t’s the nature of the beast we call football that one day Mick McCarthy and Wolves will part company.

We don’t know how and we don’t know when. But one day there will be a parting of the ways.

But here’s something we do know. When that day does come Michael Joseph McCarthy, humble son of Yorkshire, born in the frost of the winter and Cold War of 1959, will be able to gather up his belongings, button up his jacket, pull back those old centre-half’s shoulders and exit Molineux with his head held high and the everlasting gratitude of Wolverhampton Wanderers FC all but enshrined in its constitution.

On his way out, he can pop over to the new stands being built in no small way because of his contribution and book his place in the Hall of Fame. That’s how vital McCarthy has been to the story of Wolves.

In order to truly appreciate where Wolves are and where they may yet venture, it’s only right to remember where they came from.

In 2006, the club finished seventh in the Championship but eight points distant from sixth-placed Crystal Palace. Wolves were as far away as ever from returning to the big time.

The season had been turgid, tedious and ultimately drowned in apathy. Even its long-standing benefactor, Sir Jack Hayward, seemed exhausted by it all. Spent and spent out.

A managerial acquaintance would later recall sharing a coffee with Glenn Hoddle, the uncomfortable manager who would subsequently slide away in resignation, during which the former England midfielder admitted he “never understood” Wolves.

In contrast, McCarthy understood immediately. It’s and has always been his sort of club and while there have been rows with this demanding family of gold and black, he remains entrenched in its values and at home with its demands.

The Wolves boss is particularly proud, then, of his five years so far. Five years of “hard graft” he calls it during which the club have been re-invented. Gone is the ambling old giant clinging desperately to former glories as its only currency in the modern game.

In its place is a club of the ‘now’ – a still fresh and ambitious owner, with bold new plans to re-launch Wolves as a major player in a new towering, intimidating home venue.

They have a plan and they are sticking to it. Public opinion is respected but no longer the prime directive in boardroom strategy.

McCarthy’s role in all this has been huge and,  four days after a third season of Premier League football had been booked for a nine-month run at Molineux from August, he was relaxed enough to reflect.

Early in our interview, as the conversation wanders on to the summer of 2006 and his first days in the job, he leaves the room to find what we used to call a filofax in which he has written keynotes from his long career in the game

He said: “I’ve got all sorts of old stuff in here, from Ireland, Sunderland. And no, you can’t have a look.”

McCarthy also has his first Wolves team, for a friendly at Swansea, and leafs the pages to find it.

He said: “I remember my assistant at the time, Ian Evans, reading it out to me. ‘Right gaffer, this is what we’ve got – Murray in goal, Edwards, Clyde and Craddock and McNamara, errr, Ricketts, Olofinjana, O’Connor and a foreign lad with a plaster on his wrist called Denes Rosa, Carl Cort and Leon Clarke.’

“I had a £1million transfer budget and £1.5million to cover the players’ wages. I didn’t have a left-back but I saw Lee Naylor, who had been injured, in training after that and thought ‘he’ll do for me.’

“But then Celtic get in his ear and he is in my office saying ‘you’ve got to let me go to Celtic’ and I’m the last person to stop him.

“It was a strange summer. I had lost my job at Sunderland but I was confident of getting another. A few came up – Derby County, Sheffield United, Leeds and then Wolves but they started to get taken and I started to worry. Then I got the call from Jez.

“So, yes, I’m pleased with my five years’ work. It’s been hard-graft and not just by me. There have been fantastic contributions from the staff. But, of course, you have to put that together too.

“That’s my job and I’m pleased with what I have done.”

When he arrived, Wolves were broken – in spirit and in body – on the wheel of a failed Premier League debut under Dave Jones and a tame retreat back into the Championship.

McCarthy put his first Wolves team together on the hoof – Bothroyd, Breen, Craig Davies, Jermaine Johnson et al – and under those severe budgetary restrictions but so warmly received were they he still emerged with huge credit from his debut campaign despite suffering painfully at the hands of arch-rivals Albion.

It was the second year which tested his patience and the strength of his relationship with the club, the fans, new owner Steve Morgan and chief executive Jez Moxey.

All stood the test and Wolves have profited ever since – promotion and now two successful defences of Premier League status. Any supporter would have sold his or her granny to buy that 2011 profile in the summer of 2006.

But McCarthy knows, and acknowledges, the demands of Wolves fans means he is only ever one bad run of results away from being told he doesn’t know what he is doing.

Which is why he adopted that “wait until May 22″ statement as his emblem for this season, it was no glib soundbite.

He said: “There were knee-jerk reactions to performances and results but, ultimately, it was always about where we ended up.

“All along, we had this team spirit, camaraderie and good performances. But when you’re in the bottom three, you’re not going to be playing well all the time.

“I don’t think we will be down there next season but let’s just say we win one more game and draw one more.

“We’ll get 44 points and finish 11th or 12th. It still means there will be 16 weeks of the season when I’ll be useless. So it has to be where you end up.

“And it was me who kept the club on an even keel. The people around here know that. It was me who kept the club up-beat, not getting carried away by a win or by a defeat.

“That’s why I kept reminding everyone it was all about May 22.

“Other people at the club have followed but it was by led by me.”

By Martin Swain