The school of hard knocks
First it was Stephen Hunt explaining the extraordinary lengths to which he’s been going in a bid to overcome recurring hip and groin problems. Then this week Sean St Ledger was in Dublin talking about the possibility of having to undergo surgery to drain blood which has built up around a torn hamstring, a complicated and rare condition which, as he explained with downcast eyes, has thus far foiled all attempts at a cure.
Both men expressed confidence it would all come good in the end, of course, even if St Ledger had to concede he couldn’t put a date on his likely return to competitive action. As seasoned pros on the other side of the microphone, we all nod dutifully when players say things like this and perhaps even mutter a few kindly words of encouragement. But when it comes to any serious, long-term injury, especially in the case of older players, the practiced eye for the headline means that sooner or later we’ll get around to asking the elephant-in-the-room question: has it ever crossed your mind/is there any danger of/ has anyone mentioned the possibility that...um...this could be the end of your career as a professional footballer?
Oh, those lads must be really delighted to see us some times. In the wee wee hours, that’s doubtless the very nightmare scenario which keeps them from their sleep but once a new day dawns and they’re back in the gym with the physio or sitting in the consulting room with the doc, it’ll be all about the glass half-full again and the one-day-at-a-time business of putting in the hard yards, of keeping the head up and the heart full of hope. And keeping those dark, nagging thoughts at bay.
Until, that is, the next time we gentlemen and gentlewomen of the press turn up with our sympathetic faces and indelicate questions.
The bad breaks were also high on the agenda when we gathered in Abbotstown yesterday for an end of year conference call with Giovanni Trapattoni in Milan. Unlike Hunt and St Ledger, who have recently appeared before us to show that the wounded are at least still walking, Richard Dunne has been out of sight if hardly out of mind, his by now lengthy absence from the game – he hasn’t played since the Euros in the summer – raising the most serious concern about an Irish player on the part of us professional doom-watchers.
Even Trapattoni had to admit this has got to be a truly testing time for Big Dunney but at least the manager was able to speak in more confident terms about another current casualty, Marc Wilson, who had barely and belatedly broken through into the senior team – and given every indication that he was here to stay – when he was laid low with a broken leg.
“I saw him and spoke to him when I was over at the (Stoke) match,” the manager told us. “He is hopeful and I am optimistic that he can be back for the games in March. He says it is not a particularly difficult break and there are no major complications to the injury. He certainly feels he can be ready and based on that I am optimistic.”
And, for Hunt, Trapattoni also had words that would be music to the ears of any footballer taking the long, lonely, uncertain road to recovery from serious injury.
“For many reasons he is an extremely important player and remains an important player for us,” said Trap. “Obviously we have a relatively small player pool and players can get injured. Tactically he is extremely important. He has a spirit that infuses into the rest of the team. He knows he is in our thoughts. Obviously we have options but he will remain an important player for us and we will keep an eye on him.”
Now that’s what players like to hear – not us wannabe undertakers fitting them for the shroud.
Not that we aren’t rooting for them to buck the odds, you understand. It’s just that, well, being in the business of news, most of which is bad anyway, us journos probably have a slightly abrasive way of showing our soft, caring side. I was reminded of this the other night when I ran into a colleague with whom I used to play a bit of ball back in the day. Noted for his wit, we recalled how he once hit on a novel way to try to cheer up a pal of his who’d suffered a horrible injury in a game.
Those of a sensitive disposition might care to look away now but, putting it as delicately as the public prints will allow, I can only say that this poor guy was on the receiving end of such a ferociously violent kick to his manhood that he required immediate removal to hospital where he underwent emergency surgery which, though happily a success in every other respect, nevertheless left him shorn of half a testicle.
So what do you think our mutual friend brought him by way of the perfect pick-me-up gift the following day? A bar of Wholenut.
