Tom Dunne's Music & Me: Fr Ted, Ian Gillan and other tales from my secret soccer past

Alternative Ireland: BACK, L-R, Dermot Morgan. Nicky English, Jerry Fehily (Hot House Flowers), Barney Rock (?), Billy McGrath, unknown, Oliver Walshe; FRONT, Shay Healy, Ray Treacy, Tom Dunne, PJ Smith (No Sweat), Chris de Burgh, Tony Fenton.
When I was growing up, all small boys came with two alternate soundtracks in their heads. One was audience applause for their musical talents. The other was a radio commentary on their silken football skills. Very few grew up to actually hear either. A tiny elite grew up to hear both.
The Smiths' Johnny Marr was approached by Nottingham Forest. In another life he could have played with Keano and been This Charming Midfielder. Damon Gough, AKA Badly Drawn Boy, had trials at Manchester United. Manic Street Preachers' Nicky Wire captained the Welsh youth team. James Allen, of Glasvegas, played professional soccer at Falkirk.
And then there was me. It was Joe O’Herlihy, U2’s legendary sound man who tapped me up. “You follow United, Tom, don’t you?” he asked, “you must play a bit?” I fell silent, as the stinging memories of being picked last, the school yard taunts, and my career in the Drimnagh Road leagues as ‘water carrier’ all came rushing back.
Joe took my silence as modesty and a day later I was capped for Ireland. I played before the Ireland v Wales game in 1990 at Lansdowne in an Irish XI that included Dermot Morgan. The International XI included most of Def Leppard.
As a school boy I had found it useful to have a book with me if playing on the wing so I grabbed one and headed out. But even here the ball found me. I controlled it valiantly and headed towards goal. I didn’t get far. Their goalie was Ian Gillan of Deep Purple. I stopped. I stared. “Ian F**king Gillan!” I thought. When I came to the ball had gone. I was hooked at half time.
I returned to five-a-side and games against the Stars of Heaven FC and Whipping Boy Celtic. Our favourite opponents were The Comedians. I am happy to say I have brought down or fouled both Father Dougal Maguire and Father Damo. I left the studs in on Damo and muttered “Blur, all day long,” as I walked past.
But the Brazil of ‘bands who play ball’ were Revelino. Guitarist Bren Berry was a midfield powerhouse, singer Ciaran Tallon trialled at West Ham and his brother Brendan played for Bohs. When a one day super league was held in the Phoenix Park in 1996, they were our dark horse against teams from the NME, Creation Records, Loaded, Brookside and EastEnders.

Their game against Massive Attack was the stand out. Robert Del Naja can play. But our boys won 4 -1, with their opponents being re-christened Massive Defence. They were cruelly defeated in the final by The Guardian who boasted actual England internationals in their ranks and only one ‘muso’, Mick Talbot of Style Council fame, who obviously wasn’t muso enough.
My second cap was a tougher affair. Attending an Irish Celebs v Rest of the World game I was asked if I’d like to meet the team. In the dressing room it emerged we only had nine players so I re-emerged in a full Ireland strip. My girlfriend looking at me in stunned silence. I grabbed a paper and made my way to the wing.
Our opponents were mostly soap stars but they also had a player called Asa Hartford. Asa had starred with Man City, and had been on the verge of becoming Leeds United record signing when he had failed the medical due to having a hole in his heart. The condition stopped the transfer, but it didn’t stop Asa playing even after his professional career ended. He had a formidable reputation and was as tough as a chisel.
The game had settled but I wasn’t getting much reading done. When we had the ball Noel King would roar “Go! Go!” at me to run forward. When we lost the ball John Devine would roar “get back, get back”. After five minutes I felt like I was the one with the hole in the heart.
But then I found myself in a 50/50 with Asa Hartford. I saw him bearing down on me. I presumed these would be my last moments on earth but some inner Road League instinct kicked in. I’m not sure what I did but Asa hit the turf like a V1 rocket. The ensuing scene was dreamlike: Grant Mitchell being restrained, Ian Beale threatening me, the ref pleading for calm.
The gold standard ‘musician cum footballer’ remains Sergio Pizzorno from Kasabian. In a game at Wembley he chipped David Seaman with Messi-like insouciance. Google it. It is an actual dream captured on video.