We were probably due a penalty trauma

By Liam Mackey, Seoul

AT LAST it can be revealed: my part in Ireland’s World Cup downfall. Don’t blame Ian Harte or Matt Holland or David Connolly or Kevin Kilbane - blame me, the creepy Nostradamus of the Irish press corps.

Frankly, I couldn’t have done a more comprehensive job of demolishing all hope, if I’d walked around the camp with a sandwich board reading ‘The End Of The World Cup Is Nigh’.

By way of explanation, I should first make clear that my prophetic powers are normally so feeble that I have difficulty predicting my next birthday.

However, out here in the mystic east, and perhaps because of our initial proximity to those eight million gods in Izumo, I somehow got on an unprecedented roll.

It began with the German match when I shared the sweep on the media bus by predicting the 1-1 draw and getting within 10 minutes of the time of the opening goal.

For the Saudi game there was no sweep but my colleagues at The Irish Examiner Korean Peninsula Bureau will confirm that I had confidently gone in advance for a three nil Irish win.

Then came the knock out encounter with Spain and, to my eternal embarrassment and abject shame, I scooped the pot single handedly by predicting a 1-1 draw, with - it even pains me now to write this - Spain to win on penalties.

It was no more than a mad hunch, I suppose, but a hunch that was none the less based on the vaguely credible idea that, at some point - or if you’re England, at every other point - an international football team, and a watching nation, is going to have to experience the pain of a penalty shoot out that backfires.

After all, Irish football has experienced just about everything else. No football person can encounter Ray Treacy, for example, without thinking of that fantastic 3-0 victory over the Soviet Union at a leaving Dalymount Park in 1974, when Liam Brady debuted beside Johnny Giles in midfield and Don Givens claimed a hat trick. Similarly, bumping into Eoin Hand, out here lending his expertise to RTE, you can never forget how heartbreakingly close the former manager came to leading Ireland to the promised land for the very first time back in 1982.

And when you are seeing Packie Bonner, now Ireland’s goalkeeping coach, on almost a daily basis, it’s inevitable that the mind returns to the both the high of Genoa and the low of Orlando.

So, by whatever strange laws govern fate in football, we were probably due a penalty trauma. But that didn’t make it any easier to take, especially after what had been another inspired Irish performance for most of the second half and, certainly, for all of extra time.

Though credit Spain for some wonderfully fluent attacking play in the first 45 and for their defensive resolve when they were down to 10 men in extra time.

But all of that, it transpired, was only by way of prelude to the 10 shots that shook Ireland’s World Cup. There’s something slightly unreal about watching the shoot out from a position high in the stands, as we were in the Suwon World Cup Stadium.

At that remove, the little figure of the player walking from the centre circle to the penalty spot could

be a man out strolling on a deserted beach. On television it makes much more dramatic sense, the close-up camera able to linger long and lovingly on faces that, before, show either trepidation or confidence and, after, agony or ecstasy.

But however you view it, it is inescapably compelling. And after Sunday night, we Irish now know for the first time what it must have felt like to be Timofte, the Romanian who played an unwanted role in the creation of our modern folklore.

This time, it was our turn to take on board Kevin Kilbane’s distress, and it was painful to behold. But if it’s of any consolation to the four who missed penalties on the night, they should remember that their unhappy club also includes members with luminous names like Baggio and Platini.

The morning after in Seoul passed many by, unless they were among the late night posse still getting home. A number of the Irish players hit the town late after the Spanish game and, according to reports, one was sighted returning to base at sun up wearing a newly acquired Meath shirt

and draped in a tricolour.

Proper order too - this was a vivid illustration of something Gary Breen had noted earlier in the week, when he spoke of how, if the players weren’t actually on the pitch, they would be up in the stands or in the bars, as fans themselves.

Niall Quinn too has spoken repeatedly of the 'special connection' forged between the squad and the supporters out here, something which I’m sure can be attributed at least in part to the sea of troubles which besieged the Irish camp at an early stage.

From that point on, one could detect an almost desperate desire among the faithful for this team to do well, reaching one almighty crescendo in Ibaraki, and another in Suwon, when the irrepressible Robbie Keane twice hosted his own version of the late, late show.

So, their luck finally ran out late on Sunday night but by then they had fully justified their standing in the world’s best 16. Other outsiders may have shocked by their progress in a tournament of upsets but, their sluggish starts to nearly all the games notwithstanding, Ireland looked and played like a team that had earned its place on football’s greatest stage.

OH, we of little faith; few of the squad’s fellow travellers had given the side much hope of emerging out of the group, especially in the absence of the heartbeat of the team, Roy Keane.

But if Ireland arrived out here without one truly world class player, Ireland is most certainly going home with another.

All hail the Duffer, who was probably responsible for the best individual performances by any player, of any country, in this World Cup.

What people like Brian Kerr and Pat Devlin recognised long ago, the world now knows: in Damien Duff, Ireland is fortunate to be blessed with one of those rare, thrilling talents.

'Give it to Duffer', is already becoming the new terrace mantra.

Presumably, the television audience at home agrees. Even though the squad finally got to watch an RTE video package a couple of days ago, it has been difficult to sense the mood of the nation at this remove, and more especially in light of the divisive hysteria which seemed to take hold during the Roy Keane saga.

Mick McCarthy quoted Con Houlihan on the subject the other day, recalling how, when asked if he’d enjoyed Italia ’90, the great man replied that he’d missed it all because he was in Italy.

For all that, there’s been no lack of infectious World Cup fever in this great town of Seoul.

Just the other day, I watched with amused pleasure through the open door of a little café as what I took to be mother and her two school uniformed daughters tried to teach granny the ubiquitous six clap chant, 'Dae-han-min-guk' (meaning 'Republic Of Korea' but interpreted by the Irish, of course, as 'Tell-ee-bing-oh').

Local officials estimate that there were 1.4 million people celebrating on the streets of the city after their victory over Portugal; those of us who were right in the heart of it could only conclude that the

authorities were erring on the conservative side.

The mind boggles at what might ensue should South Korea beat Italy in the last 16 today, quivers at the potential consequences of defeat and, finally, sags with the nagging thought that, had they got what their magnificent performance against Spain deserved, Ireland would be awaiting the

winners of that game in the quarter finals.

Ah, enough. It’s going to be a wrench leaving Seoul today for a flight that will take 12 hours to bring the team home. The World Cup will somehow have to muddle through without us.

One thing is for sure: Mick McCarthy and his squad have been nothing less than immense in Japan and Korea and perhaps more than any other Irish team before them, deserve the acclaim of the nation.

As for your truly humbled correspondent, the sudden onset of apparent omniscience suggests I should probably drop out and start up a new age religion.

Except who’d want to follow a right messiah who specialises in turning wine into water?

Does anyone have Glenn Hoddle’s number?