Germans will finally have it all with Pep on their side
They had nothing like it at home so they were impressed. The sausages with their chips mightnât, in truth, have been of the calibre they were used to, but one feature, in particular, took their fancy.
They liked how the races were timed so that, during a lull at Curraheen Park, you could follow the action from Shelbourne Park on the TV screens.
âThey have optimised the gambling opportunities,â the boys concluded, trying not to sound too amazed Paddy had thought of it.
These lads were all about the optimisation. They had many other optimisation ideas and were full of plans going home.
But they must have crunched the numbers â they were all about that too â and decided against it. Because there is still no dog track in Leipzig.
But rest assured; if it is built, it will be optimal.
When it comes to football, the Germans finished looking around them a while ago. They now appear to have everything figured out; the money, the stadia, the ticket prices, the football, the flags, the youth development, the hotdogs.
Well, they always had the hotdogs.
The English have told us, many times, never to write these guys off. But 10 Years of Academies (bit.ly/germanplan), an impressive document published in 2010 describing their youth programmes, confirms the Germans have been writing the rest of us off for some time.
In it, Dr Reinhard Rauball, president of Borussia Dortmund and the German League writes, matter-of-factly â with that casual, unselfconscious German confidence that can beguile or grind your gears, depending on how much you owe them: âThe times in which we had to look appreciatively to France, Spain or the Netherlands have passed.â
This is their time.
At international level, we have admired their renaissance at close quarters, without getting close enough to make a tackle. But perhaps the epitome of rejuvenated German bullishness came in Kazakhstan last month, when their players were ordered not to adjust their watches to local time and to go about their day as though back home.
This week, it was their clubsâ time. And it was not a week without sadness.
As we saw an incredible team slump to its knees, you remembered how Pep once sent them out in Rome to play Manchester United with no words, instead drawing them to tears with the strains of Nessun Dorma and a seven-minute showing of Gladiator, cut through with their own heroics.
Maybe Bayern felt a little cold-eyed in comparison, on Tuesday, dismantling them. Jupp Heynckes told us afterwards he had shown them a PowerPoint presentation of Barcelonaâs runs.
Of course there is much to admire in Juppâs bruising, bristling, bravura Bayern. There is a thrust to their attacking that can make Barcaâs possession circulation look like procrastination.
But this is an expensive heavy machine where you can see the moving parts. A presentation built in bullet points rather than a performance.
Dortmund, too, take great care of the details. Jurgen Klopp is the first coach in Europe to install the Footbonaut, a hi-tech, ball-firing cage that imprisons a weekâs training in 15 minutes. But Kloppâs robotics stay on the training ground.
On Wednesday, we saw an even more appealing face of the new Germany. An exhilarating dividend for a nation that invested in youth. Alas, for Dortmund, now Germans donât have to look outside any more, the next phase in the optimisation of Bayern is a transplant of their rivalsâ heart. Gotze and maybe Lewandowski to oil the machine.
Of course, if anything has held Bayern back in recent times it is the want of a gladiator spirit. Germans have weakened at moments of truth.
Maybe Jupp already has a slide covering that. Playing one of their own in the final will help.
But just in case, Pep is on the way. Then they will have it all.
Maybe this Champions League week threatened the end of more than one glorious era.
For Eamo and Gilesy never looked more out of step with the times.
Donât tell them at the front of the paper that I brought it up, but earlier this month, some study or other concluded that following the news was actually bad for you â that it will only bring you down.
At this stage, the same might well be said about the lads.
This Wednesday, they sucked every ounce of life, of joy, from an enthralling nightâs football.
Even as Sky chose to linger with the Dortmund celebrations, to prolong the buzz, the same old ding-dong had kicked off in Montrose.
Two poor sides. Indicative of a general lowering of standards. No great players out there. We only just stopped short of investigating why neither team fielded any Henry Shefflins or Brian OâDriscolls or John Oxxs.
If you had a child watching it with you, youâd have had to switch it off to protect them.
Itâs not even the research. Itâs not that we expect them to know their Blaszczykowskis from their Piszczeks. There are enough sources of information about if thatâs what you are looking for.
But surely this was a night for the little guy on the street they have long championed.
A night to revel in the kind of inspiring, inventive football they have always wanted Ireland to attempt.
Surely spinning assassin Lewandowski tap-danced a gasp from them? Even Mourinho looked impressed as he sought Kloppâs hand at the end.
Perplexed, embarrassed maybe, but impressed.
But the lads donât do impressed any more. And the little guy on the sofa deserves better.
Last Monday night at Turnerâs Cross, we saw the most inevitable goal ever scored. In fact, it was a goal not really scored, but conceded.
As soon as Ian Turner lost possession at the corner flag on 90 minutes, everybody knew.
In the moments that remained, Shamrock Rovers simply served the ball into Cork Cityâs area, keeping it in play, waiting for inevitability to do its business.
The latest late heartbreak came on 93.
The grip of a hex tightened.
Afterwards, a frustrated Denis Hurley, of this parish, suggested City, at the moment, are the opposite of Man United, with their history of 11th hour winners.
Maybe that is Alex Fergusonâs greatest achievement. If it is hard to shake the learned helplessness that comes with runs like City are on, how much harder to instil in several generations of men the belief that inevitability is on their side? The same evening, United cruised to another title. Aston Villa, like most visitors to Old Trafford, were beaten before they began, resigned to the inevitability of it all.
As Chilean writer Pablo Neruda put it: âYou can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.â
Fergie â the man for all seasons â is always in blossom.
If a beard ever won international caps, it was his. A rugged warrior in the Irish midfield, any lack of commitment to shaving was certainly not replicated in his approach on the pitch. RIP.
Have you checked the shed? If the sun stays out, that was almost the kind of ride that could get another cycling bandwagon going this summer.
After creaming Neil Robertson, is the Milkman about to deliver on his promise?
No quibble with the Suarez ban. But why should the fact that the incident was âthe top trend on twitter worldwideâ impact any decision. Whatever happened to every game on its merits?
