A brief review of some of the places I have visited since I came back to Ireland.
Upon my return to Europe in November I harboured desires to take in some of the Bavarian hinterlands and possibly Mürren in Switzerland. I wanted to visit the Adidas museum and Piz Gloria in quick succession.
The fact that it didn’t happen was mainly down to travel restrictions rather than cash flow but anywhere I do choose for travelling is usually based on planning for any future artistic endeavours. The Adidas trip might have been useful for my long -threatened football kit project. The trip to the Alps would have been a Lourdes like -pilgrimage to the location of my favourite Bond film. Anyway, they didn’t happen, so Plan B it was. I’d stay local.
Staycationing has become a buzzword in Ireland for the past 5 or 6 years. Often used incorrectly, it is meant to describe a holiday within your own home, or at a push, your own town. It doesn’t mean going to the other side of the country. So I didn’t ‘Staycation’ in Galway, nor Mullingar, nor Limerick or even Portlaoise. I visited them. Probably against Tony Hoolahan’s wishes but c’est la vie.
I could justify these trips by saying that I was location scouting for my next film project. Or my next pulpy crime novella. A knowledge of two-star accommodation and cheap eateries is usually a prerequisite for these things.
In truth, I was just getting out of my parent’s hair for a night. So what I hear you cry, did you do???
Well!
Galway
My first trip was a few days before Christmas. I decided I would head for Salthill. The pubs were all closed at 8pm so a night on the sauce was not a goer. I arrived into the city and took some snaps of the winter fair in Eyre Square. At my leisure, I then walked to my hotel in Salthill. I passed the iconic Hooker boats en route and might have even taken in a film in the Palace cinema if the selection had been better.
I checked into The Continental and was quite happy with what my 62 euro got me( though I regret not staying in The Rio, the exterior is amazing). The room was snug but clean with decent heat coming off the rad. There was a fridge, kettle and a TV that worked. The bed was a twin too. So far so good.
I went into the early evening to try and find some grub. After being tempted by a number of Asian joints I opted for cheap and cheerful Pizza. The casinos were still operating but I thought better of it. After the pizza I had a decent Smithwicks in PJs, the bar next to the hotel. It was about half seven and they didn’t look like they were closing any time soon. My heart was set on watching Pulp Fiction though and that’s what I did. Good aul TG4.
Great films always offer something new on repeat viewings. What I figured out was that while Vincent was the one obsessed by Amsterdam it’s Butch who ends up with an impromptu Ajax jersey.
It was a bit cold in the room. I probably didn’t help matters by eating a HB Maxi Twist. But they could have provided an extra blanket. In the weeks to follow I soon realised that if you don’t ask, ye don’t receive!
Next morning I walked back to the city, took a few snaps and tried to find somewhere that sold pancakes. I hit the jackpot at Esquire’s Coffee on Eyre Square. Very friendly service too. I went to the bus station quite happy with my stay. The coach itself was packed. Going to and from. I kinda regret not spending the extra 16 odd quid on the train.
Limerick
The following week I decided on the Treaty city. I booked into The Old Quarter townhouse which is about a 15 minute walk from the train. I think it was just over 60 quid and for that I got a room with two singles, a decent TV, kettle and a lovely bathroom with shower.
There was also a rad, and I love rads, especially when I can turn them on and off by myself.
The 8pm rule was still in place regarding pubs so I was expecting it to be less noisy than usual, despite the warnings of boisterousness in the email. My gamble paid off and apart from a few lairy guests around 2am it was grand.
My chief complaint, if I could call it that, was in a nearby Italian bistro. I ordered pasta with some garlic bread. The pasta was cooked ‘properly’ in an Italian fashion, meaning it was quite hard. I prefer the traditional soft Irish style. I mentioned it after the meal and they welcomed my feedback. But I’m guessing that they thought me a right fool.
My entertainment for the evening was a double bill of film on rte 2. Mission Impossible Ghost Protocol and Entebbe. A film about Jewish hostages in Angola. I preferred the Cruise vehicle but Rosamund Pike is always watchable.
That particular part of Limerick has a real British vibe in its layout. Maybe it’s all the redbrick or the stores; Superdrug, Next, Topshop etc. Can’t quite put my finger on it.
Mullingar
The next week I went to Mullingar! I initially was going there because a well-known German supermarket chain was having an open day in a hotel. That’s what happens when I have too much time on my hands. I start planning alternative futures. Anyway, it was too far out of the city to go by foot. So I didn’t go.
I stayed in Kerrigans on the corner, quite near the main street but about ten minutes walk from the train. The pub is quite nice and it has a small cafe attached (for the early morning commuters I assume).
For 50 quid( the cheapest I visited) I got a nice room. It had a good double bed with a lovely armchair in the corner. Also, a fridge whereby I could keep a few cans from the off licence( i duly bought some Macardles). The TV wasn’t working great and the shower was a bit weak but overall not bad. There was central heating but this went off around midnight and the room wasn’t exactly roasting after that. Still though, friendly staff and that price would have included breakfast had I not slept in.
As for the town itself, you can see why it’s popular with workers based in Dublin. The train is about 75 minutes back into the big smoke, which is doable. The Turkish Grill restaurant was very decent. For about a tenner I got a scrumptious chicken shish meal that was as good as many I had in Zaytoon. They had Midlands radio on. 90s night. Toni Braxton, En Vogue, Inxs. In my head, I was writing a great chapter about a boy having a night in with a girl. Netflix and chill in a pre Internet age.
I bought a shirt in O’Sullivan’s gentleman outfitters. Wow, this place is a rare treat. Classic layout with the garments all stacked and in their packaging on the shelves. A nice lady doing her books behind the long desk, but no less attentive to the customer’s needs. I was chuffed.
Portlaoise
I think this was the beginning of the end for me. I never really minded Portlaoise before. It wasn’t on my old work route as such so I often bypassed it in the past. I decided to give it a twist here. I stayed in the Town Hotel which cost about 64 Yo-Yos. The barman was looking after things and he was a nice man. He explained that the kitchen was temporarily closed but that I could get a complimentary drink at any stage. The room itself was a bit of a letdown. Skinny single bed, a rad that never came on, average shower and a telly that didn’t work at all. This was a real ‘drop yer bags’ stag party type of deal. Alas, I just wanted to watch a film and relax but the WiFi was useless too. Very poor all round.
I ate out in a local Indian restaurant which really wasn’t worth the twenty-seven quid I paid either. The next morning saved the trip with lovely crepes and bacon in the restaurant above Supervalu. But yeah, wouldn’t be rushing back as they say.
next up: Tralee?
With the start of the GAA national league now upon us, I am due to head down south to support the boys in blue. They are in a weird place at the moment. Getting written off by many, including some so-called fans like myself. League football is not for fair-weather fans. I’ll struggle if I engage with any experts down there. But it should be a good trip. My first one not flying solo so that will help.
So overall what is there to say about my adventures. Not very much! Probably quite dull even. But I had no greater ambition than to get out of the house and potter around. It’s a tough time for hoteliers and I don’t like being critical (or unrealistic) but it is a bit of an eye-opener to see what some places charge.
Anyway, when I get back to Asia I might do something similar and share those titbits with you. Until then…
Here is the first part of a series about the Irish football team.
Image taken from Independent.ie
Where were you when we were f*ckin’ shite?
This refrain was popular around the turn of the millennium with Man City fans. Gradually it has been phased out but it’s always something I think about with Ireland and their international teams. We are a nation of bandwagoners. But every successful team has fair weather fans.
Of course, the age of Big Jackie Charlton started in controversial circumstances. He wasn’t the FAI’s first choice and was maybe eight minutes away from leaving had Gary Mackay not scored against Bulgaria. But as elderly Leeds United fans will attest, the man from Ashington was made of stern stuff. ‘Union’ Jack was here for the long haul.
I don’t know any of my era who would have been able to avoid the green machine of the late 80s and early 90s. An unprecedented era of success for our national football team. Success by our standards. We aren’t Germany. Hell, we’re not even Denmark. But over a couple of summers, we bragged about having the greatest football team. And well, some days we truly believed it.
This is old ground, well traipsed and relived over the years, with the legends growing stronger every year the modern version of the team come up short. We will get to those less successful moments in due course, but I will start here with what I can remember.
1988
The Boys in Green
The first match I can vaguely recall is arguably the greatest of all time from an Irish point of view. England. Stuttgart. I was doing something else I’m sure. Maybe playing with Mask action figures or Matchbox cars. I was seven years old and just after my first communion. I want to say that it is time that has faded my memories or that perhaps Ireland hadn’t fully gotten on board with Jackie’s Army yet. Maybe both are true. Either way, I wasn’t fully aware of the football but that changed rapidly over the next week.
Wednesday came around and I didn’t even know we were playing the Soviet Union. I didn’t understand the concept of playing again and again! Surely we won ‘football’ against England and we were the best…forever!
But I definitely watched a bit of the USSR game. And I am pretty sure half the estate spilled out onto the green to try and replicate Whelan’s goal rather than watch the remainder of the actual match.
Then Saturday. Well, I was in town with the mother for that. I remember stopping at the TV shop on O’Connell Street and seeing a few moments of it. I learned later that we hadn’t got the draw needed to get through to the semi-finals.
In years to come, footage would be reprised and memories were improved upon. It might have been a surprise to the Irish public but Charlton was certainly showing signs of disappointment. He genuinely expected to get to the semis at least.
None of this was really computing just yet. But it would. That summer was the beginning of football in my life.
By that Autumn I had fallen for the Merseyside Reds. John Barnes and his twinkle- toed brilliance. But for Ireland, well I began to learn that the matches in the summer had been great but now wanted to go to the World Cup, whatever that was. This was all happening so fast. I understood that Ireland had to go to Spain with only 8 first- choice players. But I heard 8 players. Surely that wasn’t fair. Eight versus eleven!? Inevitably we lost.
1989- Sentience!
We didn’t play for another 5 months in the qualifiers. I thought we were playing Spain one evening in February 89 but it turned out that was just UTV calling their team Ireland instead of Northern Ireland. Maybe there was an ‘N’ before Ireland. But I was suitably confused.
I watched a bit of the Hungary away game and was chuffed to see the boys in white wearing the same jersey as me. I loved that one. We almost won the game with a spectacular overhead (unlucky McGrath) but the search for our first goal and first win went on.
I was learning about football very quickly. Shoot magazines and Sunday’s News of the World were essentials for my study. At this point, I was immersed in all things Liverpool. They were hunting down Arsenal and going well in the FA Cup. Ireland simply didn’t play that often so it was difficult to form an attachment. From what I could see in the group tables, we had a lot of work to do and nobody I knew seemed too optimistic. Then April 1989 came.
In the space of a few weeks, I had seen the horror of Hillsborough play out. Then watched news bulletins as Liverpool players attended funerals. Millions of flowers on the pitch near the Kop.
Life went on from the comfort of our sitting rooms. The Ireland match seemed to sneak up on me. It was all or nothing. The campaign needed a kickstart. Spain at home. Butragueno et al. We needed a goal. And we got one! An own goal! Michel!
We were up and running. The swirling winds and pockmarked Lansdowne Road pitch would become a fortress that summer. All but one of our away matches out of the way meant we could settle in with home comforts. Four wins in a row. And then the win in Valetta. We were going to Italy. The greatest football team! Deadly!
1990- Ciao World!
The early part of the year seemed to be last call for fringe players and maybes. Bernie Slaven, Gary Waddock. Would Frank Stapleton make the plane to the World Cup? He did of course but didn’t feature.
The tournament started and like anything you’re experiencing for the first time, it was amazing. In later years purists would call it a horrible show but for me, the aesthetic was so comfortable. The stadiums, Italian TV scoreboards popping up. The Adidas Utresco. Pavarotti. Lineker’s diarrohea. Such days!
I think Euro 88 had been a pleasant surprise. For a GAA nation there was little expectation and arguably many wouldn’t have known there was any tournament ’til the team did their song on the Late Late Show.
Italia 90 was very different. These were the burgeoning years of football flowing into the mainstream. Corporate sponsored tie-ins the order of the day. Music cassettes, Tea tins, plastic footballs from Maxol, the chance of winning match tickets to Italia Novante on Know Your Sport.
The Team that Jack Built
In the end we came, we saw, we drew a lot. England did a little bit better but we had done enough. Top 8 in the world.
I watched England, Romania and Italy in O’Dwyers bar in Dunboyne. Egypt at home (TSSA!). Holland at home. I bet my dad was happy he didn’t waste his hard earned cash on going out for the Egypt game…ooh wait did we go to Batterstown for it? Hmm maybe. Definitely watched Holland at home.
After it was all over I was fluent in how football fixtures worked. My expertise in tournament football was aided by World Soccer magazine and other newspaper pull-outs from the likes of the Star. I didn’t go for World Cup 90 Stickers. Too much commitment.
By the time the European Championship Qualifying came round, I was ready. And so it seemed, did the team. Vitally England had changed manager. We might catch them cold.
Alas the 5-0 hammering of Turkey promised much but was about as good as it got. The wind was up again in Lansdowne for England but they were ready for the fight. A draw again, just like Cagliari. McCarthy almost scoring from sixty yards. We watched this in school. Or at least the first half.
The Wembley rematch is probably second to the USSR Euro 88 game in terms of legend. The game where we announced ourselves as football artisans. Rose-tinted a little bit in my view though we definitely outplayed both. Not everything changes in the game and winning your 50-50s has always meant something. Still another draw against them. With Houghton somehow refusing the offer to have even more lifetime pints bought for him. I watched this in Hanlon’s pub and remember the barman coming over to warn me about throwing beer mats at the TV during Taylor’s post match interview.
Maybe there was a bit of uncharacteristic arrogance going into the Poland double -header. The game at Lansdowne was a damp squib and Charlton strategically blamed the pitch.
In Warsaw months later we contrived to blow a two-goal lead and sales of Packie Bonner rosary beads presumably dropped. My abiding memory of this game was just how good Andy Townsend was. Many Ireland fans are often tougher on players born outside the country. Always felt Townsend never got his full dues. We looked good for most of that game, until we didn’t.
Anyway, after the Poland draws, we had blown it. The result in Turkey was academic. Lesson learned. Swagger was not for us.
1992 A Missed Opportunity
While Europe’s top 8 ( sans Italy, Spain, Belgium, Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia and, of course us) went to Sweden for the Championship Ireland headed over to America. A bit of a fact-finding mission for the 94 World Cup as well as a potential jolly up. Mixed results. Defeat against the US and Italy with a win against Portugal. A never seen since goal from a Staunton corner kick. I’ll die happily, if I ever see it. Oh and Mick and Roy on a bus together…to be continued.
Of course, before the American trip and even before the Euros, our World Cup journey began. At home to Albania. The Albanians, playing in a gifted set of new jerseys proved a tough test but the win was got. The team had evolved a little bit over the previous two summers, though maybe not enough. Irwin and Keane were now very much part of the first team and would remain so for a decade. Aldridge continued to run his legs off at the front and surely welcomed Tommy Coyne’s arrival into the squad.
Post US Cup 92, Charlton had again carefully planned the fixtures so as to get the tough away fixtures out of the way first. Two scoreless draws followed against Denmark and Spain. Oh boy, these were huge nights in Irish sport. With Sky taking over from ITV for English league football, Ireland was the biggest box office. We were competitive in Copenhagen but Seville was another step up but we should have won. They finished with ten men after all.
1993 The Road To America
This group felt a bit more epic than the 1990 version. It had an extra team and the break up of the Soviet Bloc meant we had two unknown quantities. Latvia and Lithuania. Big Jack embarked on scouting trips with Billy Bingham which, you can imagine would be unheard of nowadays.
The year opened with a confident victory over said Billy’s boys. Staunton again scoring from a corner. All looked great heading into the Denmark home game.
The Danes had perhaps been not quite at it in the first game. Maybe still hungover from their championship win in 92, they arrived in Dublin and fancied it. Brian Laudrup was a right nuisance. In the end another draw with a rare mistake from McGrath who redeemed himself by winning a corner for the equaliser. I watched this on a big screen in The Mill House after school, almost certain.
The ship was steered adequately enough into October 1993. Wins over Latvia, Albania and Lithuania again. But this was when we all grew up, my generation’s first real brush with the reality of modern football. Alan Kernaghan had performed reasonably well up to this point but this was not a good day for him. Espana caught us cold and raced into a 3-0 lead before an hour. John Sheridan’s goal seemed academic but in the final count proved vital for goal difference.
As Ireland headed to Belfast by plane there was an air of fear from most fans. Nobody felt it a foregone conclusion. A win would do it but a draw might be fine if things went okay between Spain and Denmark.
November 17th was a days of days for international football. Really surprised Netflix haven’t jumped on it yet. France, England, Portugal and erm, Wales fell at the final hurdle in a huge day of drama. Going into the snakepit of Windsor Park we had a fight on our hands. My main fear was how Kernaghan would respond. He had got a right schooling from Julio Salinas and I worried he might carry that over against the country that he’d represented as a schoolboy. In the end, he did well but it was a frustrating game. Houghton, who really should have scored more in this era, missed a couple of decent chances and Jimmy Quinn scored a beauty for them. Their lead was short-lived as the now late great Alan McLoughlin popped up and arrowed a beautiful half volley past Wright.
Post-match and Seville was still in the melting pot. Spain one-nil up about to k.o the European Champions. Schmeichel up for a corner. But no, that was it. They were out. We were in!
The RTE panel happily celebrated afterwards, but there was definitely less of a triumphant air that night. In all likelihood Charlton might well have walked away that night had things not gone right. Giles and Kinnear in the studio suggested that new blood would be needed for the tournament next summer.
Enter Gary, Phil and Jason ( insert love hearts here)
1994 The Last Stand
Get the Neil Diamond record out. Get the Irish Permanent savings account. Get a Callcard. Get a new Opel Astra! Ireland back on the World Cup trail. Before all the hotel room match ticket selling could kick off in earnest we had two away friendlies to get us ready (and turn the hype machine up to 11) Wins over Germany and Holland (and Bolivia!) were fine and why would you ever refuse them? But surely we couldn’t go and beat a major football powerhouse in the real thing. Right?
Well, the doubters were silenced that fateful day in New Jersey. Perhaps the second last great Irish performance under Charlton(Portugal a year later?). We got Italy on a day where they weren’t right. Jack’s plan to overload and overrun in midfield worked a treat. It was a great day. One we had to enjoy at home due to a barman’s strike!
It was as good as it got in America really. The Orlando sunshine melted away our hassle and hurry tactics, though Ireland ran much harder any Colombian or Greek that summer. World Cups are full of opinion and many might disagree with me but another ten minutes against Mexico and we might have got a draw. As it was Aldridge got another vital consolation goal.
The draw vs Norway meant another Dutch fixture. We obviously hadn’t got too far into their heads with the friendly victory. Again it was a struggle in the heat but we weren’t all that bad. Packie made another boo-boo but Overmars outrunning Phelan was a worrying feature.
Could we go to one more tournament with Big jack? The group offered possibilities and we started well enough with away wins over Latvia , Liechtenstein and Northern Ireland. And then came nineteen ninety-five.
1995 Combat 18 and all that
There was a sense of wary optimism heading into the new year. The younger players were showing signs that they settling in while players such as David Kelly, who had been on the fringes for so long, began to get more playing time.
He is probably best remembered for his goal against England in the abandoned game at Lansdowne. But thanks to numerous sticker albums and subsequent facebook clips, I remember his hat trick against Israel in 1987.
The England game really broke Jack’s heart. It was clear to see in the aftermath how ashamed he was of his countrymen. But in the time we did see some action, Ireland had looked good against Venables’ side. Arguably more tournament-ready than England themselves.
Time moves on quickly in football. That will never change. One week Liverpool are laying down a marker for a league title (in October) the next they are an ageing side with big problems in midfield.
Likewise in the Euro 96 qualifiers, Ireland went into the draw as top seeds. The opposition of Portugal, Austria and Northern Ireland again, didn’t seem at all unbeatable. But while we were evolving slowly beyond the passback rule Portugal were building steadily. Costa and Figo were coming of age as Couto looked a tough presence at centre-half.
Again the Lansdowne wind came into play in March. Charlton bemoaned it but perhaps the North were just a bit more determined after the earlier hammering. The win under floodlights against Portugal seemed to get us back on track and I was never convinced with Vitor Baia in nets, but nonetheless. Then summer and the principality of Liechtenstein.
I watched this in my gran’s on the North Circular Road. She was soon to move to the countryside and this seemed a tribute exercise in agricultural football. Fine for us who were never too particular about how our goals looked so long as they went in. But they didn’t. Not that day. Not even one of the 29 attempts.
Could we get the momentum back? Four days later in Dublin, Austria arrived. We should have been fine. We looked stronger overall and took the lead. But then the stomach cramps set in. The fish suppers still undigested from the day before. Toni Effin Polster. Ireland fans never had much of a sense of entitlement and it was only very recently that the majority would begin to turn on this squad. Austria were poxy, and it hurt.
Then they went and did us again. Another three one, with a beautiful McGrath header rendered meaningless.
In the muck and rain of Oporto we arrived with injuries and little optimism. The Portuguese took an hour to break us but break us they did.
Second place meant we would have to beat Holland in a play off. We didn’t and that was it for Jack. The last few months a tough watch for the public who generally adored him while recognising that we had lost our way a bit.
In the end, there were no tears. Just a serenade from the Kop and a now traditional post-match RTE interview where a team’s manager has his future employment questioned.
Reviewing football in this way can be quite reductive. And what more can you bring to this era that hasn’t already been said? The cruel grip of nostalgia constantly dragging one back to a time they will never have again. Did I peak as a human before I was ten years old? Possibly. But what a run it was. And yet, it wasn’t really all that great on the face of it.
But you must remember this wasn’t just about football. It never is on the international scene. It brings out a part in us many try to hide most of the time. A rampant chest-thumping, almost embarrassing pride that shows itself every time the egg chasers start chanting Ireland’s call. That is now though, that was then, when we were young, unspoiled and hearts like unopened scrap books, eager to paste in memories. What a time it was.
Ole Ole indeed
NB: Links to Major championship highlights are usually taken down so I avoided posting them here. But there’s gold in them there ‘Reeling in the years clips’ as well as the aforementioned Road to America video on youtube, The Van feature film is underrated, The Boys in Green RTE programme here and of course the recent FINDING JACK CHARLTON
There seemed to be little to look forward to heading into the new millennium. We had a new jersey anyway. A wooly effort more reminiscent of our rugby brethren. Its debut came in yet another friendly against the Czech Republic. They had become what Poland were to us in the 70s. A 3-2 win was secured after Ireland had come back from behind twice. Robbie Keane with the winner late on after Harte’s equaliser.
Two defeats against Greece and Scotland followed and one wondered how a modern marketing genius would have been able to sell tickets for these extravaganzas. A one nil loss to the Greeks was followed up with a 1-2 to the Scots. Kennedy had scored early but Scotland, who had been unlucky to lose to England in the play offs came back to win thanks another ex red, Don Hutchinson.
Ireland were all set for a big trip for the US Cup. Would we play Mexico again. How did you know?? Maybe this trip would be worthwhile though. The lads who wanted to represent their country in any capacity were there and the lads who felt it was a waste of time, didn’t…Bit unfair?
Mexico went into a two goal lead and things looked grim until Richard Dunne and then…trivia buff alert…Dominic Foley scored to grab a share of the spoils. Just to show it wasn’t a fluke Foley scored again against the hosts but the States equalised and our winless run against the Stars and Stripes would continue. Victory eventually did come against South Africa with goals from Stephen McPhail and Niall Quinn cancelling out an early African effort. The trip had justified itself. McPhail was an interesting one. A player well respected at David O’Leary’s Leeds he seemed destined to become a staple in the Irish midfield. Injuries really did for him though and he amassed a mere 10 caps, his last coming in 2004.
So while the rest of Europe partied, McCarthy and co flew back home already plotting for the upcoming World Cup qualifiers. At the fixture meeting McCarthy had negotiated well, no doubt using previous experience to his advantage. Ireland would have the big Dublin games towards the end of the campaign and get the away fixtures out of the way first. With that in mind it was Amsterdam in September 2000. If the plan was to catch major tournament semi finalists cold a la Croatia in 1998( or Belgium in 1986) then it worked! It almost really worked!
A few days before the Dutch game there was mild controversy with what might be commonly referred to as ‘ruille buille’. Phil Babb and Mark Kennedy were arrested in Harcourt Street after jumping on some poor unfortunate’s (edit: on duty garda’s car). And to think during Italia 90, most people insisted on their car getting externally rode. Consent is an important thing folks. Both Babb and Kennedy were ejected from the squad, and it’s fair to say their International careers were effectively over at that stage
On to the match itself and Ireland went into a two goal lead with a Robbie Keane header and McAteer with another in the second half. Gradually though we fell back, dropping deeper with every passing minute. Jeffrey Talan brought it back to 2-1 before Van Bronkhurst hit a long range equaliser. In many ways this was when the Keane/McCarthy civil war began(or was re-ignited). Mick was happy with the draw while Keane was disgusted. Thousands around the country were primed to put Keane on the pedestal. The warrior who was winning United games on his own(debatable)was now ready to drag little old Ireland kicking and screaming to success(also debatable). Watch it back though. Keane didn’t close down Giovanni for that shot!
The next game in Oporto was an inferior performance but equalising to draw is always better than giving up a lead to draw. Concecao scored just before the hour and everyone began to feel 1995 deja vu. But the rain didn’t fall like it did five years prior and when substitute Matt Holland let fly with twenty minutes remaining, we were walking on sunshine; our only shot on goal. too. As a substitute for Niall Quinn at half time it probably would have been roundly criticised in the morning papers if he didn’t score. But he did. And all of a sudden, things looked very good.
Afterwards McCarthy and Roy Keane hugged! And according to the Irish Indo any talk of a rift was way off the mark!
One more qualifier in the calendar saw a relatively relaxing win over Estonia at home. There were two slightly unlikely goalscorers with Richard Dunne’s first goal since the US Cup and Mark Kinsella’s first goal full stop. We had a friendly against Finland to finish off the year. A nice 3-0 win (goals Finnan, Kilbane and Staunton) meant we could all enjoy The Sporting Year on RTE in peace.
2001
Spring sprang and Ireland had their World Cup destiny in their own hands. What was needed in Nicosia was a professional, no nonsense performance. Enter Roy Maurice Keane.
Now, there is a very small subset of fans of the boys in green who think Keane’s impact on the team was overrated. And as a proud cynic I’d like to get behind that, only because I think the man himself is often embarrassed by the reminiscences of others. Sometimes it’s on Braveheart levels. Seven feet tall, thunder blowing out of his arse type stuff. With all that said, the game needed us to deliver. And so we did. 4-0 away against an inferior but certainly not hopeless team. Keane’s two goals bookended the scoring, with a Harte penalty and a rare Gary Kelly goal in between.
The two games against Andorra came in succession, firstly a 3-0 away win thanks to another Harte pen, Kilbane and Holland. Then 3-1 back in Dublin with goals from Kilbane, Kinsella and Breen. Four games left in the group now…
First up was the return game against Portugal. And although the floodlights were long installed in Lansdowne, another afternoon kick-off time was chosen. For me, this was the Keane game. This game, more than the Netherlands one that followed, was the superior team performance. In boxing terms Portugal would have won on points, but we chinned them a few times that day. And while they were poised most of the time nobody could say they were all over us. After a tense first half Roy scored again, after we caught them out with a quick throw in. His half volley was clever and opportunistic. This was stuff we hadn’t seen in a United shirt for a while. And at this very moment the country had the Keane they wanted. Good for his club and even better for Ireland.
Figo equalised as was his elegant desire. But a draw meant we had hit par against them. Now the pressure was on Netherlands because of their home defeat against Figo’s team the previous October. We had three games left now. First up, Estonia away.
The goals were spread out between half a dozen players in the group and again Dunne and Holland came up with the goods. Two nil. Gloriously economical.
Before the qualifiers started up again there was yet another match against Croatia. We had played them four times in McCarthy’s era at this stage. It was notable for being the debut of John O’Shea. Damien Duff and Clinton Morrison got their first international goals in a 2-2 draw, but Davor Suker scored another 90+ goal to deny us a positive result. It wasn’t a particular intense game. A bit silly to have the game just at the start of the domestic season. That probably explained 8 subs before the hour.
At this point there was cautious optimism among fans but an acknowledgement of defensive frailties. September was do or die. The Netherlands had to win to stay in the group, no debate. We probably could get away with a draw and still be in with a strong shout of a play-off. But a win and maybe we could still claim top spot.
Keane got the memo. And stuffed it down Overmars throat after 40 odd seconds. It seemed he might have been harbouring some vengeance from 1998 when his long term injury had let Arsenal back into the title race. On this day, the Dutch were not callow. They outplayed us, comprehensively. The Overmars tackle has gathered moss in the time since but they should have been three nil up at half time.
Nevertheless we survived until then at nil all and everyone in the RTE studio felt like it was so far so lucky. And we were overdue some luck. Gary Kelly was sent off for a tackle on Kluivert. Down to ten men now, surely a draw would be a great result. The Dutch battled on somehow contriving to miss chance after chance. At the other end, McCarthy had slowly been phasing out Quinn as a starting forward which was tough on Robbie who hadn’t scored since Amsterdam. He wasn’t getting a sniff. Duff was in a freer role and could get involved however. There was little belief after Kelly’s red. But there was hope. On the left hand side, we saw arguably the greatest example of Irish soccer at its very best. A perfect marriage of skill, guile and determination. Keane rounded Van Bommel (an overrated clogger) and got away to pass to Kilbane before being poleaxed by Stam. Vitally Stam had gone to ground now, perhaps out of impatient frustration. Kilbane for once didn’t dally and moved it onto Finnan. Finnan was always a clever player but the ball into the box was behind Duff who sold the recovering Stam with a clever dummy. The Dutch were pulled apart and maybe already planning their next attack with McAteer now free on the left side of the box. The boy from Birkenhead, whose career had gone off the rails at Blackburn, needed this almost as much as the nation did. He swept his right foot across the Umbro Elite Premier size 5 FIFA approved white round thing. Van der Sar was on one knee. It was in ! Bono explained the rest.
At full time, there was a handshake between De Valera and Collins…sorry Big Mick and Roy. One game to go. Cyprus at home.
Portugal had Andorra at home at the same time and had a superior goal difference. This game felt a tad anticlimactic knowing that even a good win would not win us the group. My overriding feeling was the fortune that Big Jack had had in his World Cup Qualifiers. We had been second best twice and that was good enough back then. Now all it was getting us was a play-off. But, unlike Germany, Belgium et al our reward for coming through the hardest group was to play a team from a lower ranked region. Iran.
Iran are statistically the strongest Asian team of all time. And in 2001 they were a decent side. The world record goalscorer Ali Daie was in situ, one of only two Iranians playing in Europe at that point (Daie was at Hertha Berlin and Mahdavidika was with Hamburg). The first leg would be in Dublin and the general consensus was we should get it done at home and then have a good lead going to Tehran.
Tense stuff in Lansdowne. McCarthy’s third play off. Roy Keane an injury doubt. We needed a big heave. Robbie Keane got his first international goal in over a year and Harte got yet another penalty to seal a two nil win. Iran had about two or three counter attacks but we had done a job on them. Very good. Four days to the second leg. But Keane wouldn’t be travelling. If you know, you know. If you don’t, bookmark it, because you know McCarthy did. Roy was exceptional in the first leg though and would be almost irreplaceable. Another high mark in this campaign.
Onto the return leg and 105000 squeezed into the 1970s style bowl. The image of the Ayatollah stretched across the terrace facing the midfield. An optimistic 3-0 banner covered most of the terrace behind one of the goalmouths. Very few fans travelled. It was a tense evening with few chances though Given made a vital double save in the second half. I watched it via a portable TV with snowy reception in Elvery’s and in between sorting out grey and navy Le Coq Sportif hoodies noted that Iran couldn’t get any rhythm and Carsely deserved great credit for being an able deputy for Keane. A late Iranian goal was inconsequential. We were Korea and Japan bound!
2002
The new year began and as had become tradition, a series of friendlies were booked in for the spring. Russia were up first, almost six years to the day that they had turned up for McCarthy’s bow. The Russians had qualified for the summer tournament and as seemed their post Soviet routine, there were rumours of an unhappy dressing room. All was rosy in our garden however, with the team well settled now and little room for any new caps to make late arrivals before the World Cup. Colin Healy was the sole exception in midfield as he partnered his fellow Corkonian, Keane. For his part Roy now seemed quite content to play friendlies. Also from midfield, Stephen Reid scored on just his second appearance while Robbie Keane attempted to keep some goal momentum. Notably future RTE pundit Richard Sadlier made a last push for a jersey, coming on as sub. The final score was 2-0 All.was.rosy.
Next up were another fellow qualifier in the Danes. This time the rest of the squad got a run out. Players like Kiely and Morrison started with Nicky Colgan and David Connolly coming on in the second half. McAteer was in a real battle with Reid for a starting place now. The former Blackburn against the future Blackburn man. For their part Denmark looked like they had a lot of work ahead to get back some of their 90s glory. Harte, Robbie and Morrison got the goals in a 3-0 win which was as full of swagger as anything seen in McCarthy’s time. Everybody seemed comfortable with each other. The World Cup couldn’t come quick enough.
Yet another World Cup participant was up next. And as it later proved, the USA were the strongest of all the friendly opponents. A notable element was the appearance of Ireland in an England style away kit. The navy shorts would be wisely changed by the time of the tournament.
Kinsella scored early but the Americans equalised before half time and the game seemed to be heading for a diplomatic draw when Gary Doherty nodded in with a few minutes to go. Rory Delap got a cap for the first time in two years as McCarthy gave a good impression of a man willing to keep his options open.
One more friendly then. And another home game against Nigeria. In hindsight maybe four was too many but maybe they wanted Roy to play at least one more friendly after missing the previous two (three if you count Niall Quinn’s testimonial and you can be sure, some people did!)
And of course, the coffers were looking great with these games. Every boy and girl wanted to see the lads off before the tournament proper. The players even took part in a modern lap of honour style farewell before getting on the plane. One wonders however if certain parties were watching all this backslapping with a certain degree of cynicism. The score ended Ireland’s proud home record without defeat too. But Stephen Reid got another goal and this one was a beauty.
And now…
Saipan
Where to begin with this. Arguably the most seismic moment in the nation since the presidential election in 1990. (That’s nonsense really, there were tons of things more important in the interim years. I am merely joining in the bombast. The urge for a writer to be heard. And that my dear readers, is exactly what started the Saipan debacle.)
For sure Roy Keane had justifiable annoyances with the organisation of the trip to Japan. Officials getting treated better than the players had been happening for 50 years by then. And then the first location. A former US Army R&R island, probably fine for retirees but a strange choice for a football team, even if it was just a few days of chilling out.
Vitally the legacy of Irish media’s close friendship with the squad continued. Before the flight there was an assumption that we would get two or three biographies out of it, a silly world cup diary and potentially an MTV style doc with the footage from David Connolly’s camcorder. That would all soon look like a low estimation. There were at least ten books, twice as many documentaries, a musical and a still growing number of podcasts in the years since…and a feature film (slated to arrive in 2026*)
From the point of view of myself as an Irish media student, it was shameful. For all our criticism of English counterparts (mostly valid) a newspaper had prioritised selling their product over the potential performances of the team on the pitch. I hope the press never get that kind of access again.
There was at least ten pages of things I could comment on. The meetings, the news articles, Roy walking his dog and then having a sit down interview with Tommy Gorman. Colin Healy getting drafted in then left out. The most peculiar one was Keane remaining in the squad according to FIFA statisticians, therefore allowing the possibility of a WWF style run-in at any point in the actual matches. Alas, it’s all been done, so now,
Onto the football.
Okay, okay…
So the first game was against Cameroon. The Indomitable Lions were highly fancied and had a squad which was stronger on paper than Italia 90, with most of their first 11 now playing in Europe’s big leagues. With Ireland depleted and maybe distracted, many fans feared the worst.
Steve Staunton had claimed the captain’s armband and the most cynical out there felt this was his reward for his performance in the team meeting the week previously. His statesmanlike grace in subsequent press conferences cemented him for many people, though not myself to be honest.
Cameroon scored first and looked reasonably good value on it. A Staunton error allowed Sammy Eto’o in. Stan had got away with a few howlers in the qualifiers, but was his luck finally out now?
As always seemed the case with African sides at big tournaments back then, Cameroon had their problems too. Aside from the length of their sleeves, there was the amateurism of their federation and anger amongst the players for bonus payment issues. They didn’t look right.
Ireland came out of the tunnel for the second half with plenty of determination. McAteer who wasn’t fit (and later said so in yet another revealing Sunday news spread) came off for Finnan. Barry Davies was certainly on our side as he urged the Fulham man forward. Ireland had their foothold. They were playing nice stuff and then the breakthrough. A beautiful Matt Holland daisy cutter into the left corner. 1-1.
Tournament games are more moments based than any league game. Chances are often few and mistakes often terminal. Harte was having a mixed game and he was one we needed to keep an eye on. Conversely Matt Holland was having the game of his life.
Reid came in for a tiring Harte and nearly got the winner which would have been well deserved. Many had now realised that this was not a one man army after all. There was hope. Robbie Keane also came close with a stunning effort and Ireland were finishing strong. Maybe the rest in Saipan did them the world of good.
In game two, there was huge pressure. Die Mannschaft. Three time winners and god knows how many times finalists. Even this version, which had been heavily criticised for the past four years, were formidable. In addition, unlike Jack’s era only two teams would come through the group so Ireland really had to get something while Cameroon were making light work( actually not that light) of the hapless Saudis. Germany had beaten said Saudi Arabia 8-0 in the first game where Miroslav Klose nearly wrapped up the golden boot in one game. He had another saved for us when a poor defensive set up let him in for a gift of a header. One nil germany after 20 minutes.
The Breen Staunton Axis had never really been convincing. This time it was the Coventry man at fault. Ireland now had a mountain to climb but they seemed to rally quite quickly. As for Germany, this was a less than great side, bordering on average but they had some quality. Oliver Kahn made a number of saves and was assured throughout. Ballack was calm and classy, seemingly able to effect proceedings whenever he felt like it. Conversely Jancker could count himself lucky to be playing at a World Cup. And it was ultimately a lack of quality that did for them.
Ireland would huff and puff for over an hour. The late night heat of Ibaraki draining both sides.
Duff, all youthful energy and vigor could have equalised early in the second half but was denied by Kahn. We had no clear chances for a while after that and replacements were needed.
Quinn was hungry to make up for lost time in 1994 but was only realistically available as a sub these days. McCarthy would give him 20 minutes here in the hope he could repeat the trick of his club form with a small man beside him. We would wait and wait until beyond 90 minutes and then finally we found a way through. Quinn’s deft knockdown into the path of Robbie’s chest. He’d almost pushed it too far and had to contort his right leg into an uncomfortable movement. This was not a goal of a veteran but a young malleable body. The irrepressible Kahn finally beaten.
Now, all was possible. Cameroon had only won 2-0 against Saudi Arabia. If we could better that we were through. The venue was our biggest one so far. And if you believed some people we might be back in three weeks for the final.
Ireland kept the same team as for the Germany game. The poor aul Saudis were already on the plane home but actually put up some stubborn resistance at times in this one. Despite losing so heavily against the Germans there was little change to the team. In particular, their goalkeeper and captain Al-Deayea managed to keep his place and that suited us fine. Keane’s early volley could have been saved while Gary Breen got in on the act in the second half.
In between those two goals there was little to shout about. Staunton and Breen made life needlessly difficult for themselves at times and Kinsella looked ragged after two monumental efforts in the previous games. Subs came in again with Quinn replacing Harte at half time. Alas with few crosses into the box his presence seemed pointless. On the other end the Saudi’s were quietly determined to score a goal at least but we managed to subdue them. More subs arrived including McAteer who had a mini meltdown with the fourth official and Carsley who probably should have come on earlier. In saying that Kinsella did get a pre-assist for Duff so what do I know? (very little, I know very little indeed)
The Duff goal was another shocker by the Saudi keeper. Damo took a bow after a shot creeped over the line and with Cameroon losing to Germany, were into the last 16.
Spain next. The country was buzzing. All was rosy again. Hopelessness had been replaced by untethered optimism. Spain weren’t all that. We were already planning a QF against Korea or Italy. But we weren’t fully clicking. Harte was out of form, Kilbane was willing but limited. Staunton was pushing his body on but showing his age. We lacked pace at the back, muscle in the middle but up front for once, looked okay. Duff was fortunate to score in the previous game but his efforts had been rewarded. Likewise Robbie Keane had taking the mantle of main man on. He looked fresh and hungry. His disappointing spell in Inter long behind him.
Spain scored early with yet another easy header conceded. Morientes took advantage and we were back to climbing a mountain not unlike the German game. Spain could have been out of sight soon after but were wasteful. Ireland finally found a foothold and got their reward with a penalty. Quinn had come on even earlier this time as McCarthy made his intentions clear. It was a foul on Duff that gave Harte a chance to add to his tally. Nerves got the better of him though and Iker Casillas saved. Kilbane shanked the rebound and Spain survived…for a while longer.
The game wore on. Duff’s influence grew. Spain looked tired and unfit. Camacho sweated profusely from the bench. Ireland’s best endeavors and chances were coming from early balls but it was almost into injury time before another long free kick that finally got them back into it. This time Quinn was held down. Another penalty. This time Robbie Keane stepped up. The first non Harte penalty attempt in a few years.
Keane calmly side footed it to the keeper’s right. Casillas didn’t even dive. Perhaps he was saving himself for later.
Extra time now and all eyes were on each team’s huddle. Who looked fresher and so on. Nobody at that point seemed to notice that Spain were down to ten men. The commentary team of Hamilton and Whelan certainly hadn’t. Worryingly McCarthy hadn’t either. And yet Ireland performed brilliantly, clearly making the most of the extra ‘mystery’ space. And yet, despite Duff’s attempts, Spain had the better chances. Neither side could find a winner and so 12 years after Genoa, we were back to the lottery of penalties.
In the time since 1990 the innocence of the shoot out had gone for a lot of Ireland fans. Having seen England lose three of them in that time, it was clear how high the stakes were. Nonetheless five volunteers were found. Keane, Holland, Connolly, Kilbane and Finnan. The first man did his stuff but then three misses left us in deep trouble. Finnan kept us in it before future Middlesboro man Mendieta sent Spain through (where they would be the victim of questionable refereeing decisions)
In the aftermath it seemed like McCarthy was more relieved than distraught. A lot of ‘we did our best’ and ‘thanks to all the people who supported us.’
He had certainly got a tune out of the squad sans Roy Keane. Many had risen to the occasion and the youngsters of Robbie Keane and Duff had distinguished themselves. Back in the studio, the air was one of quiet pride. An assurance that suggested the likes of Given, Richard Dunne, and the aforementioned attackers would have many tournaments ahead of them. If only life was that simple.
After the disappointment of the World Cup Qualifiers it was inevitable that some of the elder statesmen exited stage left. Houghton and Townsend called it a day which opened up possibilities in midfield. Mark Kinsella would soon make his debut alongside Damien Duff.
March was the first game of the year and a trip to Olomouc! The Czechs hadn’t qualified for France either and given their status as European runners-up were surely more disappointed.
In front of a crowd of less than 10k, the home side came back to win 2-1 after an early Gary Breen goal. McCarthy did not have a summer tournament to experiment with but he would have two more friendlies before the Euro 2000 qualifiers began in the autumn.
The changing of the guard was in full swing now with just three surviving members of the Italia 90 squad still active. Two of those, Staunton and Quinn were still in situ and perhaps surprisingly both were still there four years later. In Quinn’s case he had taken to life in Sunderland very well by forming a bond with Kevin Philips. But Staunton had somehow ended back up at Anfield on a free transfer.
Both were included in the game against Argentina at Lansdowne Road. Quinn partnering the young prodigy from Wolves. Robbie Keane. This was a fine game. My first visit to Lansdowne Road too if I recall. While Ireland were beginning to put something together the Albiceleste were a few steps above. Veron, Batistuta and the heir to Diego’s throne, Ariel Ortega. You might scoff now but it didn’t sound too ridiculous by the end of this game. An almost impossible lob over the keeper to seal a two nil win. Levels kids, levels.
A drab nil all friendly followed against world cup bound Mexico the following month and it was all a bit grim. It was a cold May afternoon and with that, any perceived heat after the 96 US Cup was extinguished.
Could we start a fire for the Euro qualifiers? You better believe it!
Croatia came to town in September. A proper game. Old school afternoon stuff, so reminiscent of when the big boys used to come into town and left with tails between their proverbials.
The boys got off to a great start with an Irwin penalty in the first 5 minutes. Croatia struggled with the Lansdowne swirl, not so much chasing shadows but maybe trying to dodge empty packets of Tayto crips( crips, that’s how we say it)
This was a fine performance by the elder Keane. He always seemed to relish big games(not friendlies) at home to big opposition and this day he topped it all with a goal and a smile. McCarthy was happy too. This scoreline against the World Cup semi finalists was a huge result for him. His first real moment of success as manager. Ireland followed it up with a routine win against the hapless Maltese. The younger Keane with a brace.
Unfortunately the next game in Belgrade ended with a 0-1 reverse. Staunton’s error late on denied what could have been a priceless point. And maybe there was still lingering doubts within the squad when playing away. Ireland hadn’t had a good result on the road since the nil all against Spain in 93. Hadn’t had a big away win since…since…ooh struggling here.
So that was 1998. 6 points out of 9. Journalists might have expected 5 beforehand, but the Croatia win had gotten everyone’s hopes up.
1999
Into the new year and a very long wait until competitive games returned. There were three friendly games in the spring. Paraguay( Irwin pen and Connolly) and then Sweden(Graham Kavanagh and Mark Kennedy) were dispatched by two goals to nothing before Northern Ireland eeked out their first ever win in Dublin. This game was referred to as the peace international. Following the tragic bombings in Omagh the previous April, it had been tacked onto the small print of the good Friday agreement but neither side appeared to be that interested. An embarrassingly low crowd of 12000 was blamed on the game clashing with an auld firm fixture the same day. Remember the name though, Darren Griffin
And speaking of that, I neglected to mention that TV3(whisper it) had signed a contract the previous year to show Ireland’s away games. The changeover from Montrose to Ballymount did little for the team’s fortunes but perhaps it was more the political situation in the Balkans than Trevor Welsh that was to blame.
Irelands’ away match against Macedonia was postponed because of the conflict, hence the Spring calendar being jam-packed with friendlies. Croatia and Yugoslavia also had to rearrange games. But we’ll get to that. Home comforts first.
Yugoslavia were due to play in Dublin first but with tensions building in Kosovo and subsequent attacks by NATO on Belgrade and other Yugoslavian areas, the Irish government had decreed the game be postponed. UEFA were of the view that it shouldn’t. There were also tensions in Leinster House apparently. Not for the first time and not for the last future Taoiseach Bertie Ahern would get his speak in for the good of the Irish game, declaring that entrance visas would not be allocated to the Yugoslavian squad.
Said Macedonians came to town in June. A very settled team by now, Ireland held their nerve against a side who had little attacking intent. Quinn scored on the hour to earn the three points.
There would be another long wait for the next tie but the rearranged Yugoslavia fixture was a barnstormer. Buoyed on by a rabid Lansdowne crowd the team were emboldened and the younger Keane inspired. After lots of initial promise he announced himself here with a fantastic goal. A well worked equaliser was greeted with eerie silence five minutes later but then the crowd almost collectively shook off their disappointment and insisted upon the victory. After laying siege for a few more minutes Mark Kennedy aimed a speculative but inaccurate shot at goal. A beautiful deflection diverted the ball into the net. At last our luck had changed.
Or had it? This was September and traditionally a team might expect to have two group games left. We still had three. First up was Croatia away. And if you thought the heartbreak in Belgrade wasn’t enough, Davor Suker popped up in the 91st minute to deny us another vital point. That was four points dropped after the 80th minute. And more horror was to come. Yugoslavia for their part had benefited from the postponements, knowing full well what they needed to do the next night against Macedonia. They beat them 3-1 at home and followed it up with 4-2 win in Skopje a month later. Winning in Macedonia was how you qualified. Croatia had only got a draw in the summer so we knew if we could win in Valletta, that it was all in our hands for the rescheduled game. After Robbie Keane and Gary Breen scored early it was relatively calm before the inevitable drama. The team lulled and stalled and before we knew it we’d thrown away a two goal lead against Malta. The nation sighed and began making alternative plans for the next Summer. But then Staunton made us dream again. Three two. Three points. Such torture.
Onto the final night of qualification. Croatia still a mathematical chance of finishing first but if they could better Ireland’s score would beat them for second. We, on the other hand would hope that Yugoslavia would lose but preferably draw and let us do our thing with a win away to the Macedonians. Simple right?
Ah Jaysus…
Quinn’s early goal kept us ahead for well over an hour. The game rumbled on, as Macedonia half heartedly tried to make their way back into it. The clock ticked by. Trevor promised that Coronation Street would follow. Or maybe it was the news. 91min ticked. Stavreski scored. Ah here.
With the draw meaning that A) we’d blown a chance of winning the group and B) Croatia were out , all hopes were now pinned on the playoffs. For the third tournament in a row. We’d lost the previous two.
So who would we get? The draw was open and looking at the list they weren’t really any gimmes. At a push we might have accepted Slovenia but guess what? They qualified, beating Ukraine over the two legs. Ireland got Turkey and maybe more important than anything, the first leg was at home.
Belgium/Netherlands seemed far away for a lot of fair weather fans. Myself included. I didn’t have faith in the lads. Those late goals away from home were scars that didn’t heal easily. Then there was the previous campaign with more disappointment. But still we gave it a lash and Lansdowne obliged. In a carbon copy of the Belgium draw two years before, Ireland scored first. Thankfully even later this time, Robbie again on 79. Just hold on now, for 12 min…ah FFS.
The Turks attacked and as Carsley blocked a shot in the box he lost his footing, ending up on his back only to see the loose ball bounce onto his arm. A lousy penalty really. A draw it was and them with the away goal.
Turkey were not the team of old. They looked bigger and stronger than the previous incarnation and their club sides were enjoying more success in Europe. Galatasaray and Trabzonspor had got the better of Premier league sides a few years back and the former would end up with their greatest English scalp in the 2000 Uefa Cup final.
This game seemed a step too far. It certainly was a price too far for Irish broadcasting. A cheeky hike in price for live rights meant most homes couldn’t secure coverage and just a few pubs managed to twist the satellite in the right direction.
It was a bad omen but maybe it was better we didn’t see it live. Nil all. Dour, depressing, horrible, frustrating. Cascarino ended up in a fracas and we would spend another summer in the US Cup.
Part 2 of Ireland’s modern football history, very abridged…
The McCarthy Years: Part 1 1996-1998
There are some people who will always base their view on Mick McCarthy within the prism of…well if I say it, then you’ll be thinking it for the rest of this piece. But no matter how you approach it there is a Cork shaped elephant in the room.
McCarthy’s first game as manager was against Euro 96 bound Russia. Shay Given made his debut in glorious lilac but inexperience and physicality betrayed him with the goals. Kernaghan did little to cement his status in the team but unlike Shay he didn’t have youth to fall back on. Most of the team on the night was made up of Jack’s veterans but Big Mick was already thinking about the future with his choice of captain. 25 year old Roy Maurice Keane. Ireland didn’t veer much from the late Charlton era. Lots of honest graft but but no great subtlety.
Ireland rallied after going two down and could have had a draw if Cascarino hadn’t missed an open goal and Staunton a peno. But the big story was Keane getting sent off for his nasty foot swipe. There were many ways to interpret this at the time and many more theories would emerge later. Keane had played well but no doubt was frustrated by the quality around him. A soon to be double double winner with Man United having to slum it with an Ireland squad in transition was not ideal.
A month and a few team changes later we were left with another 2-0 reverse this time at the hands of the Czechs. Again there was promise but aside from Given getting a second cap along with Alan Moore and Mark Kennedy starting, this was still very much the team that Jack built.
0-1 at home to Portugal followed with a 20 year old Gareth Farelly starting in midfield. He lasted an hour before being replaced by…definitely one for the trivia experts…Dave Savage. This was end of season stuff no doubt but while we were providing fodder for the Euro 96 teams who’d qualified, maybe McCarthy was taking stock. Would Keane come back for the next friendly? Would he fuck!
Croatia also came to Dublin and while the scoreline improved and Ireland scored for the first time since Aldridge’s double against Latvia in October 95, this was nothing more than a nice day out. 17 players got on that day with Gary Breen, Liam’s Daish and O’Brien as well as Keith O’Neill starting. The latter justified selection with a goal and would soon hit a little purple patch as slivers of hope appeared. Ireland came back twice in the game after goals from Suker and Boban (wow). O’Neill and Quinn with a late equaliser.
There was still time for one more defeat against quality opposition. 1-3 against the Dutch. Bergkamp was in imperious form scoring and assisting two to cancel out Cascarino’s early header.
1996 was the hangover year we had dreaded for so long. And yet there was optimism. The US Cup was up next . The manager was handing out starts to youngsters left, right and at centre half. McGrath was loyal to a fault but nobody expected him to travel all that way for a friendly and so Kenneth Cunningham came in for his fifth cap in succession. Often derided nowadays as a pundit, Cunningham was one of the few Premiership regulars at the time.. The first game was in Boston against the home team and a unlucky 1-2 followed with Ramos and Reyna doing it for them and Connolly scoring for us.
Next up came the old enemy Mexico in the Giants Stadium. Ian Harte, Savage again and David Connolly all started. If they could make it there…
In as much as these things can be, this was a late night thriller. Unlike the World Cup these games were played at prime TV time in the states. Packie Bonner, surely delighted at the prospect of usurping Friends and Seinfeld reruns on his penultimate swansong(is that a thing? He got on for the last 5 mins in the next game anyway) let in one. But Ireland struck back with the new boy Connolly. Then an o.g and Ireland had their first McCarthy win in sight! Alas Luis Garcia, our Orlando slayer had other ideas. It finished 2-2 but not before sending off mayhem with Quinn and McCarthy seeing red. But in that balmy heat of the Giants Stadium, in between the temporary goalposts and the unfamiliar squad numbers and names, there seemed to be green shoots. Defiance was slowly being forged, team spirit being moulded! The poor old Bolivians never stood a chance and so with NY once again providing a happy home for Ireland we signed off with a 3-0 win and 2nd place in the group. O’Neill getting a brace and Harte scoring the first of many under this regime.
Back to Europe and the 8th game of the calendar year in the calendar’s eight month. It was World Cup Qualification time and to start with came Liechtenstein. Despite the narrative of the June 95 debacle, this was a sure fire confidence builder for the burgeoning McCarthy project. Five nil with goals from Townsend, Harte, O’Neill and a Quinn double. This foregone conclusion was joined by yet another foregone conclusion with a 3-0 win over Macedonia in Dublin a month later. This time McAteer and a Cascarino double did the needful as Alan Kelly returned in goal.
All going well then, until…
The visit of Iceland to Donnybrook was expected to be a competitive but ultimately rewarding contest. Iceland were not the force they became later with a ranking of 67th in the world compared to ireland’s 32nd. For context that would be Peru vs UAE in May 2024; a notable gap in quality. Keane was back and the era of Oasis haircuts had come with him. McAteer followed suit alongside Breen and McLoughlin though thankfully Staunton demurred. Despite Keane’s long awaited comeback for the first time since Russia, Ireland somehow conspired to draw nil-all in front of a cold and miserable November audience. Depending on your bingo cards this was the first time Keane had a run in with Irish journalists as Cathal Dervan questioned his commitment in the Sun. It was the first hint of a civil war in the country as proud fellow Corkonian Tony O’Donoghue rushed to Keane’s defence in the Examiner.
The game itself probably rested on one key decision. Ireland had set up with a 532 against Macedonia but despite a 3-0 win now were deemed to be struggling at the back. Keane was deployed as a centre half which obviously limited his time on the ball. The resulting team performance was insipid though Keane rose above the mediocrity as always. In a group where Ireland had wisely planned to get points on the board early by handpicking fixtures, we had dropped two fairly easy ones. It was the first time where McCarthy faced real criticism.
Later that night and with the FAI awards due to take place in the Burlington Hotel, it was confirmed that John Aldridge had decided to retire. The old band was breaking up. 1996 ended with the relative positivity of the US Cup firmly in the distance.
1997
More dreariness was to follow with a nil nil in Cardiff. Ninian Park in February, how exotic. A forgettable match saw the end of one of the most storied careers in Irish football. Paul McGrath played his last game in green. He deserved much better.
The following month saw a trip to Skopje and a presumed three points against a team only playing its second qualifying campaign since the second world war. In a stunning sequel to the Iceland disappointment Ireland went down 2-3. McLoughlin’s clever early header canceled out by two penos. Gabriel Clarke on ITV thought the second Phelan handball was generous. I think little Terry could have done a good job in nets. The third goal followed an unlucky slip by Harte but it was a thunderbolt. David Kelly pulled one back after a John Goodman assist but by the 88 minute McAteer had seen enough and decided to take the game by the scruff of the neck…or by the chest of his spinning heel kick.
In all honesty the orange kit looked quite nice to me but its sales never really recovered after this.
The qualifying group was very much off the rails now. Houghton came back in place of McAteer but Bucharest was a tough place to go and now we were relying on him and Townsend in the centre of the park alongside Keane. Ireland however liked the underdog tag and almost pulled off a great draw. After Ilie’s first half goal, Keane spurned a chance to equalise from the spot. He would never take another penalty in normal time though did score in shoot-outs for United (so obviously he would have scored against Spain in 2002!).
Romania were cruising in the group but after showing a good degree of competence in defeat the general feeling was that a play off spot was still possible if we could beat who we should beat in the group. McCarthy was still benefiting from the loyalty of fans but the hacks were less generous.
Liechtenstein came to Dublin and were dispatched 5-0 again this time with a Connolly hat trick. It was one step forward and three back as Lithuania grabbed a point in Lansdowne at the other side of the summer. Said Lithuanians were now neck and neck for second place with Macedonia also in contention.
A gung-ho performance in Reykjavik next as Ireland won 4-2 with goals from Connolly, Keane twice and a lucky one from Kennedy. Kevin Kilbane would usurp the former Liverpool man later. For a long time I felt Keno was the more talented player but looking back at some highlights he was very reliant on his left foot whereas Kilbane was perfectly average on both.
Ireland went to Vilnius next knowing a victory would almost guarantee second and to be fair they got it. In a time of small mercies Cascarino’s two goals, the winner from a ridiculous angle, was enough to ensure the Romania game in Dublin could be played in relative relaxation.
That game was a good one. Ireland with debutant Lee Carsley played with zest and positivity throughout, knowing that a play off place was already secure. Hagi’s goal after the break was politely applauded before big Cas equalised with about ten minutes to go. At this point Cascarino had been playing for Ireland for 14 years on and off. He’d seen off Aldridge and David Kelly and was in the form of his life thanks to his French diet (and his new girlfriend?-ed)
The year would end with a two legged showdown against the old enemy Belgium. We hadn’t played them since the very start of Charlton’s first qualifying campaign and rumours were abound that if we lost this tie, it would bookend McCathy’s time as manager too.
The draw favoured Belgium as Lansdowne came first. Irwin’s brilliant opener cancelled out by Luc Nilis in the second half. I remember having to work as a lounge boy during the second leg in a rain sodden Brussels (dreadful grammar there, I was working in Clonee not Belgium) After a defensive mix up Oliveria slipped in to score past Shay Given. Houghton had one last moment of magic in the second half with an Uwe Seller inspired header before Belgium scored the winner following the dodgiest throw in award ever seen. The ‘Red Devils’ had screwed us in ‘81 and it had happened again.
Still listening to old tunes. Comfort food for the ears.
This is a great upbeat song from the late 70s. My mate said he played it on repeat the day Alex Ferguson left Man United. That’s good enough for me.
Funny thing I thought Arianna was Australian for ages. But she’s not! Anyway, she’s racking up the hits rapidly but I always liked this. Motorcyles and motels, the cornerstone of any good affair.
I think this is the only 2021 song on here. There’s certainly other good music out there but I’m a Lana stan. I don’t even know what a ‘stan’ is. I’m not hip.
Two really cool things together. Daft Punk and the chap from the Strokes. But it could easily be The Strokes with Daft Punk. They are perfect for each other.
This song was originally an epic soundscape of 80s keyboard trickery. Stripped down here with Morgen getting some help with the high notes, it has a haunting quality. You almost look out the window for a Volvo and the Sky Atlantic ident.
I watched a fine documentary on the Ballymun flats earlier in the year and this song got a mention (it did not get a spin, however because U2 royalties are $$$) Anyway, really nice. Far less ambiguous than a lot of their output.
I played this to death in the summer. Cooking away in the apartment, trying to take myself to some higher plain. Or at the very least forget about having pasta four days in a row because the restaurants of Saigon closed during lockdown.
How did I get to 40 years without watching this excellent mini series? Or the even better novel? This song became a staple of Irish TV over the years, used in so many news review shows.
I only re-listened to this by chance. It was on some RTE programme about the Ireland football team. I blasted up the whatsapp group and John Cushens put a name to the tune in no time at all. Top tip, join WhatsApp groups where there are lots of top trivia buffs.
This was my ‘hum to myself’ tune for ages when I was walking back to the apartment from school. Conditions on my street meant it was suicidal to use personal earphones while walking. So I hummed on those not to so lonely streets…
Added to the list of ‘why did it take you so long?’ music appreciation, here are The Charlatans. They tried to rope Sharon Horgan into singing with them but instead she just appears in the video, moping around, being Irish…Sorry Giles, I know they’ve better ones.
Very underrated tune here. Because of Irish radio’s business model, many band’s top one or two songs get played to death and gems like this are forgotten. But don’t sleep on this as the kids say. Watch the whole concert if you can. Christy wears a bleedin’ rapih Celtic jacket.
This song is the epitome of The Seahorses. Shortlived and in a hurry, they threw a lyrical if not literal kitchen sink at this tune. Damn shame they couldn’t keep it up.
Poor Sarah. It really made me sad to see the girl from Stockport pass away earlier this year. Only a year younger than myself. Is there an argument to say they were one of the best things in the 2000s? It’s not even an argument, they were. Even the Arctic Monkeys covered them. No thanks to Louis Walsh, the dzope!
A song that perfectly encapsulates the way Westerners often speak in cliches about Vietnam as well as their never-ending patience for our guff. I got this stuck in my head while on a ferry to Vung Tau. Lovely stuff!
‘To have lived through those 12 or 13 years. It had excitement, it had drama. Skullduggery, loyalty, disloyalty. It had everything. And it can never and will never be repeated again…’
The above quote by Padraig Flynn. And boy, did he have a way with words. For those of us born after say, 1977, it is hard to have a personal view of Charles J Haughey. Too young to put the puzzle together. Then again folks much older were not necessarily wiser. The enigma of Haughey continued for all his political career, with many secrets and lies getting buried with him.
It would be unfair to criticise the journalists who worked these stories. It was a different time of course, and Fianna Fail were still in the midst of a modernisation that many would say they have yet to attain.
Irish folks have an awful gra for nostalgia and old footage is of itself a massive comfort, almost to the point of an aversion therapy, as someone else once said.
He shaped a modern nation, not for the better, most would say. But then everyone had an opinion on CJ. What little I can recall is pieced together by the chats my elders had in the kitchen as well as what I saw on TV. I have posted a few of these YouTube greatest hits below.
Haughey ( broadcast in 2005)
Put simply this is an excellent piece of work. Both balanced and compelling, it provides a linear structure from Haughey’s roots in Derry right up to his final denoument in Dublin Castle. Flynn’s quote is heard in the last episode. By then you will have witnessed the whole journey and it’s hard to disagree with him.
Haughey: The Money Trail ( Broadcast in 1997)
If Niamh Sammon’s 4 hour epic( above) is Francis Ford Coppola then this one is maybe Sidney Lumet. Concise and fascinating, it is created within the typical RTE prime time layout. P Flynn was obviously busy in Brussels ( in his second of three houses?) so it comes down to Seamus Brennan and Willie O’Dea to stick their heads above the paraphet. Well worth a watch, though the picture quality is not great.
Note there is a two parter from TV3 called GUBU but because of the station’s obsession with pop music, you’ll have to put up with frequent dead air during your viewing. Some excellent photos used in the Ken Burns style montages mind you
Charlie ( 3 part Drama Miniseries)
A lot of what you see in the documentary is attempted in this following re-inactment by the Love Hate boys. This is not a particularly well made programme and it’s a shame because Aiden Gillen certainly looked the part. The lack of cinematic scope is disappointing. Compared with something like The Treaty (1992) the three parter suffers from production unable to work within budgetary limits. Despite that, it has some occasional good moments ( Timotei! )
Election Debate 1987.
A long long time ago, politicians used to wait until the other person was finished speaking. They also used to get their point across without shouting. This is a pleasure to watch. Two educated men, jousting thoughtfully, a mutual respect quite evident.
The Dubliners Tribute Show
A short clip here on the Late Late Show. Byrne manfully tries to disguise his political leanings as the special guest star appears. Haughey makes a handful of gold plated puns before exiting stage right, as ever looking for a seat.
Charlie Haughey’s Ireland
While in opposition in the mid 80s, CJ was desperate to maintain a relevance with the world outside Leinster House. This self produced travelog around the country retains a certain charm. Haughey appears comfortable in his own skin, extolling the virtues of a country on the rise, while occasionally giving himself credit for some of its success. No more of that, for now. (excuse the poor quality)
Arise and follow Charlie
This little ditty was taken from an old Jacobite song. Journeys are shortened from southern glens to western shores, but the blind loyalty is no different. The song is a perfect toe tapper. You can almost taste the chicken and chips. (Honourary mention for ‘We’ll be There’. Alas, there is no decent recording of that one online but the old election paraphernalia on the youtube clip is charming )
So there you have it. There is a little more I could add to the list but overall it is quite disappointing to think this collection is as limited as it is. When you compare it to the modern age of tweets and Instagram videos that Haughey’s modern counterparts use now, well it’s like comparing Sam Smith to Elvis really, isn’t it?
I am all for fairness and would love to one day do a Fine Gael companion piece. Alas a lot of their stuff is unavailable at the time of writing. Could it be a case of the Irish media’s favourites being more aware of the dangers of posterity? Who knows? All is for certain that on either side of the house, nobody has come close to matching Sweetie’s infamy. Not even Bertie.
I guess a lot of the subtext here is about my being a spoilt brat with commitment issues. I can’t say for sure if Liverpool were any way the cause of my life’s disappointment heretofore. Some of the most depressed people I’ve ever met in my life were United fans, even after their 20 odd years of success. Is the journey better than the destination? Maybe, but I certainly don’t want to drive that road again.
Despite my moody episodes and temper tantrums, I’ve always thought of myself as someone who is in or around the Europa league places of life, better than most though a bit off Champion material. Besides, it would seem a bit lame to blame your failures on strangers who kick a ball for a living.
Going into Klopp’s second full season the odds of a league title were hard to place. Other teams were still in transition and it just seemed like there might be a possibility, but only if others made mistakes. But there was always that hope. Hope that maybe they could put something strong enough together. A decent title challenge.
Outside of Anfield’s bubble, the map of English league football had been notably redrawn . The top 4 of the 2000s was now a fully fledged top 6, not even counting Leicester. Despite their 2017 league win, Chelsea were quickly descending into chaos. An ageing dressing room and the rapid turnover of coaches was finally beginning to wear thin. A lot of people hate Chelsea. For me they were a necessary evil in the 2000s. Who else was going to put it up to United? Arsenal? Oh please!
The aforementioned Man United were in the midst of a bizarre decline since Ferguson’s retirement. Despite some cup success, Mourinho arriving and millions spent they never looked like the swashbuckling team of old. Elsewhere in Manchester however Pep Guardiola was in his second full season, building on the respectable work done by Pellegrini before him. Sky Sports and other media friends ran out of superlatives by Christmas while more cynical viewpoints of how the operation was being financed were put to one side for now.
Who knew what would happen as the ball game started up again in August?
Our 2017/18 season had begun moderately. A 3-3 draw at Watford was positive in that we saw the league debut of Mo Salah, who scored. Less comforting was the ongoing goalkeeper issue. Mignolet had endured a mixed four years and the previous year’s signing Karius had not convinced either. Centre halves still looked terrified under the high ball. Liverpool fans feared another Roy Evan’s style era. Klopp himself must have lost some sleep over a solution.
In the September match at the Ethiad, Liverpool fell behind early but worked their way back into the game before mane was sent off for a high foot. It was 50-50. Not a complete disgrace of a decision. What worried me was Klopp remonstrating with the fourth official for five minutes instead of working out a plan B. We lost 5-0 and that old familiar feeling was setting in again.
It is said it’s more important to be a lucky general rather than a good one. Ideally if you can be both, so much the better. Watching a 3-3 draw against Arsenal showed the good and bad of his team. The Fab Four of Mane, Salah, Firmino and Coutinho was enough to launch an industry of bootleg t-shirts but the logic of playing all four was fatally flawed. Shankly style piano carriers were all too few.
The summer itself had been something of a merry go round. Neymar’s move to PSG set off a chain reaction which seemed irrelevant to Liverpool initially. We were bullying Southampton again for players and maybe deserved a bit of the hardball we got for the ensuing months. Virgil Van Dijk wanted to come but the Saints wanted more money. We didn’t have it..yet.
Come Christmas and with the World Cup coming on the horizon Philipe Coutinho’s agent started to weave his spell. Coutinho began to imagine visions of a victory for Brazil in Russia, with him taking centre stage in a team that may not have had the injured Neymar. For all this to happen however, it was apparently vital that he make the move to Barcelona early. Many felt a Suarez situation might come to pass. That he would stick it out ’til the summer and then move. But no. He wanted to go. Claimed a fake injury to avoid playing. It was a decision that has not been forgotten or forgiven.
Personally I was relieved so long as the money was used more wisely than in 2014. Let him be sold I said. Let’s reinvest, but with quality.
Come January. They spent some of the Coutinho money wisely. Oh boy did they.
And a few months later, despite the league being out of reach for another year, the Champions League was looking like a maybe. A definite maybe.
2017-2018
Liverpool 3-0 City
It always seemed like the two great cities of the North West will be competing against each other for eternity. But at the start of the 2010s who would have thought it would be a non United battle? Yes the league table shows that Mourinho had guided his team to second while we finished two places back but even the staunchest Red Devil couldn’t claim bragging rights. For one thing City had finished in triple figures. A feat never achieved by United.
As I mentioned, everything changed for us during the winter transfer window. The team started to look a bit more realistic after the Ossie Ardiles style Autumn formation. Andrew Robertson was beginning to find his feet, and not a moment too soon (Somehow Alberto Moreno was still first choice left back at the start of the season) and on the other side Trent Alexander Arnold had nailed down the right back slot, dethroning the very decent Nathaniel Clyne. The team had a shape that wasn’t a million miles away from the heady days of 2014. By this time the midfield guile of Gerrard had been updated with brute strength and energy. Interchangeable elements with the likes Fabinho and recent signing Alex Oxade Chamberlain with Wijnaldum, Milner and Henderson still in situ.
Heading into the new year Liverpool couldn’t keep up with the phenomenal Man City. Nobody could. Much like ourselves two years later they broke the spirit of the competition well before Christmas. Domestically they were dominant but what about Europe? Well…
This game was foreshadowed by the league result in January. A 4-3 win ensured Arsenal’s ‘invincible’ record remained (though with the points totals in recent seasons, that record looks more and more ordinary in my view) but in reality Liverpool were devastating and should have won by more.
Come March and Liverpool’s chips were all on Europe again. Most felt this game would be cagey, with the Red’s main mission to keep De Bruyne and Silva quiet and maybe grab a sneaky 1-0 win.
The result that did come shook the foundations of European football. Another result that ground away at Guardiola’s reputation. It was a remarkable display of physical superiority, with the likes of Kyle Walker been made to look not only ordinary but downright amateurish.
In the semi finals Liverpool blitzed Roma in a spectacular 35 burst of that now famous heavy metal football. Our defensive frailties were still visible however with the Romans almost catching us in the second leg. Henderson’s remonstrating with Karius in the aftermath didn’t go unnoticed. Some felt he was giving it the big one. Others felt the young German keeper was a bit of a fancy dan who lacked focus if not the ability to make big decisions in a game.
As we know this season ended in disappointment in Kiev. Though try telling that to the legions of fans who had made the pilgrimage. Liverpool were rocking again. It was an unstoppable momentum of positivity on match days, with the manager being at the forefront of it. Did Jurgen Norbert Klopp have blind spots? Was he ruthless enough to get rid of players who weren’t up to it? As he sang songs with the fans after the Real Madrid defeat those questions would have to wait. All that was known was we that we had the fucking soundest fella in the world as our manager. He deserved a birra luck. Que sera sera. Or maybe Allez Allez Allez.
2018-2019
Heading into this season there was a little bit more belief. The undeniable truth however was impossible to hide. Maybe Karius had a concussion in the final. But was he really a keeper who you could depend on? Klopp was at a crossroads in his own career. He didn’t want to be known as the nice guy who never won trophies anymore. There was still a bit of money left from the Coutinho sale. Yes, it was now or never. A once in a generation chance to buy a top 5 goalkeeper. I thought it might be Oblak from Atletico. And it could have been very fine with him. But again we went Brazilian. Step forward Alisson Becker.
He had last been seen in Anfield picking the ball from the net five times though nobody in attendance suggested it was any of his doing. In the World Cup in Russia he had shown signs of his quality too. It was decided that he was his our man. A few days later Chelsea gave it the Billy Big Balls by signing a keeper that was even more expensive than our £69m man. All it did was relieve that 1% of pressure Alisson might have had upon arriving in England. The man was and is, ice cool.
Of course that Roma game at Anfield cannot be mentioned without acknowledging my hometown of Dunboyne. An attack on Sean Cox that night has left him with life changing injuries that will affect him and his family for the rest of his life. Having heard the news that evening before the game I couldn’t get my head around it. Despite the love, respect and affection that the club showed to him since then it is a horrible and unfortunate connection of two places very close to me.
Heading into the new season the team looked like the business. But the spectre of Manchester City winning the previous league by 19 points( 23 ahead of us) was hard to ignore. As ever I was working out the maths. It wouldn’t need 100 points to win it again I felt. Nah, 96 would be grand.
Big Sigh
Southampton 1-3 Liverpool
This season was relentless. 30 times the league places 1 and 2 changed hands between us and City. Who would blink first?
By the time this rolled around Liverpool were far more of a study in caution and control than in previous years. There was quality all over the pitch now. Fabinho, yet another member of the Brazilian community within the club, was a standout purchase. So much so that he was still keeping Henderson out of the team for long spells. Injury prone Naby Keita gave the number 14 a pathway back into the side later in the campaign, but this night they both shun briefly. It was however another one of those Mo Salah games.
If the time comes that I write about these season’s in more excruciating detail, King Mohammed’s 2017-18 will have to be documented extensively. His 44 goal salvo was nothing short of phenomenal. And all from a right wing position, cutting in on his vicious left peg. Watching him sometimes it felt like that total should be at least double. Liverpool were perpetually working that wing. And if they weren’t Mane was getting his fair share on the other side. And if that didn’t work we had the magic of Firmino unlocking teams at closer quarters.
In this game however, doubts were been raised about the Egyptian. He had gone six games without scoring a league goal. This included two nil all draws against United and Everton that ultimately proved very costly. The match at St. Mary’s he needed to reach his own lofty standards once more. And he certainly did.
I watched this game at the Lotts with the brothers Hoey and a shit stirring Gooner in Paul Halpin who was absolutely loving the Dante like hell that his Liverpool friends were putting themselves through every week. Maybe the trip down to the South coast had done the team a favour. A nice sea air coming in from the Channel? Or maybe it was those marvellous purple shirts.
Either way it was a night of near euphoria which signposted yet more ultimate despair.
The league would again be unattainable and after a disaster in Camp Nou it looked like nothing would be gained this year despite standards of results having never really been much higher. Life just wasn’t fair.
At 0-3 in Barcelona I howled in frustration as Salah hit the woodwork. I insulted my friends to high heaven for having the temerity to acknowledge Messi’s genius. I shook in incredulity when I saw Klopp beckon the keeper up for a last minute corner. Klopp had finally given up logic but Alisson thought better of it. Thirty seconds later and yet another one of Barcelona’s background artists had let their lead actor down. Dembele. God bless him. Liverpool lived to fight another day. And the rest as they say…
These words I had shouted across the Brady’s car park after the 2018 Kiev final. My piss had been well boiled that night. And it wasn’t just the United fans who decided to turn up and shout for Real. Neither was it the egg chasing Leinster fans who insisted the Challenge Cup stay on the TV until the presentation was over. No, It was seeing that man, walking back to his car disconsolately. Sean Neilon, the manager of Dunboyne’s best boozer, was a long term Red just like me, having to take another slagging off a non red. I had parked myself in the middle bar of his fine establishment for most of the decade, a decision made by my local pals and ultimately endorsed by myself.
When possible we had watched just about everything there since Euro 2012. I shudder to think how many pint glasses of Lucozade I downed when I wasn’t skulling far more appealing Smithwicks.
The reason of course I mentioned it is that this was a season like no other. And not just because I jumped on the plane to Vietnam in October 2019. When the C word finally caught up with the rest of the world in February 2020 it seemed like the most unlikely of causes was going to halt our near perfect procession to the throne.
I thought about home a lot during these dark days. There were many reasons to, as is normal for faraway travellers. But few things hurt more than the knowledge that thousands of pubs around Ireland and the UK were closed during Liverpool’s ultimate coronation. It seemed so unfair that after a generation of waiting to finally do it, fans had to be satisfied with celebrating at home. I did so myself at roughly 4.30am in my apartment on July 23rd 2020, with nothing stronger than a bottle of cold water. It was hardly the party I had dreamed for all those years.
And if it bothered me, can you imagine the feeling of the players? Celebrating in an empty stadium is never going to be as good, despite all the fireworks.
But those are a young man’s dreams. The kind of hopes that shouldn’t alter a life’s plans heading into your 40th year. My long threatened promise of not getting married until we win the bloody league may now be questioned. Oh dear.
So in this season of purgatory I often doubted what I was seeing. City had virtually surrendered by Halloween. Unable to cope with the retirement of Vincent Kompany they had endured a miserable run while Liverpool just kept winning and winning. It was more like an Arsenal ’91 style grind than a Liverpool ’88 style festival. But 1-0s and 2-1s kept coming with alarming regularity. Stand out performers had been the ever willing Mane and Jordan Henderson, enjoying a career best period of form. Even a trip to Qatar to win the World Club Cup for the first time did little to hinder us. We enjoyed Christmas by battering Leicester away after many had said they’d be keen on revenge after an earlier Anfield robbery.
Heading into January 2020 I still strongly believed but doubts remained. Paranoia borne out of years of near misses and despair. The United match glowed brightly from the fixture list. January 19th. For me it was not on too late either. 11pm Saigon time.
Solksjaer has had his critics but one thing can be said of his teams is that most of the time they try very hard. Motivation for a Liverpool game you felt would not be hard to find.
And indeed they fought tooth and nail that day, despite often coming off second best in challenges. Liverpool were imperious however. Van Dijk’s first half header putting us on the front foot and closer again to Valhalla. As the dying moments of the game ticked away, there was still more doubt. United however couldn’t do anything with the set piece and Alisson launched a ball into the left channel. Soon it became apparent why.
Salah was all alone. United had fully committed to the free kick and when it fell apart so beautifully they had nobody home except the keeper. Young Welshman Daniel James put on the after burners but Salah would not be denied his first goal against the old enemy. Seconds later as the ball passed under De Gea and into the net the Kop embraced it all. This was the moment. This was when it felt safe to say it.
We’re going to win the league.
Epilogue
I don’t know if there was a point to writing this. If many people will enjoy it or agree with the matches I chose. I am quite sure there will be many who remember things better and had the benefit of being in the stadium while I poured over instant replays.
I have regrets of not seeing the team play more often in the flesh. The pub and the house certainly have their merits but nothing replaces the real thing and the possibility of making new friends. In this age of the internet I hope it can help refresh the memories of fellow fans and we can reminisce about graveyard shifts on the right wing, Steve Staunton playing in goal and other assorted horrors.You can’t have the good without the bad after all.
But the 2019/20 season is in the books now and we’ll start afresh soon enough. Week after week Irish Reds pile onto coaches and planes destined for Merseyside and that intoxicating atmosphere. I love the hush of the city centre and the citizens going about their daily chores, as fans from far and wide gradually make their way across town to L4, hoping for more unforgettable moments on the pitch.
It has been a thrilling three years at Liverpool. Breathless, unbelievable stuff. A standard reached that has never been sustained for so long. A treble of leagues was won in the early 80s but the points totals never got close to today’s requirements. This team, built on the blueprints of Jurgen Klopp but only functional because of the never ending graft of his tireless players. It is a team that’s easy to love.
But what of those less loveable sides? 1992/93? 2003/04? 2009/10? Well even in the darkest hours there was always light. We’re not City and god knows we’re not Everton. It has been an easier ride than most. If fans like me entered into it on the pretence of guaranteed success then maybe we got what we deserved but most of us put the time and love in after that. It feels bleedin’ good now.
All I can hope is that the wait for the next one is not so long and that the wonder that is Anfield is soon filled again with the best fans in the world.
2014 was probably the most exhilarating year Liverpool Football Club ever saw. Some older fans could plump for either 1988 or 1979 but for me it was this one. For about three solid months Liverpool played football at a speed few have ever seen. History books might one day refer to it as one of the starting points of ‘transitions’ in play; a method used to get the ball to your striker as soon as possible by way of a deep lying midfielder or a ball playing centre half. Given Skrtel’s and Sakho’s limitations as well as Agger’s unfortunate injury problems it was all about Messrs Gerrard and Suarez.
Of course the ribbons on the Premier League trophy were once again sky blue but there’s no doubt Liverpool had won over the neutrals. It seemed like destiny was welcoming us to take the throne, until cruel fate swept the legs from under us. The usual narrative is the Gerrard slip. For me it had more to do with playing Victor Moses while his parent club were still in the title race.
He looked like a man who was conflicted at best when he gave Henderson that hospital pass against City. The number 14 was sent off and missed some vital games in the run in. Blame too could be held against Kolo Toure for a bad decision that cost Liverpool 2 points against West Brom. Heck, even Lucas, who eventually won me over by sheer grit, almost cost us against Norwich. It was Gerrard who saved us at Craven Cottage while other’s still seemed high on the fumes of trouncing Arsenal. Alas we know all this now and the memories still hurt when dug up.
For me it was a year where I managed to put out a feature film to little fanfare. I had gone on a Gerrard like solo run with it for a year and a half, hoping if nothing else that it might convince some production company to trust me with making coffee if not a few edits. I aimed too low and listened to the wrong people. Never recovered. Watching Gerrard in the 14/15 season I felt a certain empathy for him. A childhood dream that would never come through after years of trying. Anyway, a new season and all that. Things could only get better right??
2014/15
Liverpool 1-Basel 1
By the time this game came around Liverpool had amassed a paltry 21 points from a possible 45 in the league. Rodgers was still trying to figure out a way of playing that didn’t involve the departed Suarez or the injured Sturridge. Balotelli was nothing short of a disgrace. And yet the twenty or so minutes that he and Sturridge had at White Hart Lane back in August was tantalizing. What might have been.
By the time our Swiss nemesis rolled into town the manager had incurred the wrath of the fans by playing a weakened side in the Bernabeu. It never bothered me as much to be honest. Yes it would have been great to see Gerrard there but there wasn’t much evidence the first choice players would have changed the score. What bothered me far more was the away games against Ludogorets and Basel. We were hopeless.
And so if there was any hope of Champions League football post christmas we would have to beat Basel at Anfield. Any score would have been fine. It didn’t happen. Almost ten years to the day of beating Olympiakos we were still relying on Gerrard to get us out of jail. And with another pearler of a free kick ten minutes from time he almost managed it. Alas to no avail. And with that we came ever closer to closing the book on Gerrard’s Liverpool career.
Rodgers was hoping that the players he currently had could fill the void and for a while it looked like Coutinho could take centre stage. Into the new year and Rodgers had happened on a 4-3-3 system that worked a lot of the time. He went on a run with it and suddenly a top 4 spot looked on. Momentum came to a crashing end against United at Anfield however.
And so what could have been an unforgettable season became a season we all wanted to forget. Our greatest number 7 since Dalglish sold at short notice after more biting madness, with scarcely enough time to replace him. The resulting transfer fee spent on the likes of Lallana, Lovren and Rickie Lambert who was fulfilling a childhood ambition that in hindsight probably should have been fulfilled in an over 40s charity match instead.
Gerrard walked away for the last time after a hiding against Stoke. Many say Rodgers should have gone too. But at that time all I could think of was how much our number 8 had given of himself. And how little success his efforts had amounted to post Istanbul.
Life is not supposed to work like that. Hard work and loyalty within a top ‘brand’ usually guarantees glory. Promises were made to him so often. Guarantees of world class teammates being signed. And yet so often it was he who was rolled out for another brow furrowing press conference, explaining the ire of Benitez or the madness of Luis Suarez.
He was remarkably consistent for ten years, often rushing back from injury because no replacement could be trusted to have even half his influence. Now with his pace and energy diminished it was up to others to step up.
I think many people started to feel like Liverpool Football Club was no longer an institution, that we were turning into just another club. How could you blame them after seeing this half hearted season? We needed to believe again, even if Superman was now dead.
2015/16
Liverpool 4-3 Borussia Dortmund
A new way had to come. I wasn’t convinced Rodgers was capable of finding it and I don’t think he was either in truth. After signing Benteke it felt like he was again going back on a philosophy he believed in. The Premier League will do that to a manager. Believing in a certain way is fine but results are basically everything. Come October 2015 it just wasn’t happening.
So it was bye bye Brendan but who could take his place? There was no guarantee it would be anyone high profile. Rodgers himself had pipped Roberto Martinez in 2012 after Pep politely sniggered at the suggestion while on sabbatical in New York.
In the end it came down to two people everybody was pleasantly surprised by. Carlo Ancellotti and Jurgen Norbert Klopp. How close the Italian came is anyone’s guess. And maybe it would have been good. But it would have had to go some to be better than what was. What is!
The German arrived with the usual flashbulbs and red scarf pomp. His words were well thought out. It felt like he knew exactly what he was letting himself in for and he was up for it.
More sniggers came after the 2-2 draw at home to West Brom. And yet within four months we were back at Wembley for a League Cup final. A month later we were in the Europa League quarter finals, against of all teams, Borussia Dortmund.
In the early days of this era it could be seen how much had changed. This was Rodgers original philosophy done properly. We could pass all day. The 2nd leg gets all the dramatic headlines but in the first game in the Westfalenstadion we were matching Dortmund pass for pass. It was a beautiful game of football.
Of course I have to choose the second leg. The mayhem of it. Me, in the Carpenters pub screaming my head off in delight. What a night!
But it all was made possible by a collective willingness to try and play football. New signing Firmino had looked lost in the first few weeks but Klopp knew exactly what he wanted from him. Sturridge was off the doctor’s table and beginning to put some form together. Lallana and Joe Allen, two very early disciples of the new way put in serious mileage often sacrificing the niceties of their own game for the team’s greater good. Lucas Leiva too, who had performed heroically at centre half against City in the League Cup Final. And of course, James Milner. With apologies to Gary McAllister the greatest free transfer in the club’s history.
Unlike Arsenal in 19/20 our efforts weren’t immediately rewarded with silverware. The season would end with two disappointing final defeats. Some scoffed at Klopp’s Cup Final misfortune. Others knew better.
2016/2017
West Ham 0-4 Liverpool
Heading into this season everyone was curious about what would happen in the transfer market. Klopp had been as polite as possible about the Benteke misfit but he knew that selling him was the key to everything. In what became a very happy habit, he was sold for an unexpectedly high price and proceeded to do very little for his new club once he got there.
With the incoming lucre, three key members were added to the squad. Sadio Mane from Southampton, Joel Matip from Schalke and Gino Wijnaldum from Newcastle.
With Danny Ings soon sidelined again as well as Sturridge’s ongoing injury troubles, Klopp endured a frustrating time but there was a sense that everyone was positive and happy to play the long game. With the main stand now fully renovated Anfield never looked more like a theatre. A vast sloping roof let everyone knew that the club were beginning to see themselves in a greater light. In the opening few games it took the TV cameras a bit of time to get used to the new dimensions. The first game against Leicester looked like it was filmed from the Radio Merseyside tower.
The season was coming along very nicely by the end of the calendar year. An excellent header by Wijnaldum against City had put us top of the table. Alas a loss of form, perhaps not helped by Mane’s commitments in the African Nations Cup, saw us fall away quickly. What might have been.
Heading into May, Liverpool were looking okay for a Champions League place. It was vital they got it. Two disappointing exits in the domestic cups had brought an end to a miserable spring. If they didn’t get that 4th spot, heaven knows how miserable we’d all be now.
There was no need to fret. As so often has been the case in recent years, the fixture computer offered a trip away to West Ham just when we needed it. It was always tricky playing in the tightly knit Upton Park but playing in a spanking clean Olympic Stadium would be a pleasure.
This looked every bit a Klopp team. West Ham fans surely groaned every time their team won a corner kick for it gave us the opportunity to launch 80 yard counter attacks at will.
Resplendent in toxic green that I felt was unfairly maligned, Liverpool looked vicious again. They closed out the season in style at Vicarage Road with an excellent Emre Can overhead. He was assisted by Lucas Leiva who wouldn’t see the fruits of his labours the next season. A final day win over Middlesboro’ confirmed what we all wanted. Liverpool were back at the top table of Europe.
rayhyland.com 