Crack, communism and Cork City

ONCE upon a time in the west, eastern European teams, no matter how good, could never be described as excellent or formidable or even - and this would have been particularly appropriate - well-marshalled.

Nope, by some unbreakable but unwritten rule, they had to be called 'crack'.

Remember? Teams from behind the Iron Curtain, especially ones with industrial sounding words like Dynamo or Lokomotiv in their name, were always "crack east Europeans."

This idle thought was prompted by a visit, while on Cork City duty in Prague, to the Museum Of Communism. That's right; it's barely 15 years since the disintegration of one of the world's most formidable exercises in social and political organisation, and it's already a museum piece.

And a relatively small one at that, tucked away on the first floor of a building just off Wenceslas Square. The setting could hardly be richer in irony: the museum's home is a former aristocrat's palace which now finds itself rubbing shoulders with a casino and a branch of MacDonald's. That loud whirring is the sound of Marx and Lenin spinning in their graves.

But though modest in size, the Museum of Communism is a fascinating place which manages to recreate something of the drab, repressive reality of life in the former Czechoslovakia. And then tells the story of years of truly heroic resistance and, finally, the unstoppable tide of people power which helped to sweep it all away.

Exhibits include inventive recreations of life in the schoolroom, on the factory floor, in the shops - which, by the looks of things, were doing yellow-pack before the term was invented - and at home. There are rare photos of Stalin's massive but short-lived monument and striking examples of anti-capitalist and pro-worker propaganda art. And for those who, even now, still don't get the message, there is an eerie interrogation room: a plain, old-fashioned, civil service-type office, with an unanswered phone ringing on and off, a typewriter on the table and, almost unnoticed at first glance, handcuffs attached to the visitor's chair.

But by far the most moving aspect of the Museum of Communism is a video history of the years from the Communists' coming to power after World War II to the Velvet Revolution in 1990. Here is Jan Palach, the student who burned himself to death on the steps of the National Museum, a few hundred yards away, to protest the crushing of the 'Prague Spring' by Soviet tanks in 1968. Here is president-to-be Vaclav Havel and underground rock group the Plastic People Of The Universe, facing harassment and arrest, as they persist in giving a voice to the voiceless.

What's this all got to do with football? Not a whole lot admittedly but even a lowly sports hack cannot hope to live on games alone. Frankly, there is only so much reflection you can do on the mind of Wayne Rooney before your own brain turns to mush.

But it was also in the Museum of Communism that those crack east Europeans came to mind, as I studied the covers of old copies of a Czech sports magazine called 'Stadium', with its iconic black and white images of muscular, bright-eyed javelin throwers, runners and football players.

Whatever happened to them? Poor David Moyes might well answer that they haven't gone away you know. Cork City too, got a bit more than they bargained for in Slavia Prague's stadium on Thursday night.

There was an unmistakable air of confidence about City going into the game, inspired partly by their own proven quality at home and in Europe but also, perhaps, by the widespread perception - one shared by this reporter in the build-up - that Slavia, hampered by injuries and struggling in the league, would prove to be considerably less than crack.

Cork's starting line-up conveyed a sense of attacking optimism with the more defensive-minded midfielder Greg O' Halloran consigned to the bench in favour of a Joe Gamble and George O'Callaghan axis. But it was soon apparent that the formation would struggle to contain a five-man Slavia midfield which attacked with pace and power, repeatedly finding men in space to run at the Cork defence and create enough goal-scoring opportunities to ensure that an inspired Michael Devine would have his busiest night of the season. Danny Murphy and Dan Murray were also outstanding as Cork defended valiantly but also rode their luck, especially in the first half.

In the end, a two-goal advantage was a poor return for Slavia's dominance but, in an extraordinarily open game, they could also count themselves lucky not to have conceded a couple themselves, as their own keeper and the woodwork defied Cork during their best spell of the game.

This is one of the most encouraging and attractive things about Damien Richardson's side: even on a night when, unusually, they were under the cosh, you always felt they had enough class, individually and as a team, to open up the opposition.

It's also what gives cause for optimism for the second leg, although Cork's need to score two or more on the night will inevitably raise fears that Slavia, who can swiftly move the ball from defence to attack, could catch them on the break.

Either way, an early goal for City and it really will be game on at the Cross, on a night when the atmosphere should be in rip-roaring contrast to the ghostly Stadion Evsena Rosickkeho on Thursday when only four and half thousand turned out - a good 500 of them the all-singing, all-dancing Shed on tour.

Finally, for those readers who feel this column has had too much politics and not enough football, just be grateful that I limited my lofty intellectual thoughts to the Museum of Communism.

After all, I could have written about the Museum of Sex Toys, and you wouldn't have wanted to read about that, now would you?