Keith Duggan writes about the talent of Diarmuid Marsden, and the expectation that goes with a capacity for acts of swift beauty

From the very start, he was box office, the brightest of the streetwise and crewcut six-counties kids that gave the northern game new soul. They wore suede heads and had this Dickensian look of the orphaned about them and they played football with attitude and lightness. They were a tonic after the grim 1980s and he was always the very best of the new wave.

In Armagh, this love affair developed after the 1992 All-Ireland minor final, a cult classic because of the last few seconds of pathos.

You remember it. All the Armagh teenagers in spectacular orange falling to their knees, just buckling, after Meath put some mangled move together and had the final say with a last-minute goal. It was the first day the world heard of Trevor Giles. They scurried back across the Border and he still has the video. Only twice has he looked at it.

In the meantime, he has been described as the best forward in the game, as a genius, as a once-off. The accolades have followed - an All Star in 1999, Sigerson medals, a Hogan Cup.

So it's funny that, on the eve of his third provincial final in four years, we find ourselves asking the obvious question: who is Diarmuid Marsden?

"I think Diarmuid is the classic example of the college prodigy, the guy who hits extraordinary highs at a very young age," says Armagh legend Jimmy Smyth. "I wasn't at the game but by all accounts, he scored this absolutely fantastic goal against St Jarlath's in the Hogan Cup in 1993, a score that people talked about for a long time afterwards. You know, people who had been going to games all their lives saying they'd never witnessed the like of it. And then he was synonymous with the minor final in 1992, which touched a lot of Armagh people. So from a very early age, there has always been an aura about Diarmuid."

The thing about Marsden is being a serial scorer was never his thing, nor was banging over placed balls. His gift is for the unorthodox, for some act of swift beauty that affects those who saw it. He does things that leave the impression of belonging to a different realm. "I remember he gave this incredible pass from nothing to Oisin McConville in one of the semi-final games against Kerry," says his former manager Brian McAlinden.

"We got a goal from it. And then in 1999, I think it was, we were seven points down against Donegal and he made one goal and scored another. He could transform games in a flash. By any standards, he is an exceptional footballer. He would constantly leave people speechless."

Like Smyth says, he had the aura, the light. One night before Christmas a couple of seasons ago, Smyth took a call one Sunday evening. Armagh had been in Tuam playing a league match and the call was from a Galway man who wanted to rhapsodise about Marsden's performance. In all his years, he hadn't ever seen such mastery or control. He was, he said, in awe. Smyth knew what he meant. That was the general feeling around the Orchard county.

And yet there has always been a troubling vacuum in the Marsden story, a lack of depth. At some point, perhaps after Armagh won their second consecutive Ulster title in 2000, the flickers of genius were no longer enough. The 1977 All-Ireland final loss to Dublin still resonates around the county and with the renaissance came an impatience to set that right.

While Marsden's skill was unquestioned, there was a fervent wish for their hero, their poet, to put on his grandest show in the southern capital. Three times he played there in 1999 and 2000 and it is hard to evaluate Marsden's experiences in the context of Armagh's gallant but joyless results.

"Players like Diarmuid always feel under a certain pressure because of the high demands they place on themselves," says McAlinden. "As well as that, he was coping with a terrible run of injuries. In 1999, he wasn't fully fit going into the Meath game. It was questionable whether we should have started him but he felt he could do it and really, we couldn't afford to do without his talent."

"I think it is fair to say he contributed handsomely in the games against Kerry. The details I can't really remember now. You know, when days like that are over, you try to forget them."

But, of course, it is hard. They stay especially vivid, those Armagh visits, with Croke Park all mandarin and optimistic. When it was over, Marsden had not given this sustained operatic performance. He hadn't owned the arena but he had, as usual, done things that made people shake their heads.

"That's what people find perplexing sometimes, that he will flit in and out of games," says Smyth.

"He would show glimpses of sheer class and brilliance and the automatic tendency is to want more, want it all the time. The goal he got against Meath in 1999, for example, on the turn. Wonderful. The pass to Oisin McConville. Things like that stand out and add to the enigma."

Throughout everything, Marsden has retained a real privacy. McAlinden speaks of him as courteous and dedicated and unfailingly polite. Always. Jimmy Smyth laughs when it is suggested that he must know him well, coming from the same club.

"I wouldn't claim to be drinking buddies or anything with him. What I do know him to be is a very modest, thoughtful young man, quiet. I'm sure he opens up and has the craic with his friends but I would think he is fairly uncomfortable with the profile the game has given him."

Never once has Marsden been accused of having the superstar's pout. Dessie Ryan, the Queen's Sigerson coach, tells a story of the 2000 tournament, which the Belfast academics won. Marsden was plagued by injury and although he was anxious to start, the selectors were worried about the muddy, heavy ground. So they informed the All Star he would be on the bench. Marsden said 'fine' and led the cheer-leading, shouted his lungs out for colleagues who couldn't look at him without being star-struck.

"The unifying effect something like that has on a squad," said Ryan afterwards, "is priceless."

Two things about Marsden puzzle. He has such a range of abilities the sport's sophists can never agree on where to play him. "We tried him everywhere," laughs McAlinden. "I remember him lining out at wing back for us one league game. And he was brilliant because he is, of course, very strong and a direct tackler. It broke our hearts but you couldn't keep someone of his creative ability in there. Out around the wing is probably his best position."

Smyth sees similarities in the mature Marsden and his former playing partner, big Joe Kernan, now Armagh's manager.

"Joe had this dynamism, coming on to the ball with a burst and moving it forward. I think Diarmuid is at his best doing that, coming from deep. Because he has this astonishing speed Joe, in fairness, did not have. And he has the vision. So I would like to see him with the ball with the forward line ahead of him. He can break a game open out of nothing."

Time is the other question. Recently the whispers started that at last the great light was declining. Armagh are no longer a one or two-man show. Stephen McDonnell and Paddy McKeever are now established forward stars, relieving the pressure on Marsden and Oisin McConville. In the draw and replay against Tyrone, Marsden looked mortal.

"All I can say is that he was playing to a game plan in those matches," says Smyth. "I'm not privy to what it was but I know he had a specific role. Maybe that affected his game."

And as McAlinden points out, other teams, especially up north, plan for Marsden with something approaching obsession. He has been targeted over the years, hammered and hammered and clawed at. It is the only way of paying respect in Clones. And Marsden has never complained.

Against Fermanagh he appeared to have recovered the touch, the fine brilliance, landing three gorgeous points from play. It was enough to restore the faith.

And now we are on the eve of another Armagh final in Clones. They bring a touch of hair-salonglamour to the old town, the Armagh crowd. They are fun and loud and confident and enjoying the good times. There is an impatience to return to Dublin, to let nothing slip this time. Big Joe's arrival has created another great push but Armagh are in the autumn of a cycle of domination.

Marsden knows the last act has begun. Brian McAlinden is convinced his greatest hour may be on the horizon. Jimmy Smyth also reckons the player's full potency, his instinct and flair has yet to be seen. He anticipates it is coming. These are both very astute football men, the best in the game. Of course they are also pure Armagh, so, they wait and hope. And they believe.