Sideline Cut: He arrived in the colds of December, 1928, and by the time he passed away on August 27th last, the life and times of Seán Purcell had come to assume significance far deeper than his storied feats across the football fields of Ireland.

In so far as there can ever be a joyous funeral, the gathering at the Cathedral in Tuam last Wednesday was more celebratory than mournful in tone as many hundreds came to salute "The Master" of Gaelic football in the middle part of the century.

Many - including GAA president Seán Kelly - were too young to have ever seen him play in the flesh and as film footage of his athletic supremacy is negligible, many in the congregation had pieced together a vision of Purcell through newspaper reports, word of mouth, imagination and boyish imitation. As his brother-in-law Monsignor Tommy Shannon gave his homily, Purcell's boyhood friend Frank Stockwell, with whom he formed perhaps the most vivid and charismatic partnership in Gaelic games, listened from his sick bed. "The Terrible Twins" is an unforgettable sobriquet to begin with and the fact they were born within the same lunar cycle to the same street in the steadfastly West of Ireland town of Tuam enhanced the notion they came as some sort of gift. In a society where sport was the only suitable medium for exuberant self-expression, Purcell and Stockwell were a pair to crow about - not that you would ever hear them talking about themselves.

After being waked for two days in St Jarlath's College - for whom Purcell's first flush of greatness was realised in the snowbound winter of 1947 - Tuam's favourite son was laid to rest on Wednesday last. Because Gaelic football played such a central part in Purcell's life, it was an unusual funeral service, in part a sporting reminiscence and in part an exceptionally brave and tender reflection on an ordinary, modest man who lived a somewhat public life because of his extravagant talent.

There is always the danger at these occasions Irish sentiment might place a false gloss on the departed. But through all the fond reminiscences spoken from the pulpit, the acknowledgement of his son John that there had, at times, been pain in theirs, as in so many households, anchored the tributes and kept us mindful that this was, ultimately, a mere man, with shortcomings.

Frank Purcell, elder brother of Seán, spoke of their formative days in Tuam of the 1920s and 1930s, even then a football hub, with the Kerry of the great Con Brosnan coming to play semi-finals there (against Mayo and Leitrim).

Frank believed Brosnan was the Kerry footballer his brother most resembled and Seán Kelly later explained how Purcell and Stockwell were the only two exotic names to feature in the boyhood games in which they would mimic their heroes. He said a photograph of himself and The Terrible Twins is one his most prized mementoes.

Seán Purcell's football career is reflected not so much in silverware - he has one All-Ireland, from 1956 - but in the transcendent effect he had on those who remember him playing, most of whom insist he was the greatest ever. That is an argument that will rage as long as the GAA survives but it seems clear that as well as his startling versatility Purcell had that rare, casual mastery of style and balance which set him apart on any football field he graced.

But as his son John also observed, the pleasing thing about the long wake in the school of his youth was that most spoke about the man rather than the footballer. Through John's wonderful eulogy, through Frank's distinguished reflection and through the resounding and poignant stories told by his great friend Jack Mahon the details of a warm life filled that vast cathedral.

And it was a life of pattern, of ritual and of a great respect and love for his community. We heard about the daily drive over to Strawberry Hill NS, eight miles from Tuam, and how he would stop for students along the way. He enjoyed the conversations so much that the children devised a code to keep his attention on the road, periodically shouting "bus" or "dog" whenever he seemed to forget he was in control of the car. One ex-pupil said he was like a "modern" teacher, with sweets on the first and last day, a gentle manner and no caning, ever. The pattern of his later life as a newsagent was recounted, from his early rising to the Wednesday night ritual when he would collect the Tuam Herald hot off the presses and deliver it to a few friends and acquaintances, including his son John while he boarded in St Jarlath's.

"But I," boasted John from the altar, "was the only one who got lamb chops and chips with my Herald."

He enjoyed racing and visiting friends and had innumerable houses where he could sit in his regular seat and assume proprietary rights to the remote control. As well as being the godfather of Galway football, he was its greatest fan. When his daughter-in-law Sheila enquired whether he would support the Dublin team managed by his son-in-law Tom Carr or his local county in a league match, a look of disgust crossed his normally pleasant features and he replied: "A savage loves his native shore."

Crowds gathered outside the famous boarding school and the cathedral and lined the main street, where the businesses had all locked their doors and shuttered the windows, as if it were a Good Friday of yesteryear. The great thing about "real" towns like Tuam is that physically they cannot change much, and as the hearse carried Seán Purcell through High Street for the last time, the feel of the place was surely much the same as when he took his first tentative steps from Bishop Street.

It was only in death that they could praise him lavishly because, famously, he was genuinely uncomfortable when his own deeds were voiced. Jack Mahon, a born orator -as so many good teachers are - captured his deft way of deflecting praise. In 1996, Mahon and Purcell travelled north to honour the St Patrick's, Armagh, school team against whom Purcell's Jarlath's had played epic finals in 1946 and 1947. The wine flowed and one of the Devlin boys took the microphone and was waxing lyrical about Purcell until the Tuam man could stand it no more. Purcell leapt up, took the microphone, said "Don't mind me," and began to tell of his short, unhappy life as a politician. In the 1950s, he was prevailed upon to run as a Fine Gael candidate along with John Donnellan, the great Dunmore footballer and TD. The theory was that Donnellan's surplus would see Purcell through.

"I was a terrible electioneer but John's votes saved my deposit if not my pride," Purcell said. It was a close thing and after one of those marathon counts that make Irish politics unique, he was eliminated. As he went to take the stage after the final count a Fine Gael woman from Donnellan country was overcome with emotion and grabbed him by the arm.

"Ah Seán-een," she wailed, "it's an awful pity you never played a bit of football."