THE sadly premature passing of Ollie Walsh at the weekend illustrated part of the reason why strong counties remain strong and why fundamental shifts in power within the Gaelic games' hierarchy are so rare.

I didn't really know him beyond a few perfunctory conversations. He was one of those figures from a legendary past whose playing career largely pre-dated my vivid recollection. His management of the Kilkenny seniors in recent years was, very prominent, but by then his relations with the national media had grown distant.

An incident with Tipperary's John Flanagan during the 1968 League final led to a suspension which in the eyes of many contemporaries made a scapegoat of Walsh, given certain unpunished deeds in the same match. In the words of Babs Keating, "I felt sorry for him. No one has any quibble if justice is done but in that ease, justice wasn't done."

As usual, the media shared in - or were apportioned some of - the blame for the unjust over-reaction. Although over two decades separated his management of the county team from the incident, Ollie Walsh preferred to delegate media-liaison to Nicky Brennan, although relations with the local Kilkenny People remained cordial.

The connection between traditional power and Ollie Walsh's career is not only that he personified the strength of counties like his own, but that he had no need to sell himself through the media.

When a man has won five All Irelands, grown up immersed in the game and acquired an appreciation of both the privilege and responsibility that came with Kilkenny hurling, he doesn't feel it necessary to validate himself.

In neighbouring Carlow, the new hurling manager Moling Morrissey raised a few eyebrows by saying that outside coaches couldn't have the same effect as those from within the county. In fact, he didn't mean any offence by the comments, but was referring to the passion in people for whom the game and the county are intertwined.

No-one could argue with the achievements of Dermot Healy and Eamonn Cregan in Offaly or of John Maughan and John O'Mahony in" football with Clare and Leitrim and that wasn't Morrissey's intention.

Morrissey was thinking primarily of Ger Loughnane and the heartfelt articulation of everything that Clare's achievements meant to someone who had suffered a lifetime of disappointment before engineering the breakthrough.

For the great counties, there is disappointment at times, but also triumph and that inheritance drives the succeeding generations. Ollie Walsh knew all about it as he grew up and as he played and perhaps most importantly, after he retired.

Outside coaches frequently perform miracles of motivation and organisation, but when they're finished they move on and largely, that reservoir of experience goes with them. Sometimes, there is a Loughnane on hand to exploit the work done by a Len Gaynor but it's not often.

In counties like Dublin, Kerry, Cork, Tipperary and Kilkenny, however, the torch is passed on. Ollie Walsh exemplified it. Even the Kilkennys of the world can't guarantee that legendary players will become successful managers, but there is a particular potency when they do.

The day after his death, Ollie Walsh had been due to throw his eye over a vocational schools' match at NowIan Park. Even to the end, and after the grave disappointment of last year's Leinster final, he was perpetuating the tradition.

Before the 1991 All-Ireland final, he remarked in private conversation that whereas Kilkenny mightn't win the coming match, they would go on to do the three-in-a-row.

That particular Holy Grail of modern hurling in the county might have eluded him, but when future generations of Kilkenny hurlers set out on the same trail, Ollie Walsh will live on in the heritage that drives them.