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10th August 2015
11:31pm BST
The first ball went in against Donegal and, whatever happened off-camera, the visuals panned and Mayo's bomber was lying on the turf as Neil McGee came charging out for the ball.
You're not playing Sligo now, I smiled.
McGee won another, O'Shea was getting it tight.
Then, something happened.
Minute by minute, ball by ball, O'Shea was going nowhere near the half forward line or midfield. He was staying inside and he was fighting his battle and, inch by inch, he started to claw his way back. He started to fight. He started to get on top.
He started giving McGee something to think about. He started panicking the other four sweepers and winning ball all over the full forward line. He was nicking in when he shouldn't have been, he was winning fouls, and he wasn't just turning and running when he got a look, he wasn't losing ball. He was winning possession and bringing men into the game like a seasoned expert.
He played with his head.
And he bode his time.
Until he could unleash the beast.
Then, this happened.
Magic happened. Chaos.
A high ball came in - you know the sort he was getting against Sligo? The sort that would be useless against Donegal.
He fought toe-for-toe with the best full back in Ireland and, with no room for error because he wasn't only being double-marked, he had four yellow jerseys dropping back in front of him, O'Shea plucks it from the sky, he hangs on to it, and he brings it to his clutches.
Then, he doesn't wriggle. He doesn't even duck and he doesn't go looking for space.
You bet your life he does none of that.
He turns and he runs straight over the top of Neil McGee and has no other intentions but going right for the Donegal throat.
He swats Mark McHugh out of his way like he's nothing but a pest in his road and he burns a hole in Paul Durcan's bottom corner to turn a one-point game into four on the stroke of half time.
With one intervention of sheer ignorance, sheer adventure and sheer skill, Aidan O'Shea mercilessly killed dead Donegal's championship hopes and Pat Holmes and Noel Connelly stuck two fingers up to anyone who even dared to suggest that the Breaffy man couldn't cut it on the edge of the square in August.
The second half followed and O'Shea led the line like a bulldozer. He led it like a selfless team player that Donegal simply didn't know what was going to happen next. He led it like a full forward. The sort we said he could never be.
Sooner or later, he was turning Croke Park into another O'Shea master class like we see too often in Connacht. Sooner or later, he had men hanging off him again and he was just playing his normal game unaffected. And he was playing it inside the 21'.
Sooner or later, Neil McGee was the man being taken off having wrestled with the bull for long enough.
I sat with another smile.
'What the hell do you know?'
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