A sure thing for Germany

AS a kid growing up in Tallaght, there was a disconcerting period when I thought my father might be turning into a Jehovah's Witness, such was the religious intensity with which he scrutinised the Good Book.

It was some little while before I came to understand that he was in search of enlightenment of a different kind.

The hefty tome open before him on a nightly basis was actually the Form Book, although for all the joy he experienced with the nags - that move to the Bahamas, the south of France or Dalkey never materialised - he might as well have gleaned his information from some Old Testament prophecy.

Your faithful correspondent hasn't inherited the old man's interest in racing, but the mug punter gene does surface once in a while. On my one and only visit to Leopardstown a few years ago, I plunged a few bob on the nose of an outsider by the name of The Beruki, who promptly led all the way from the start only to crash to earth at the final hurdle.

As the field left him in its wake and the beast lay motionless on the ground, my annoyance turning to shame when a Dublin voice beside me declared authoritatively: "Dat animal is brown-en bread."

Sure enough, The Beruki had been bugled to equine heaven, leaving me with a beaten docket, a heart full of guilt and the determination to never again risk inflicting pain and suffering - not least on myself - with my devastating uselessness as a punter.

And that's how things stood until last Tuesday night, when an early arrival at Lansdowne Road for the friendly with China saw me dally one moment too long in front of the bookies at the back of the West Stand. All those nice tv screens and all those fantastic betting permutations - these days, the whole thing is set up perfectly to entrap the dummy whose sole tactic in these matters is to lay out a modest enough sum in the expectation of an absolutely massive return.

Thus it was that I momentarily lost my mind and found myself plunging a 20 spot on the head of Richard Dunne to score the opening goal at 28-1. As a respected professional in my own field, there was method to my madness, of course. Big Richard has grabbed a few for Ireland in his time - well, four to be precise - and, since the visitors were unlikely to field the biggest team ever seen in the old ground, I concluded that there was every chance of my man popping up for a corner and doing the business.

As was once said of a travel-happy Irish politician and his proximity to an airport, you will appreciate that I was frankly rigid with excitement every time we won a set-piece anywhere in the region of the Chinese goal, to be followed by the pulse-quickening sight of Richard beginning his slow trundle up the pitch to take up position at the far post.

On every one of those occasions, friends, I was ready to fold up my laptop, phone in a peremptory resignation to the office, wave my beloved colleagues goodbye and - calculating the vast riches which would shortly be at my disposal - plan that lifetime dream move ...well, back to Tallaght, I suppose.

Sadly, it was not to be. The big man failed to deliver but, on the upside, neither did he suffer a Beruki-style terminal event on account of the crippling pressure of carrying the hopes and dreams of the world's worst mug punter on his shoulders.

And, for the record, I didn't begrudge Clinton Morrison yet another moment in the sun. It's become commonplace now for people to say that the Birmingham City man is not a striker in the world-class mode but, damn it if he doesn't continue to give a very persuasive impression of one for Ireland.

After big hits against Cyprus, Switzerland and Israel - and, lest we forget, a terrific outing until injury intervened in Paris - Morrison added another notch to his striker's belt with that cool goal against China, and an even cooler celebration.

But then Clinton is one cool guy. A cameo from Tel Aviv: when the Irish players walked out for a feel of the turf before kick-off in the Ramat Gan, they were greeted with a deafening chorus of boos and whistles. Not that Clinton Morrison probably noticed, since he had his iPod firmly in hand, removing the headphones only for a quick word with Brian Kerr. In fact, so cool is Clinton that it's probably only a matter of time before he gets through an entire game, and bangs in a hat-trick, whilst listening to 50 Cent or, even more appropriately, The Go! Team.

Whatever, it will be music to Irish ears if the great man continues to supply the cutting edge in a group so tight that you could barely fit a cigarette paper between the top four.

So what's likely to make the crucial difference? Well, the good news is that your faithful correspondent plans to hit the bookies again - this time backing Ireland to lose all their remaining games in Group 4.

You can take it then therefore automatic qualification for Brian Kerr's men is assured. See you in Germany!