The son of 1970s Dublin hero, John, has made a big impact since winning a place on Pat Gilroy's first XV, writes GAVIN CUMMISKEY

IN THE modern game of Gaelic football, littered with athletes, James McCarthy remains a throw back. A pacy wing back, to be precise, unlike his father, John, who gathered All-Ireland medals in 1974, ’76 and ’77 in a legendary full-forward line that also included Jimmy Keaveney and Bobby Doyle.

That’s the first thing most people heard about James. “There’s John McCarthy’s young fella.” So he must be good. Turns out he is.

One team that won’t be allowing him slalom up their left flank again is Wexford. Tomorrow’s opponents were just two points adrift in the 57th minute of last year’s Leinster final when an unmarked McCarthy took a kick pass from Kevin McManamon. He sprinted his usual path between the 45s, laying the ball off to Alan Brogan, yet keeping the defence stretched by holding his running line.

Not expecting a return pass — they are rare – he stalled but Brogan fisted it back to him. He stepped outside Daithi Waters, shrugging off the midfielder’s grip, as another Wexford defender slipped and fell. Open country appeared before him.

Suddenly the older blue shirts in Croke Park were willing McCarthy to be his father’s son. He is. The shot arrowed into the top corner, near post. Stride never broken. Dublin 2-10, Wexford beaten on 1-8.

No fisted celebration into the Canal end, no emotion at all, not even accepting a low-five from a smiling team-mate. All the 22-year-old wanted to do was return to his station.

“It just opened up, I kept going, closed me eyes, let rip, you know?” No, we don’t know. Not many do.

That goal is in his DNA. The old man has raised some important green flags. The ’76 final against Kerry. The ’77 semi-final against Kerry too. It is hard to carry the weight of being the son of a player. Especially of John McCarthy. From the moment James started kicking ball with Ballymun Kickhams the nod would go out. “There’s John’s boy.” Same goes for the Brogan brothers.

Following the footsteps of legends is the plight of all Dublin footballers but following a legendary father, well, it takes some doing.

“At the start I was known as the ‘son of’. Didn’t bother me at all, to be honest. I used it as a help more than anything. He supported me. Nah, didn’t bother me at all.”

Is there much chat with the old man about how he has three Celtic crosses to your one? “I did, not so much anymore. He’s let me off. Starting off I did. He used to wreck me head on the way home. He’s laid off me, he’s more relaxed.”

Probably as interesting to him to hear how it has changed inside the Dublin camp from the 1970s?

“Going for a walk we’d be chatting. He’ll always keep me on my toes, wouldn’t let me get too big-headed or complacent. He wouldn’t be long giving me a box on the side of the head!”

That explains the goal celebration. The McCarthy way, the old Dublin way; get back to your station.

Different times from then to now. But we’re still talking about a Dublin team trying to remain on top of the pile.

“He has been there for me growing up, I could ask him for advice. He has been very helpful at home, having him there. He’s been there and done that as well. He has a couple of All-Ireland medals.”

McCarthy’s showing against Wexford in last years provincial final, when a misfiring Dublin could easily have lost, was the moment that ensured he was no longer the ‘son of’ a former great.

“Yeah, I guess I had got two games under my belt and got a bit more confidence. I played one of my better games against Wexford last year and was happy enough with it.”

Established, a few months ago a decision by referee Marty Duffy brought him back into the spotlight. A bizarre sending off in an abandoned game.

Before the mist descended over McHale Park in Castlebar, the sports science student was making his usual strides out of defence when Mayo’s Alan Freeman arrived. The full forward ran into his elbow and collapsed. Duffy blew his whistle and produced a red card.

“I was disappointed at the time but sure, look, you move on. Nothing can be done now.”

But the next player that comes across you like that, what else can you do? “I was just trying to shake the guy off.”

Would you do anything differently? “I don’t think I did anything much wrong, to be honest. . . I’m not too worried about it. If I had done something wrong . . . move on.”

Not jumping for joy in celebration, no complaining in the face of adversity, the ideal wing back, really.