We coulda been a contender!

JUST when we all thought we were ready to move on...

Into my inbox yesterday popped a press release headed: “FIFA World Cup Trophy Tour by Coca-Cola to visit Ireland.”

A first brief glance made me think that April 1 was coming earlier than Christmas but, no, the relevant dates are April 3 to April 6 next year when the 14 and half-inch high, 13lb, solid gold trophy will go on display in Dublin – details to be announced in the New Year – as part of a world tour in the build-up to the finals in South Africa next summer.

The organisers reckon 3,000 people here will get to view the biggest prize in world football. They will also be offered the chance to have a souvenir photo taken with the trophy as well to take part in interactive displays and other entertainment. According to the press release (and if you’re already feeling a bit queasy, better look away now): “A key theme of the Dublin leg of the tour will be a nostalgic look back to the 1990 and 1994 FIFA World Cup Finals at which the Republic of Ireland competed so successfully.”

And, on the off-chance that you are still able to read on having just jabbed red-hot knitting needles into both your eyes, the Irish brand manager of sponsors Coca-Cola is quoted as saying: “This country and its people are hugely passionate about sport and football in particular and it is a great thrill for us to bring the experience of seeing this iconic trophy up close to Irish sports fans. The Trophy Tour brings with it a huge amount of positive energy and we hope this unique event will generate a lot of interest here.”

“Positive energy”. That’s a good one, alright.

But perhaps we should be a bit more grown up about all this. Or, rather, more childlike. It so happens that, while in Bari last April to cover the Ireland-Italy qualifier, I took the opportunity to join the throngs who were queuing up to view the World Cup trophy which was on display in the city’s town hall. It was nearing the close of business and the crowd was thinning out by the time I finally got a chance to see up close what the Irish team, back then, still had dreams of seeing again in South Africa. And there was a lovely moment when the security guards, as they prepared to shut the doors on the day, made a special concession for a little Italian boy by gently lifting up the protective glass cabinet so that, held up in his beaming father’s arms, the young fellow was able to briefly touch the trophy that the whole world of football wants to get its hands on.

The look on the boy’s face was priceless although, needless to say, if we’d known then what we know now, we would have roared ‘handball’ and demanded that the presumptuous nipper be arrested and jailed for life.

Of course, we might have been better disposed to take the news of the trophy’s visit to Dublin in the spirit in which it is intended, had the announcement not coincided with the already painful prospect of having to spend an hour in the company of old Septic Blather and celebrity friends as the draw for the World Cup finals took place amid the usual smoke and mirrors and bells and whistles in Cape Town.

Not for the first time in the last couple of weeks, Irish football was cast as the kid left out in the cold, his nose pressed to the freezing window of Santy’s grotto as lovely goodies were doled out inside. I mean, could they not even all have worn black armbands in recognition of our terrible loss?

But no, instead fate had to rub it in by allowing France to end up in Group A with the weakest of the top seeds, host nation South Africa. Mexico and Uruguay are in there too and while nothing is certain in football – not even a blatant handball, if you’re a Swedish referee – you’d have to say that Ireland would have had a more than healthy chance of being one of the top two to qualify from that group for the knockout stage.

Would have, could have, should have. All irrelevant now. Instead, the nation which has specialised in moral victories awaits whatever it is that Blatter means by moral compensation. Other than that, all we are left to do is paraphrase Marlon Brando down on the waterfront: “France get the title shot outdoors on the ballpark and what do we get? A one-way ticket to Palookaville. We coulda had class. We coulda been a contender. It was you Thierry” etc.

So are there any upsides at all to Ireland not being present in South Africa next year? Well yes there are, actually, and here they are, in full.

1 If you’re not in, you can’t lose (Especially to England).

2 No phone call blitz to Joe Duffy about Stephen Ireland.

3 No rubbish World Cup songs.

4 No homecoming party at the Phoenix Park.

5 And, er, that’s it.

Actually, now that I think about it, number three there is a bit dodgy, if only on account of the fact that, in the course of our short and occasionally glorious history of participation in the big tournaments, Irish football has managed to inspire the creation of one of the greatest footie anthems of all.

I speak, of course, of Put ‘Em Under Pressure, Larry Mullen’s remixing of the immortal Dearg Doom by the mighty (and currently raised from the dead, so also bidding for immortality) Horslips.

You’ll recall that, alongside that barnstorming riff, one Jack Charlton was the star of the show, promising the world in 1990 that we would “go and compete” and “put ‘em under pressure”.

Now just imagine a remix of the remix, this time with Il Trap where Big Jack used to be.

I can hear it already in the jukebox of my mind: Dar-dar-dar-dar-dar... “We are not famooos, we are Ireland”...dar-dar-dar-dar-dar... “The show is La Scala, football is the result”...dar-dar-dar-dar-dar... “We have ethusiasmos, attitude, belief”...dar-dar-dar-dar-dar... “No, sure, yeah...”

Well, okay, maybe it still needs a little work.

But what am I saying? It ain’t going to happen now. The world of music, like the world of football, is just going to go on merrily spinning without us.

Pass me those knitting needles again.