Catching a train from Grand Central Station. Hearing amazing jazz from buskers in the subway. "I'll often walk the two-hour journey from Manhattan to my home in Queens, just to drink in every sight and sound, " says Irish boxer John Duddy.

And he's creating his own New York magic too. Duddy, 28, left Ireland three years ago, an amateur fighter from Derry going nowhere fast. He returns this week as a rising middleweight star who sells out Madison Square Garden and hopes to make a world-title bid next year.

John McEnroe, Liam Neeson and Michael J Fox have been at his fights. But Saturday will be the most emotional night of all. The National Stadium in Dublin will host 'the homecoming' . . . John Duddy's first professional fight on Irish soil.

"If I hadn't come to New York, nobody in Ireland would ever have heard of me, " he says. "I left home completely disillusioned with boxing. I've had a fantastic run over here."

As his hand is raised in the air in the Garden, he'll scan the crowd: "It's like walking down Shipquay Street in Derry. People I was at school with are there. Neighbours who gave me a clip round the ear when I was up to no good as a kid are queuing for my autograph.

"At one fight, Martin McGuinness was sitting beside Joe Frazier [former world heavyweight champion]. I thought, 'What the hell is going on?' On another night, Liam Neeson came over. "'How are you, Mr Duddy?' he said.

And I thought, 'I'm not a mister. I'm just John.'" Explosive fighting style It's been a long time since any boxer has so romanced the crowd. But John Duddy has everything you could ask for in a star: the looks, the charm, good manners and an explosive fighting style. He's like a boxer from the '30s or '40s, when the sport seemed more noble.

Two hours' drive from New York, in a log cabin in the Pocono Mountains, team Duddy has set up camp in preparation for the National Stadium fight against the Italian, Alessio Furlan.

Duddy appears yawning, just out of bed, in a Willie Nelson t-shirt and knee-length khaki shorts. He has piercing blue eyes and high cheekbones. The camera doesn't do him justice. He looks better first thing in the morning than most men after hours of grooming.

"Would you like a cup of coffee? Some toast?

I can't believe you've come all the way from Ireland to interview me!" he says disarmingly.

He loves the Poconos: "I can go running in the morning without worrying about the traffic. I've had a couple of near misses in New York. The taxi drivers are mad. At night, I drive around the mountains. The wee winding roads remind me of Donegal. There was thunder and lightning last night. It was wonderful . . . the Poconos lit up like a Christmas tree."

He was five years old when his father Mickey, a painter who fought in clubs for a few extra quid at Christmas, took him to the Ringside Boxing Club in Derry. "I'd my first fight aged seven. Everything was too big for me: my feet were lost in the shoes, the vest had to be taped up my back, the shorts were down to my ankles. I fought a 12-year-old. He quit after the first round.

"They raised my hand in the air and, from that moment, the only thing I wanted to be was a boxer. I loved the boxing gym from the minute I set foot in it: the smell of sweat and leather, the rhythm of gloves hitting the punching bags, the feeling that so many dreams were in one room. I'd come home from training and put my gym clothes on the radiators to dry and my mother would yell at me to put the stinking bag outside. 'That's the smell of success, Ma, ' I'd tell her."

His hero was Muhammad Ali: "My Aunt Marie, the priest's housekeeper, gave me a book about Ali. I'm still in awe of him. Boxing is a very short career and he gave up three years because he wouldn't fight in Vietnam."

Bloody Sunday Duddy is named after his uncle, John 'Jackie' Duddy, shot dead as he ran away from British paratroopers on Bloody Sunday. He was 17. "Uncle Jackie was a boxer. My father followed him into boxing, so he's the link to me being there too. But I don't box for him. I fight for me, no one else.

"Bloody Sunday happened before I was born. I don't want to cheapen it by using my 15 minutes of fame to talk about it. Some of my family have been involved in the tribunal.

I support them 100% but it's their fight, not mine. If my Uncle Jackie is looking down, I hope he thinks I'm doing a good job, though he'd probably want to teach me a thing or two!"

After school, Duddy worked as a lifeguard in a leisure centre. He spent years trying to establish himself as a boxer. "The amateur scene wasn't well run and I was nothing special anyway. I was a dime-a-dozen boxer in Ireland. Then the opportunity arose to come here and it all changed."

New York had the best of everything: the best trainers, the best sparring partners.

Most of all, there was Gleason's . . . the Brooklyn gym where Ali, Jake (Raging Bull) La Motta, Thomas 'the Hitman' Hearns, Roberto Duran and a host of others had trained.

Their pictures line the walls. "I went to Gleason's and I fell in love with boxing all over again. There's so much history. I thought of all the great fighters who had walked through those doors. It reignited my hunger, I was a child again."

And so John Duddy raised his game. He has won all 20 of his fights since, 15 by knockout.

He's the IBA world middleweight champion and holder of the WBC Continental Americas title. "Happy Days!" he writes on all autographs. After his National Stadium stint, if things go to plan, there'll be two fights in Belfast . . . one for the EU belt . . . another in Madison Square Gardens and then a worldtitle shot against Jermain Taylor.

Taylor wants to fight him now. "If it was up to me, I would, " says Duddy. "But my team say I'm not ready." With good reason. "His heart is bigger than we could ever have guessed and his defence worse, " critic Steve Farhood wrote after Duddy's gruelling fight against Yory Boy Campas in September.

Duddy doesn't move his head or hands fast enough. He takes a punch well . . . "a jaw of steel", his team say proudly . . . but he exposes himself to far too much punishment. "I'm impulsive and impatient. I want to get on with it. My natural instinct is to fight, not hold back. I take too many risks, " he admits.

Measuring up The blood was streaming down his face in the Campas fight. He needed 25 stitches. "I'd nicks before but nothing like that. In the ring, there were two voices in my head. One saying, 'Give up. You're hurt and you're exhausted. No one will blame you for quitting. You want to be able to still spell your name by the age of 30.' The other voice said, 'I'm going to stand and fight, and I'll take what you have and we'll see who comes out on top.'" Duddy stood his ground and won.

"I aged 10 years that night, " says Eddie McLoughlin (51) the man who brought Duddy to America. Born in Mayo and reared in Westmeath, McLoughlin was a boxer himself until he lost a leg in a motorbike accident at 18. Seven years later, he arrived in New York.

"On one visit back to Ireland, I saw a lad called John Duddy in an amateur fight. He was a cleancut, innocent kid . . . 14 going on four. He fought his heart out . . . and lost. He looked dejected. There was something about him. He stayed in my head. Ten years later, a friend back home told me of a John Duddy who could benefit from coming out here."

McLoughlin gave Duddy a job in the construction company he ran with his brother.

"John was eager about everything. He'd lift a steel beam that two men would struggle with.

He'd put twice as many bricks as the other guys into a wheelbarrow and run off with it.

Then, he'd go to the gym to train at night. I liked his attitude. I thought he measured up as a man and that's more important than measuring up as an athlete."

McLoughlin then took the biggest financial gamble of his life: "I owned a few apartments but they were a nuisance because I was never much good at chasing rent. So I sold them and sold my part of the construction company and put everything into Duddy. I was lucky: I'd no wife or kids to worry about. I was living with a woman who wasn't too impressed. She left after that . . . but sure she was no great loss."

'Erin go Brawl' McLoughlin opened Irish Ropes, directly facing Madison Square Garden, to promote Duddy and other Irish boxers. Duddy's success has led to a renaissance of Irish fighters in New York. "Erin go Brawl", they joke in boxing circles.

McLoughlin has faith in his protege: "As night follows day, I believe Duddy will be world champion. If he doesn't, I lose everything. I couldn't really give a rat's ass about the money, it's about following my dream."

He has another one too: "Mayo has never won the All Ireland in my lifetime. After Duddy is world champion, I want to go home and manage a winning team. I've the victory route planned in my head. I know all the bars we'll stop at." Jim Borzell, Irish Ropes matchmaker rolls his eyes. "Another cockamamie idea, " he says, smiling at McLoughlin. "I've been listening to this for years!"

First, there is the boxing to sort out.

McLoughlin has hired Don Turner, who has coached heavyweight champions Evander Holyfield and Larry Holmes, to work on Duddy's flaws. "Shining the diamond, that's what it's about, " says McLoughlin. "Don is the trainer to do it. He forgets more about boxing in five minutes than most people know in a lifetime."

Turner is a softly spoken, reserved man.

The only thing ostentatious about him is a chunky diamond studded gold ring. "John and I have worked on various things, " he says. "I've told him what needs doing. I only hope he does it in the ring." Turner owns a restaurant in North Carolina and does the cooking in the Poconos. Cabbage is regularly served for the Irish boys.

Duddy's sparring partner is Aloysius Kelly (29) a light heavyweight from Westmeath, also brought over by McLoughlin. From a family of 13, Kelly first came to America nine years ago. "Kelly parades into Golden Gloves final", declared the New York Daily News. But injury and personal problems brought him back to Ireland, disheartened.

My biggest mistake "Leaving New York was my biggest mistake, " he says. "I've lost a lot of time but I'll fight twice a month if need be until I've made it.

People say that's too demanding but I'll try.

They say I'm too old to. I pay no heed. This is my last chance. My luck's been so bad, I'd even go back to mass if that would change it."

Kelly has seven children in Westmeath:

"It's hard for them but we talk on the phone.

I don't have much money but I send back what I can."

"Alo's had a tough time, " says McLoughlin.

"But all boxers are hard-reared . . . you don't go looking for them on Fifth Avenue." Kelly makes his professional debut in Long Island in a fortnight.

In the evenings at camp, John Duddy plays the guitar or listens to music: Bob Dylan, Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson. Sometimes, he'll watch DVDs . . . Hamlet, Henry V, or Richard III. "I never thought I'd be into Shakespeare. I've surprised myself." Bizarrely, for a Derryman, he says "jeepers!" a lot. "Oh, that's because I'm trying hard not to swear in front of a journalist!" he admits with a twinkle.

At weekends, his girlfriend Grainne Caul comes to camp. Caul left her Marks & Spencer's job in Derry to be with him in New York. If he becomes world champion, he knows their financial future will be secure.

"That'll be great but, ultimately, it's not about money. It's about finding out how good I am.

I'm not carried away with celebrity. Boxing is cruel. One day you're top of the world, the next you're forgotten. Grainne and I had our picture taken with Liam Neeson. It sat on top of our TV for eight months. I'm happy it's down now and a photo of just Grainne and I is back in place."

Duddy first arrived in New York as an illegal: "I've never forgotten that. I campaign for the Irish Lobby for Immigration Reform. I wear their t-shirt in the ring after every fight.

There are so many people who came over here like me, on a wing on a prayer, with their dreams. Not just Irish . . . Mexicans and Puerto Ricans too. They shouldn't be treated like criminals."

As Saturday approaches, his personality will change: "I'm Jekyll and Hyde. I won't be like I am today, smiling and laughing. If you go into a fight like that, you get hurt. The ring is no place to make friends. I'll withdraw into myself." And what will be in Duddy's head entering the ring? "Nothing, except winning.

I'll start to enjoy it only after the final bell. And then I'll be thinking, 'Right Ireland, I'm back.

It's nice to be home!'"