Ian O'Riordan talks to manager Anthony Daly who is still providing inspiration for Clare.

For a moment it seemed the Clare hurlers would have the last laugh. Flying us down to Ennis for an organised press day sounded like the perfect plan. Until we saw the plane. It just about made it and we didn't so much land on the runway as hit it.

So we find Anthony Daly in the hotel lobby, with a grin that suggests he plotted the whole thing. Let them sweat a little. Just for the craic, like. And maybe they won't be asking so many hard questions. It would be typical of him.

Those who know Daly best greet him with a friendly dig in the ribs. He still has that mischievous streak. The responsibilities of Clare senior hurling manager haven't altered his ego in any way. No new lines have been drawn, not yet anyway. To open the show he's asked about this week, Clare's first championship match, and what's it's like as a manager rather than a player.

"Sure when you're building up as a player you wouldn't have this thing here," he says while grabbing some excess baggage around his waist. "Being manager it's completely different."

So it's going to be one of those chats. Clearly, Daly still doesn't believe in turning off the record. There's no question he won't answer, and mostly he talks on unprompted.

"I mean, as a player it's all about getting yourself right. Your body right, getting plenty of rest, eating properly. Doing the best you can at training, and then cutting back on things as well, like trying to take it easy with work, or anything that would distract your mind.

"Now it's all about me trying to mentally prepare them. Talking to them, and making sure their training is all quality. Because when they go onto the field there's little enough you can do. Make a few changes maybe, but they won't always work. You really only reap the benefit of what you've done for them in the build-up."

Daly is 34, a retired county hurler for just two years. Some people believe he took the Clare job before his time, as if it works that way. Cyril Lyons moved on at the end of last season not because he wasn't good enough, but knowing the team wouldn't easily come again without clean inspiration. The kind only someone like Daly could provide.

He pondered the offer for some time, and for several reasons. His third daughter wasn't long born and it mightn't be fair on his wife Ailish. Business was going well too, in his sports shop in Ennis and his pub Murty Browne's out the road towards Kilrush.

Then there was Clarecastle, his club, which he'd just taken as player-coach to the county title. The playing part probably mattered most. He was easily still cutting it at club level - better than most - and county management would certainly end that.

"In the end, I took about three weeks to think about it," he says. "And during that time I was thinking about who I would bring in if I did take it. Then I called Fr Harry Bohan. Poor old Harry thought we were just meeting up to chat about my own decision. And his advice was to wait a few years.

"Then I had to tell him I wasn't looking to know if I should take it. That I was going into it, and I wanted to know if he'd come with me. So then he had to go away and think about it for a week. But Harry's been great, especially around the lads. He's great man-to-man, and can tease out any old issues the players might have."

Balancing Bohan's old trust was his second selector, Alan Cunningham, the county's under-21 manager. Johnnie Glynn was later called in as team trainer and so began the Daly era. With no looking back, the Crusheen sessions and Drumgeely Hill both resigned to the past. Hard nights now might be a session in the pool.

And his days don't operate without careful organisation. He'll do a few hours in the sports shop in the morning and end up in his pub in the evening. But a positive league campaign has left Clare on a fine footing for tomorrow's meeting with Waterford. And as manager now Daly seems less prone to tension.

"Yeah, and I don't think I miss the pressure of playing. People will tell you it's a great thing to play intercounty hurling, and of course it is. But there's fierce pressure as well, just to perform on the day. If you've a bad game then you're the talk of the county.

"And for the last two years when I've been sitting up in the stands I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Families shouting to take off that useless bollox or whatever.

"Still, some people feel managers take the brunt of all the blame when things go wrong. I can only be as honest with myself as I can, and ask myself if I did everything I could to get it right. And I'm happy with the build-up so far. I'll just finish it off now, get them mentally right."

So the past six months have been a continuous learning process. Dealing with old players, old mates, and any thoughts of retirement. Dealing with discipline. Dealing with injuries. Dealing with us.

"You know I'd say the phone is the worst part, it never stops ringing", and with that he mimes himself pulling a pint while trying to talk on the mobile. "How's the ankle? . . . alright that's a3.10 . . ."

Players like Jamesie O'Connor and Brian Quinn and Alan Markham were among those contemplating their future. Daly said his bit and left the rest up to them.

"With, say Jamesie, it was important to leave the ball in his court. There's no point cajoling a player to come back just because of his value. If his heart isn't in it then he definitely won't perform. And Jamesie had a lot of soul-searching to do, and we gave him that time. But since he's come back he has given it everything and he's been great. More than just flashes of his past.

"And we had lost a lot of forwards from the previous panels, so it was important that we had someone like Jamesie there. Pushing Colin Lynch and Frank Lohan up has helped as well. That's created an extra bit of competition, which has been great for the training."

While Glynn deals with general fitness, Daly deals with all the hurling. And stories already abound regarding the ferocity of matches at training. Part of the deal is that Daly is willing to try anything.

"I suppose I have been picking up a lot along the way, without realising it. You're just going from week to week without time to sit back and think about it. You're trying to think on your feet a lot of the time. Will this work or will that work, this way or that way? And I mean you'd try anything to help them.

"And it has changed a lot in the few years since I was there. Like video analysis and that. I wouldn't be big into that, but if it can help one or two lads then great. Some fellow volunteered to do it anyway so we let him away with it. But just because other teams might be trying different things doesn't mean we should be."

And he'll always find room to compromise. When they started out, Daly would referee all the practice matches. More recently, they decided to bring in a referee, partly because Daly realised he was hardly blowing the whistle at all.

Sometimes, his gambles don't pay off. The last league match against Cork wasn't going to plan and Daly fell to the temptation of bringing on Frank Lohan: "That evening he felt his hamstring was okay. But that's only natural, a guy wanting to play. I mean it was a beautiful evening down in Cork. You'd be mad to go out yourself. Except for realising you wouldn't keep up with Ben O'Connor. So the game was slipping away from us and we threw him on. He made a difference alright, but then he did a bit a damage."

Part of not saying "no" to a player like Lohan is the bond they've known since Daly's playing days. But on the matter of discipline Daly has cut the past from the present. He's found his space and enforced it.

"Of course, it's 100 per cent. Otherwise you're wasting your time. I mean the days of drinking during the week are gone. You'll find out about it and you'll get rid of them.

"We'd one instance there in January, going to a challenge match in Cork. We'd lads late for the bus and we were late getting to PáircUí Chaoimh. And we were hammered. So I cut lose. And that was the end of it. The perfect time for it to happen. There aren't many late for training now."

Still, he knows the iron fist doesn't always rule best: "I'd a day too with Gerry Quinn, who just opened his own bar. He was late there one evening, and I had to ask him what the problem was. Sure his Nashes order had just arrived, lying out on the street and no one else to bring it in. I know myself things like that have to be done."

We're summoned to lunch now, but the stories continue. How an old friend might come into Murty Browne's at 12.30 and expect three pints. Sitting next to him is Clare football manager John Kennedy, and he's just been dragged out to talk to the press.

"No such thing as a free lunch," Daly shouts back, and goes on with some other story. Smiling like he was born for the job.