“You going to Tony’s* race tomorrow?” enquired James Nolan* that first Saturday night.

“Yeah, I will, I’d like to be there if Tony wins a medal,” I replied.

“Sound. Meet you in the lobby at 6.30.”

Up and at it at 6.30 in the morning. Had no-one heard of the famously indolent ways of your average hack?
I knew then I was in for the long haul.

Unfeasibly early mornings and perilously late nights. Personal battles, universal triumphs, a celebration of the indomitable human spirit, a retort to those who believe transplant recipients should live sheltered lives in soft slippers and softer chairs.

After coming home, I’m pretty sure I mutated into The Village Bore, telling friends how it all worked.
About how Bridie Nicholson* didn’t so much play in the Petanque (think French Boules), as preside over it.
How opponents cowered beneath her larger-than-life persona. How umpires first watched her with an uncertain eye, before realising they were coming face-to-face with one of the Games’ great competitors and characters, and then took her to their hearts.

And how she cried, and we cried, when she landed Gold and made to ring her mother. It was half-six in the morning back at home, but Bridie said her mother had the phone beside the bed.

“Hello mother,” she started, “I’ve won the Gold…”

But she could go no further. The words wouldn’t come.

And then Hugo Boyce*, and the pageantry of his final with an Israeli opponent who could not be accused of a lack of self-belief. The Israeli started brilliantly and there was something of the peacock in his strut.  “Hugo’s some boy, he’ll come good,” re-assured Peter Morgan*.
Methodical as a watch-maker, Hugo picked his way back into the game.

It was an utterly compelling drama. The Israeli lost some of his lustre but revealed more of his nature. The impressively unbothered Hugo was on the verge of world glory, but he proceeded as airily as a man throwing jack-stones at his gable wall.

Hugo nicked it in the end. The Israeli took his beating with good grace. And so, when the ‘hey, hey-hey, hey-hey-hey-hey-hey-hey’ of the World Transplant Games theme tune struck up, Ireland had Bridie, Hugo and the doubles pairing of Monica Finn* and Bridie (silver) making their way to the presentation podium. Petanque, like, is not our game.

These were just some of the moments to bottle. Many others stand out, too.

I stood beside Trish and Tara Loftus as John* (husband and father) threw himself into combat with the United Kingdom’s multi-decorated Derek Johnson in the 100m for men aged 60 and over. A stomach bug had left John ditch-water weak over the previous two days, but he came out to fight.

And how they fought: both men side by side, stride for stride, down the track to roars of encouragement.
Surely one would pull a muscle or suffer a heart attack or maybe even self-combust. Ultimately, Johnston pipped John on the line – but not before the opinion of the photo-finish camera was canvassed – but, cliché alert, there was no loser.

While still sucking in great big gulps of air in the immediate aftermath, Johnston complimented his doughty Irish rival and invited him to ‘come over and run in the United Kingdom Games next year.’ John might, too.

I could go on. There was heroism at every turn. And more partying than you’d get in a month on Ibiza.
And, yes, we did risk excommunication from the NUJ by getting up for that first race on that first Sunday morning. And, yes, Tony did win a medal in almost unbearable heat, and three more over the week.

Much respect for all the athletes, much respect. They were all winners by merely making the starting-line.

* The people behind the asterisks, and their stories in brief:
Tony Gartland, Hackettstown, Co. Wicklow – Gaelic footballer until he got sick, got a new liver in 1993, and hasn’t looked back since. Strong club runner all year round.

James Nolan, Newbridge, Co. Kildare – Got a kidney from his sister Catherine 20 years ago, when he was just 20. In his ‘new life’, he has trekked the Andes, ridden a winner at Punchestown, and sprinted his way into the medals at European and World Transplant Games.

Bridie Nicholson, Sligo town – Spent 30 years of her life on daily insulin injections. Seven years ago got a new kidney and pancreas. Made history in Bangkok by winning Ireland’s first-ever Gold medal in Petanque.

Hugo Boyce, Clonmany, Co. Donegal  – Battled cancer in his teens. Got a new kidney 19 years ago. Thought he had no chance in the Petanque. Then landed the gold.  As you do.

Peter Morgan, Dublin – Since being transplanted with his new kidney six years, has gone on to have three children with his wife Dee. Made his international debut in Bangkok and will be back for more.

John Loftus, Ballybrown, Co. Limerick – Nearly died from a rare virus in 1992. Underwent a kidney transplant in 2000. Won his medal, but suffered watching his beloved Limerick flounder against Kilkenny in Gerry Finnegan’s Irish Bar, downtown Bangkok.

Monica Finn, Roscommon town – Has spent over five years of her life on dialysis. Got her first kidney in 1986, but it rejected after seven months. Got her second one in 1999. Made three of her friends lose over four stone in a Slimathon to raise funds for the Irish team.