Fond farewell to a Ray of light
Not that, in life, I ever heard anyone say a bad word about him.
That’s a cliché, of course, but in this case it’s actually the truth. Ray was hugely popular, an engaging personality with a great sense of humour and the irresistible touch of the loveable rogue about him, so that any time spent in his company was time exceedingly well spent.
His achievements on the pitch have been well-documented over the weekend, the tributes from West Brom, Charlton, Swindon and Preston providing eloquent testimony to this brave and bustling goal-scorer’s contribution to the game in England. And closer to home, there was his huge input as, first player, and later manager, of Shamrock Rovers, from his FAI Cup-winning penalty of 1978 to his inspirational stewardship of the team which won the 1994 league title and, for one season at least, made the RDS feel like a home fit for football as it should be played.
Most of all, of course, fans here will remember him for his career in the green shirt. Again, Twitter has been a boon on this front with, to pick just one lovely example, Kieran Cunningham posting a link to evocative black and white footage of Ray’s famous goal against France at Dalymount in 1972. And it’s a real, trademark Treacy effort too, the genuine article, as he hurls himself across his marker to send a looping header from an Eoin Hand cross over the ‘keeper and under the bar.
Personally, I cherish the memory of being on the terraces with my schoolboy ticket, again at Dalymount, to see an all-action Treacy more than play his part in that celebrated 3-0 victory over the Soviet Union in 1974, the day that Don Givens got his hat-track and a young fella by the name of Liam Brady made his debut in midfield alongside Johnny Giles.
When Ray wasn’t having fun at someone else’s expense — he was a master of the acerbic put-down — he favoured a nice line in self-deprecation so that, while he’d acknowledge that he’d won 42 caps for Ireland, he would insist that 41 of them were for “playing the banjo”.
(Or, in another popular version, 41 were in friendlies against Poland, whose hospitality back in the day was much appreciated by the blazers, as he liked to recall).
He loved his music and his sing-songs, did Ray, and often recalled with relish those post-game sessions in Dublin when the likes of Luke Kelly would turn up to entertain the troops. And he was the merriest of pranksters too. Only recently, Paddy Mulligan had been telling me of the time in Paris when Ray phoned a then newcomer to the Irish team, Gerry Daly, pretending to be David Meek of the Manchester Evening News. By the time Ray had completed his expert impersonation, he had not only manipulated Gerry into saying that, yes, he fancied himself as the next John Giles but had even convinced him to put on his whole kit and go down to the lobby where a photographer from ‘L’Equipe’ — actually a hotel staffer primed by Treacy — was ready take pictures of Irish football’s newest star.
Later in life, we journalists got to know Ray well as his travel company ferried the Irish team, fans and hacks around the world. We’re the moaniest minnies going, if truth be told, and must have driven him mad at times with our whinging about some petty detail or other. But part of the beauty of Ray was that he always gave as good as he got, and the truth is that I don’t think there was one among us who didn’t brighten up when, upon arriving in some distant airport in the wee hours of the morning, we’d find Ray already positioned at the arrivals gate to cheerfully curse us from a height and ensure we got on the right bus to the right hotel.
After Ray closed down his travel business in 2009, I arranged to interview him in the now deserted premises on Store Street. In his own little office at the back, the wall was still adorned with a framed Irish jersey, an item which turned out to be a curious one-off — it was, he explained, the shirt which Colin Healy would have worn had his belated call-up as a replacement for Roy Keane come through at World Cup 2002.
Now is neither the time nor place to rehash Saipan again, although Ray — who, as the FAI’s travel agent, was very close to the eye of that storm — had plenty to say about it, including the admission that he was the man who first came up with Saipan as Ireland’s World Cup warm-up destination.
“Yeah, I’m the one,” he told me. “I would take 100% responsibility for Saipan.” And he remained unrepentant, even though he had to accept that the name of the island had become a byword for hell in Irish football history. “If there was a World Cup in Japan tomorrow or anywhere out there, I would, in the blink of an eye, do Saipan again,” he maintained.
But, for now, I’d prefer to end this piece with another quote from that interview. As he contemplated what then looked like being a long and happy retirement after so many hard-working and successful years as a footballer and businessman, Ray was able to reflect: “Not bad for a stupid little twat that got expelled from Westland Row school at 13 years of age. Basically for playing soccer. The Brother started beating me up and I kicked him back, volleyed him out the door. So that was my first red card.”
He went on to say that, whatever else the future might hold for him, it wouldn’t — more’s the pity — include a book.
“It would be unbelievable,” he agreed, “but I couldn’t name names — because I was the greatest pup of all.”
In fact, Ray Treacy was a terrific character, much loved by many, and at this desperately sad time my heartfelt condolences go out to his family and many, many friends.
