Point of entry proves heavy cross to carry

Tomorrow, John Duffy will amble out onto MacCumhaill Park to face Armagh, slouch shouldered and flicking back a patented tousle-haired fringe.

Even though Donegal folk are familiar with his presence now, there is still an unknown quality about him, an unspoken fear that the forward might winter out the best part of a decade with the Donegal squad without ever fully lighting the skies the way so many feel he could.

In a sense, Duffy has been haunted by the fireworks which heralded his senior arrival. On a dusty day back in 1993 against Armagh, an injury-riven Donegal team - the then All-Ireland champions - were on the ropes and Brian McEniff pitched his last card, throwing in Duffy with a few minutes remaining.

He snapped a ball deep in the corner and nailed a mesmerising equaliser with the outside of his boot even as the team was suffocating. The headline writers swooned and it seemed as though McEniff had unveiled another gemstone forward.

It has not materialised; the player's best efforts were thwarted by a litany of viciously-timed injuries which confined him to sporadic league and championship appearances.

"I suppose I am sort of remembered for that kick," he told the Donegal Democrat back in 1997. "I am 27 now and still feel like I have to begin playing."

Duffy had just returned from a week in Lilleshall to accelerate the healing of a cruciate ligament operation. Since then, he has flourished under Declan Bonner's stewardship. Dancing clear of injury he has been virtually a constant presence in the half-forward line. His ball-playing qualities make him very difficult to overlook.

Although not particularly quick, he manages to create space effortlessly and kicks with uncanny accuracy off either foot, under pressure or from dead balls.

But his mercurial ability has been more consistently evident at club level than with Donegal. With his club, county champions Aodh Ruadh, he has mixed a tireless work ethic with flickers of jinking, ornate brilliance.

Some matches have been defined by typical streaks of improvisation - a lightning pass from the blue which led to defeat of Killybegs a summer ago, a dainty flick which led to Aodh Ruadh nailing a goal in the opening sequence of the 1997 county final.

But, more importantly, he forages deep for ball and loves to playmake. He is at heart an unselfish footballer and it is possibly this which has hindered his development as a more prolific scorer.

Also, Duffy refuses to abandon his fairly carefree attitude once he hits the turf. "You know, sometimes you're in the public eye and people expect, they might say, `why isn't this kid playin'?, he's just a b*****ks'. But at the end of the day football is a pastime. I make no apologies for that. I'm just doing what I enjoy, not to please anyone but because I like doing it," he said in 1997. Such a mindset may seem at odds with the humdrum rhetoric of obsessive dedication which so often accompanies the modern game. But he was never a fire and brimstone sort, he has always been a cerebral player. Still makes the same efforts as other players, just doesn't feel the need to foam at the mouth while doing it.

He has known landmark days before - played in the infamous puddle that was Clones in the 1993 Ulster final against Derry and had a perfectly legitimate goal disallowed in last summer's northern showpiece against the same side.

Over the winter, he has again buckled down. He has bulked up a little, which may have staved off the injuries.

So tomorrow he will trot out ready to work and there is still a bit of mystery about him. At 29, he still lopes around with a youngster's gait, a natural casualness that serves to annoy critics of his style. Whether he puts poetry on the passes remains to be seen, but he will without doubt cover untold ground.

At his worst for Donegal, Duffy can cut a remote, uninvolved figure, hovering on the outskirts of the action. At his best, he is been a delightful, grafting playmaker and a reliable scoretaker.

But there are those who would say there is a bit of sorcery to be tapped yet, the stuff to match that impudent, golden kick which has remained crystallised through the haze of subsequent years.