Tyrone reaction: Paradise does strange things to a man, writes Keith Duggan.
Chris Lawn, one of the old souls of this Tyrone team, shaven-headed and polite, is walking in small circles, shaking his fist at nobody in particular. Young Enda McGinley, a kid really, but so composed and poised out on the field, is hiding in a quiet corner of the room. Tears are falling freely; the boy is quite inconsolable in victory. Peter Canavan is eating a Jaffa cake. Ger Cavlan is leaning against a wall and chatting as though it is Friday evening and he has just bumped into a friend on Main Street, Dungannon. Brian Dooher is hoisting the Sam Maguire above his head.
The famous relic looks curiously magnified as it wobbles above the small man with the lion heart and for a second a crash looks likely. But Dooher won't drop it. Not Safe Hands.
And Mickey Harte, sallow and unshaven, is being Mickey Harte; putting this day of all Tyrone days in some sort of order.
"We have the Cup now," he says nodding in the direction to where Dooher is now engaged in some sort of waltz with the silverware.
"As soon as we have it, everybody else wants it. So no big promises made here. We had to work very hard for this - it took 119 years, I think for us to get it. There is no guarantee we will get another for another lot of years. So now we will have to sit down and work ever harder than this year."
Chris Lawn is gently murmuring on the same theme. After this, anything is possible. After this, Tyrone men will walk on the moon.
"Why not go on?" he says, gesturing around the room. "Why not? These are young boys. And they have it all."
Funny, so much of Tyrone's story was woven into the Peter Canavan crusade that it is easy to forget that the squad is choc-a-bloc full of personalities that wanted this for the great man, yes, but for other reasons too.
See Stephen O'Neill, the All Star substitute who kicked the scores that buckled Armagh. As quiet outside the lines as he is fearsome between them, he is reflecting on the one player whose memory still burns among them, of a kid who passed away in unforgettably sad circumstances when the nucleus of this team were, like him, starry-eyed minor footballers. Dreaming of being Canavan.
"Paul McGirr was everyone's hero on this Tyrone team and he set the standard. It was brilliant what he did for us and we always think of him in our prayers. And it's great for him, he'll be happy in Heaven tonight."
It was for O'Neill a fine end to a season on which he had to thrive on limited minutes. "You can't describe how you feel. Mickey just says to me to go on and try me best and we did that and got there so we did."
And full back CormacMcAnallen, a young player who is to his generation what Canavan has been to the players who toiled through the Nineties.
"The moment I am looking forward to is waking up tomorrow as All-Ireland champions," he says after consideration. "Aye, a night's sleep now 'cos I got no sleep last night. Just tossin' and turnin' the whole night. Though at the same time, I want to stay up all night. Ah, it is just going to be magical."
For all the angst that has been associated with Tyrone football - the anguish of 1986, the so-close so-far epic of 1995 - there are few traces of it in this mad room underneath the Cusack. This is no country for old men. Although it has been Canavan's year, dedicated to the great old soldier, youth is Mickey Harte's main trick. Moy's Philip Jordan, kamikaze brave and full of running, is chirpy and unfazed as he remembers the day.
"Just remember a lot of misses. Thinking what the hell are them boys up front doing. Suppose we could have won by more but it wouldn't be right winning your first All-Ireland too handy. Wouldn't be right to Tyrone fans. We had to give them a few heart attacks first."
And Owen Mulligan, Canavan's most famous pupil, gold-haired and smiling and confident. The face of Millennium Tyrone, bruised and happy after going through the Francie Bellew Experience.
"I have a few wee nips and scars from Francie. Nah, deadly respect for the man. He gets so much stick for slowness and all the rest of it but like, who has ever got the best of him, including meself. I found it very hard - his physical strength is incredible and he is a very close marker. You know, he's very good and whoever can't see that must be blind. Like, my aim was to try and get him booked and when he was I thought he would ease off a bit, but nah."
It was a stop-start day for the Mulligan/Canavan axis. Canavan's withdrawal at half-time left Mulligan with the free kicking duties.
"Aye, we all kinda knew. Mickey is a shrewd man and it was all thought over beforehand. So we were told last night it would happen and we all knew how to adapt to it - McGuigan would play the free role and me and Stevie would work up front. So it wasn't too bad when we got the wee whisper."
The wonder boy stayed cool, even after that famous break for glory towards the Hill End, the sun streaming down on his blond top and the goal at his mercy. Showtime. An All-Ireland on the line.
"Aye, there was a couple of goal chances, including me own and I fluffed it," he grins.
"But you know if they don't go in, thankfully we put a few over the bar. Stephen O'Neill came on, such a deadly man to have near the end.
"We proved that we were men today," he adds. "Everyone says we are a young team but we are men now."
