You've done us proud

THE fans needed smelling salts and stiff drinks and fresh air and hugs for support. They shut their eyes tight, dropped their jaws wide, held their heads in agony and threw up their hands in delight.

They were invigorated and drained 10 times over.

Almost lost. Almost won. Almost too much to bear.

History was repeating itself in the World Cup Stadium in Suwon where memories of that first taste of glory in Italia 90 hung in great swathes around the stadium like the tricoloured banners that billowed from the stands.

The conclusion to that treasured episode in Irish football was the stuff of legends. The fans were fearful. Legends rarely came more than once in a lifetime.

And so Ireland’s World Cup 2002 campaign came to an end on a balmy night in South Korea under a clear sky and a crescent moon. It was an apt setting. The fans didn’t want anyone leaving under a cloud.

If there were mistakes in the game, they were only going to remember the magic. If there were criticisms to be laid, they would shout the praises louder.

"It will be a long night for the players," said a fan. "They’ve a lot to think about. But it’s mostly positive - I hope they realise that."

This had been a game the fans were determined to enjoy. They would turn the Spaniards’ self-assured football fiesta into a fleadh. They would show the Rauls and Enriques of the world that a face on a World Cup product endorsement poster was a one-dimensional image. The fighting Irish were the real deal.

It almost went according to plan.

There was early panic at the sight of the Koreans, who made up more than half the 39,000 spectators. They had all dressed in their own red team shirts. Would the players think they were all Spanish supporters?

The answer came with the entrance of the teams on to the pitch. The cheer for the Spanish was loud. The roar for the Irish made it a whisper.

Spain’s early goal was a blow but followed a familiar pattern and the team would follow a familiar pattern to put everything right. It was familiar on fast forward.

They played like every minute was the last, pounding ball after ball into the goal area only for it to go over, wide or into the hands of the keeper.

They ran their legs off, they took control, they jumped at chances. "Is there an earthquake or what?" wailed a fan. "Are the bloody goalposts moving?"

The Spanish played rough and paid for it but not the high price the fans longed to exact from them. They could only share in Ian Harte’s gut-wrenching horror of seeing the shot he’d practised to perfection knocked to safety by the keeper.

Later they shared his joy as he leapt from the bench in salute when Robbie come lately, the last-minute hero, saved the day in its dying seconds just as he had done against Germany.

In the break before extra time, the players looked fresh as they high-fived their team-mates on the bench, called for a quick bout of physio and huddled to reinforce their game plan.

In the break before penalties, they lay on the grass, sweating, panting and exhausted.

Somehow, all five walked strong to the ball but only two ran back victorious. Big Niall Quinn reached out to embrace the distraught on their return.

Shay Given, the man in black with the smile as broad as the Inishowen Peninsula in his native Donegal, the man who had done so much to get his team so far, suddenly looked a lonely figure in goal.

He had relived this moment time and time again in his head, only each time it was Italy 1990 and he was Packie Bonner, his home county hero, and he made the save at the crucial moment. But Packie didn’t have to face the Spaniards.

The fans stayed in the stands for ages, staring at the spot where the players had disappeared from view after waving their thanks and leaving the World Cup stage for the last time in this competition.

They were choked up but proud. Not one bad memory. Not a small achievement for a World Cup. Not a bad place to start for next time.