MICK HOLDEN only won one All Ireland medal. So, what made him so popular, encouraging so many of Ireland's greatest footballers and hurlers to call to his home for Friday's wake, or to his funeral yesterday in Dun Laoghaire?

He was different. He was fun to be around. He never took himself too seriously, but perhaps most importantly of all, Mick Holden had values.

He was a leader. He was loyal, and a fierce competitor. He hated to lose, but he knew how to lose and how to respect an opponent. He took more than his share of knocks and belts, but he wasn't dirty.

Hard as nails, but fair.

When I travel around the country and mention that I'm from the Cuala club, it's extraordinary how many people immediately mention Mick Holden, and inevitably, mention the same incident. It was an All Ireland final against Kerry and Barney Rock went down in a challenge and stayed down. Mick clearly felt Barney could soldier on, so he ran over, dragged Barney up, and told him to get on with it. Although they wouldn't have been his exact words. If there was a World Cup for straight talking, Mick would have represented Ireland. But if defeat came at the end of the day, Mick didn't spend days or weeks worrying about it. He didn't even spend hours worrying about it.

After the 1979 All Ireland final defeat, the victorious Kerry team went to Leopardstown to celebrate, where they were quickly joined by Mick, because there was nobody talking at the more sombre Dublin function, and he wanted to enjoy the night.

I started playing with Mick on the Cuala team when I was 17 or 18. Mick was five years older. Just back from the US, he was the fittest and the strongest player we had, and with that shock of blond hair, he was the fella girls loved to meet. But he had that rare trait of being a fella that lads loved to meet also.

It was exciting to be with him. Even on a quiet Monday or Tuesday night, there was always somewhere to go when you were with Mick. He might have only won one All Ireland medal, but he is remembered so fondly all over Ireland, because of what he represented. He was adored by the Dubs fans on the Hill. This sometimes embarrassed Mick, who became famous for playing football with the Dubs, and, indeed with Ireland. Kevin Heffernan brought him to Australia when Ireland pulled off that famous victory down under with Jack O'Shea as captain.

It wasn't rocket science on Kevin Heffernan's part. If you were going into the lion's den, Mick Holden was one of the first men you'd want with you.

But of course, Mick was a much better hurler than footballer.I remember he scored 2-3 from play against Kilkenny in the 1979 championship.

No average hurler gets that return against any Kilkenny side. He was a versatile, classy hurler, whose talent was obvious from when he played in the 1972 All Ireland under-21 hurling final as a 17-year-old, alongside his brothers, PJ and Vinnie. They lost to Galway that day, and it was always a regret to Mick that Galway built a hurling future around that team, while Dublin hurling didn't move on with the same impact.

He much preferred hurling to football. It's not surprising given that his father, Tom, who founded the Cuala club, was from a big hurling family in Mullinavat, south Kilkenny, and his mother, Josie, was a sister of John Sutton, an All Ireland-winning midfielder with Kilkenny. Of Mick's three sisters, two of them, Helen and Margaret, were Irish volleyball internationals, and the youngest, Josephine, played camogie with Dublin. Mick was always low key, never looking to be centre stage.

But Michael Lyster reminded me this week of one bizarre exception when Mick agreed to go on a TV game show called Play The Game, hosted by Ronan Collins with two teams captained by Derek Davis and Twink. Earlier that year, Mick had a finger amputated following an injury received in a Leinster final, when it was accidentally stood on by Offaly player. Anyway, Twink and Derek ran them through the programme, where they had to mime the name of a book, movie or TV show. Twink asked the lads had they any questions. Mick asked would there be any long film or book titles.

"Why would that be a problem" asked Twink.

"Well, if any of them have 10 words in the title, I'm in trouble" said Mick, holding up his two hands. . . and nine fingers.

In recent years Mick turned to management in Cuala. Previously, several of us had failed to get him to take a team, but the chairman of a few years ago, Brendan Spillane, succeeded. Mick and Brendan became great buddies as their team nurtured. So much so that last Sunday when they beat Ballyboden to qualify for the semi-final of the minor championship, Mick did something I couldn't believe.

He wasn't a great man for heaping lavish praise on anyone, or getting carried away by a victory. But after last Sunday's match, he organised a party for the lads in his house. Mick didn't do parties unless there was a trophy. But his team had never beaten Ballyboden in any age group on the way up. Everyone in the club seems to agree this gave him more satisfaction that his All Ireland victory in 1983.

His son, Patrick, told me last weekend was the happiest he ever saw his Dad. His daughter Jodie was celebrating her 18th birthday, and while he would only admit it to a few, he was chuffed that Patrick had played such a fine game with the minors. He even took the jerseys home to wash them himself. I couldn't believe that. Even more bizarrely, he invited some of the lads down to his house for a glass of wine! A glass of wine?

For Patrick to tell me how happy his Dad was makes up for the shock and pain I felt on Wednesday when I stepped off a plane to see I had 24 texts on my phone, all with the same bad news.

The man with one of the warmest, biggest and bravest hearts in sport had been let down by his heart.

Ar dheis De go raibh a anam.