Mick McCarthy is a true magician at Wolves

Apr 25 2009 By Mat Kendrick

FROM the moment he hurled a teacup towards my face it was apparent that Molineux’s Merlin the Magician had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Mick McCarthy’s first utterance as Wolves boss was to deny that the initials on his tracksuit stood for the name of the mythical sorcerer. But, considering the shambles he inherited three years ago, pulling Wolves out of the Championship beats pulling rabbits out of hats any day.

Appropriately enough it was a spot of magic, or a sleight of hand at least, which convinced me of McCarthy’s ability to conjure something special. And more importantly it showed me how highly the Wolves boss values the ability to not flinch when faced with whatever is thrown at you.

Myself and a couple of other Sunday newspaper journalists had gathered for an informal pre-match press conference at Wolves’ Compton training ground the season before last.

I was harmlessly minding my own business considering what to ask McCarthy about the forthcoming fixture when he lurched forward and appeared to launch a cup in my direction.