Tommy Martin: Parity of esteem for all sides as an uneasy peace reigns over Irish football 

Troy Parrott of Republic of Ireland comes on to replace team-mate Callum Robinson, watched by manager Stephen Kenny, right, during the win over Qatar at the Aviva Stadium. Picture: Stephen McCarthy/Sportsfile

Most conflicts end when both sides have grown weary of battle. As of now, an uneasy peace reigns over Irish football.

Sometimes it takes a third party to intervene, to bring the enemies together, to show them what unites rather than divides. For this ceasefire in the Stephen Kenny wars, a debt of gratitude is owed to the Qatari football team.

Gentle, pacifist souls, they came to Dublin and, by refusing to make any tackles, gave us hope for the future.

Taking on board criticism of their government’s record on human rights, Qatar offered the Irish midfield unlimited freedom of expression. Their defence was open and tolerant. They have surely earned themselves a plum job on one of their country’s famous building sites. We salute their contribution to the process.

For the pro- and anti-Stephen Kenny factions, the simple joy of thumping some disinterested stooges on a crisp Dublin night washed away much of the division and rancour of the previous 13 months.

A shared vision of togetherness presented itself, one where both cultures are respected. On one side, the ceremonial passing of the football. On the other, the sacred rite of sticking one on Shane Duffy’s large head. Provocative gestures in another time, now, on this special night, warmly cheered by all.

Wouldn’t it be great if it could be like this all the time?

True, there will need to be some truth and reconciliation. The scars of the past will not heal without understanding what drove us apart. Like all conflicts, this was about change and fear.

The Kennyites came in promising the shock of the new. They said the Republic of Ireland would now be a team of 16-year-old Japanese schoolgirls in virtual reality headsets, DM-ing algorithms at unsuspecting opponents while TikTok dancing on electric scooters.

This approach took time to bed in.

Meanwhile, the anti-Kenny faction gathered in wattle-and-daub huts. Old warriors and scribes among their ranks, they offered prayers at the tomb of Robbie Keane, who they believe will come back again and bestow last-minute equalisers and hat-tricks against San Marino for eternity.

They grew fearful and angry at the new approach, these elders. Blasphemy, they cried. We must respect the old ways. When autumn 2020 came and the Nations League harvest was bare, they said it was because we had angered the Big Jack god, from whom all good things come. There would have to be a human sacrifice, they said. Kenny must be sent to Athlone Town.

An early attempt at reconciliation proved fruitless. Figuring that both sides needed to unite against a common enemy, Kenny made a video about what bastards the English were. It didn’t go down well. This was bad. Could it be true? We hated each other even more than we hated the English?

The conflict was bitter and pitiless. There was fault on both sides. The Kennyites opened their laptops and fired chance creation stats and xG calculations across the barricades. They pointed to numbers of passes accumulated and compared it to those games when we used to play Georgia at home under Martin O’Neill, when we would hide behind some shrubbery for 90 minutes until they eventually went away. Sure, Ireland were not winning any actual football matches, but wasn’t that the sort of outdated thinking that had been holding us back all these years?

The other side retaliated with force. ‘Results, results, results’ they chanted, heaving their siege engines into place. One goal in eight games. Ten games without a win. One win in 16. Each blow landing with deadly force. Bulgaria, Luxembourg, Azerbaijan. The Kenny forces were in retreat. Their leader looked out of his depth. The propaganda fell flat. We’re building for 2024! Luxembourg are really good! Check out the KPIs!

But as the battle raged, back-channel diplomacy began to offer a pathway to peace. Anthony Barry, a Chelsea-based tactics man, was brought in to mediate.

Team selections featured fewer spotty teenagers. Compromises were offered, ideologies softened: Passes were not necessarily to be made sideways. A new, blandly corporate FAI CEO refused to speculate on hirings or firings where previous incumbents might have added fuel to the fire. From his podcast cave, the hermit Dunphy gave his approval.

Goals began to trickle in. Set-pieces. Scruffy, Duffy-inspired efforts bundled home in late salvation. The old gods were pleased and granted their blessings unto the new. Callum Robinson stayed uninfected long enough to score five goals in two games having previously scored one in 20. The pipes of peace were playing. The times they were a-changin’.

Ultimately, the people gave their verdict and now the combatants must lay down their arms. Allowed back in to watch their team, the fans have decided that a young, eager, multi-ethnic bunch that plays a bit of ball and has a bit of the old dog in them will do nicely thank you. The manager is a good fella with the right intentions who has learned on the job and says the right things about world issues even if he waffles on a bit at times.

There must be no triumphalism now. Parity of esteem for all sides. Let us be sensitive to each other’s traditions. No provocative displays of heat maps. Ex-internationals must decommission their newspaper columns.

As with all conflicts, was anything really achieved? Did the end justify the means? Are we not back where we started, able to beat the hapless patsies of international football and scuffle our way to draws against the better teams?

No matter. What’s done it done. No more angry words. What this team needs now is time to build, to continue the progress. They need a peace dividend. For Ireland under Stephen Kenny, it’s time for hope and history to rhyme.