57 internationals, once-styled Captain Fantastic, manager for six rollercoaster years, reminded us of what he was about for the last time. And in his opening address, in a few simple words, he seemed to lay to rest much of the bitterness and recrimination that has side-tracked the Irish soccer story since June.

"It was the right decision. I am completely happy with it. I have not been pushed or shoved. It is for the good of the team as much as anything.

"I don't feel any sense of betrayal at all. I tell you what I feel, I feel immense pride and pleasure at having done this job. It has been a privilege."

And then he looks deadly at the battery of cameras and at those he often felt formed an inquisition against him over the last six seasons and he looked at peace. He looked serene.

Those expecting a rant were disappointed. McCarthy's performance was true to the better qualities of his nature. His message was clear. The past is finally past. It is time for everyone, even perhaps Roy Keane, to move on.

"I think that sometimes Irish football was in the headlines for all the wrong reasons and that's sad. It's not the Republic of Mick McCarthy, but it's not the Republic of Roy Keane either.

"And what's sad is that a player of his quality did not play in the world cup. But what's also a little sad is that a manager who has always tried to do the best for his country has been affected by it."

The spectre of McCarthy's summer nemesis inevitably hovered around the room. But the few times that the Barnsley man spoke of Keane he sounded an elegiac tone rather than the frustration and anger of old. He doesn't know if Roy will play for Ireland any more.

"And do you know what? It's not my problem any more."

On came the questions, wreathed in apologies. Mick doesn't know what the future holds, just that it will involve football.

"This is what I do, this is what I enjoy doing," he said slowly and clearly, as if he'd been trying to explain it for a long time.

He shook hands with Milo Corcoran of the FAI and thanked them with the humility of a countryman who has been an honoured guest at the Big House. He said again that it had been a privilege and he would walk away the same as he had arrived. Head held high. Chin up. Chest out. Same Mick McCarthy.

When at last the questions dried up, he took his leave. He even had the decency to quietly accept the applause from the press corps that rang throughout the building.

Within seconds he was gone, away to toast six years of his life. He has stepped away from the murky underworld of Irish soccer, a wiser and stronger but essentially an unchanged man who will remember those who mattered to him with the greatest fondness. The rest of us he has already forgotten. He will probably grow from this. That alone is an achievement worth celebrating.