Go on Martin, give Daryl Horgan a call
So, there you are, bounding up the steps of the stand before kick-off, eager for the 90 minutes ahead. Who knows what’s coming: It’s the great unknowable that keeps us all coming back for more regardless of results, the weather or that new series on Netflix that you’ve heard so much about.
What must it be like, then, to be sitting there full of anticipation when someone like Martin O’Neill shuffles through the row of legs and parks himself in that last empty spot beside you? It’s a question this column often asks itself when the TV camera pans to the great and good in the crowd, as it did time and again on Tuesday in Oriel Park There O’Neill was, legs tucked up and squeezed in between two gentlemen whose eyes were fixed rigidly on the action in front of them. God love these people, but it must be like watching a racy movie with your parents.
