With the sunburst comes a dreaminess that veils the midlands. On the edge of Tullamore, hot tar shimmers in the early evening heat and the county council boys are lolling in the dust, wishing the last minutes of their shift away.

Outside the town houses, older folk rest in the shade and observe the bustle. Temperatures are compared with those of summers long past. Occasionally car radios split the quiet. And at the Gaelic pitch, a uniquely Irish vista presents itself.

Offaly, the All-Ireland champions, are arriving for their last session before the Leinster final and lope across the road to the park serenaded by the musings of a lone supporter perched against a wall. "Ahh, Hubert, have ya not got the hurl with ya?"

The temperature is still in the mid-20s but tonight's routine was always going to be relaxed anyway. There is a serenity about the camp. Michael Bond has his players drop-stroking passes across field to one another and the continual crisp strikes ring like pistol cracks. The steady heat gives rise to spontaneous high-jinks. Two county board men, red-faced and grinning, relive schooldays with a brief water-bottle skirmish. Let's hope their inaccuracy isn't contagious.

The players respond to Bond's refined, western brogue, pleasant but tinged with an edge. No one lingers when he issues instructions. For 40 minutes they whip passes and loosen up and then they troop off. As they depart, the scattered onlookers create a ripple of applause, so sedate and polite that it is reminiscent of a local cricket ground in deepest England.

"That was a big crowd there this evening," John Troy assures you later, by way of tribute to the 50 or 60 souls who caught the last of the rays in the company of hurlers. It is after 10.0 p.m. and the team have finished eating and studying videotape. Last session over.

"The supporters normally come the last night that we are training, although we do nothing. Clap you in off the field."

Even in the presence of luminaries such as Brian Whelahan, Joe Dooley and Michael Duignan, Troy stands apart.

Maybe it's the tight crop of blond hair. Perhaps it is the distinctive stride, loose-limbed and casual, head down as he trots. But mostly, it's his wrist-work. He encapsulates the very essence of Offaly hurling with the effortlessness and fluidity of his striking motion.

"He is sheer skill," says Bond softly, although reluctant to get into discussing the virtues of any one player.

"His control, his ball work, the vision he possesses in singling out other players, these are his qualities. And his fitness is better this year too, he is injury free, and it is clearly helping his game."

The Troy name is legend around these parts.

"Where do I come? Well, there's 10 kids, will we say, and I'm the third last," John grins, explaining his place in the hierarchy. Jim, 11 years his senior, set the standard in the household, establishing himself as the county's long-serving goalkeeper, instantly recognisable with tight, red hair and big, soulful eyes.

"'Twas a dream that you'd play for Offaly, especially when they came in 1980 and '81. I was fortunate enough to have a brother and neighbours on the team and still remember seeing the cup coming into Lusmagh. It was a big thing - tea and sandwiches in the hall, bonfires," he remembers.

As a kid, he would travel to games to watch Jim play games with his father Jimmy, who passed away in 1989, the end of John's time as a minor prodigy.

"The first All-Ireland that myself and my father went to was 1979, I think. Galway and Kilkenny. I was eight at the time. My father was a big influence. Hurling as a young fella was more fun than anything. With five lads and five girls in the house, there was always something going on, we'd split up and get a game going in the field."

His surname led to expectations and the younger Troy met them easily, winning two All-Ireland medals as a goalkeeper (1987 and 1989). He also played in an under-21 final before he was converted to an outfield player in his fledgling senior days. At the start of the decade, he made his debut as a substitute and his star has been in the ascendant ever since. Unforgettable Septembers as a senior inevitably followed and hurling has kept him rooted.

"Yeah, lived in Lusmagh all my life, still live in the home place," he says.

These days start early for John Troy. His work with Beale Electricians has him up early and he puts in hours wiring houses. Nights revolve around the hurling and he knows every contour on the roads to Tullamore. One such journey stands out.

"After we were beaten by Kilkenny in the Leinster final last year, we got together the next night and it was ferocious weather, dark and raining hard. Babs wasn't there - I knew he'd resigned through the papers so we had no trainer. We worked as hard as we ever did that night. What we didn't know was that Michael Bond was in the stands watching us. He told us later that seeing us put in the effort we did under the circumstances made him decide to take it on."

Troy is as wide-eyed about the county's improbable championship odyssey as the rest of the team. So many dumbfounding twists.

"I suppose Jimmy Cooney's error was our bit of luck. It was terrible for Jimmy and I hated seeing him get a hard time afterwards. Never deserved it. But funnily, it gave us extra time. We went into the Clare game at the right angle. If we lost, it was like, sure, we told you so anyway. We got another crack and came with a flourish. "But what I'll always remember is the graciousness of the Clare lads and Ger Loughnane. No sourness at all. Thurles was a great day for us, but leaving it we knew it would mean nothing unless we went on to win the All-Ireland."

Their storied triumph inspired countless words and theses on the unique Offaly psyche, the easy-going stylists who switched on if the mood suited. A touch of truth spiced with myth. But their reputation for knowing how to celebrate is firmly rooted in reality.

"So many functions. There'd be a good social life in the weeks after the All-Ireland," smiles Troy.

He is as content as he has ever been with the game right now.

"It's changed so much in terms of speed, which is good. There are small things that could be improved. The money issue is always there.

"I wouldn't like to see big payments, but maybe a few pounds if a team does well. Like, an All-Ireland week would set you back maybe £500 if you win, with functions and everything. If you lose, well, you'll be in the pub anyway, nowhere else to go. But I suppose we're lucky to experience it."

His only hope for this Leinster final is that it flows.

"I like playing Kilkenny. Always cheered them in All-Irelands before Offaly made the breakthrough. "I remember at the beginning of my time playing with Offaly seeing the likes of Richie Power and Christy Heffernan, players you would love to have the opportunity to meet later. Teams go up to the bar now in Croke Park after games but for some reason stick to themselves. I'd know Pat O'Neill and Willie O'Connor from Kilkenny, but it would be nice to chat to the younger lads. It's a pity that doesn't happen more."

John Troy doesn't know how long he'll continue to hurl with Offaly. Till the bones creak, he says, but even though he is still only 27, he sees other lads lasting longer than him. Golf has begun to occupy the few free hours he has. You wonder if he has ever imagined life without hurling?

"Well, I haven't, but I'd say it would be very boring. Maybe I'd have gone foreign. I was in America for a few summers and that's a good country too. Might have given that a lash for a while. God, I was supposed to go in 1989 and at that age it might have been hard to come back. It's as well I didn't. But who knows?"

A sliver of moon defines the night sky when Troy spins through his home town. It is nearing midnight and the village is slumbering.

Same scene summer after summer. This small place has shaped him and he has no regrets. Fine days gone by and the scent of more in the air. Lusmagh's favourite son locks his car, puts the kettle on and tends to his thoughts.