A solution to everything

MORE than one devoted reader — hello, Frank and Irene Blennerhassett in Youghal — has written to the sports desk bemoaning the absence of this column over the past month.

Faced with this veritable trickle of concern, the Commander In Chief has ordered me to break my silence on the humanitarian and charitable work which I carry out around the globe, in my spare time and entirely at my own expense, when I’m not being tasked with the more onerous duty of writing about the eircom League Club Licensing scheme and other such vital concerns.

I’m not one to blow my own trumpet, of course, but suffice to say that Afghanistan, Iraq and Gaza have all felt the benefit of my troubleshooting expertise and mediation nous over the past four weeks. And, to be fair, the old air miles stack up nicely as well.

However, there is a limit to what one man can do in the face of the most intractable of disputes, which is why I have judiciously steered clear of Leeside in recent times. And not just me. As my old mucker Kofi Annan quipped when I bumped into him in the Club Lounge in Zurich Airport the other day: “Sorting out the warring tribes of Kenya is one thing, Liamo, but,” and here he shuddered and tossed back a neat whiskey, “my God, that crowd below in Cork...”

Nevertheless, my devoted readers are understandably at the end of their tether at the uncertain state of sporting play in our own dear land just now. As Frank and Irene put it: “Please, please, please, oh please, sort out the Cork mess.

And while you’re at it, can we have a new Irish manager?”

I don’t know if it was the letter’s touching note of despair or the fact that it was written, as ever, in green crayon but, suddenly, there was a blinding psychic flash and the solution to everything presented itself fully-formed and unimpeachable in my mind’s eye.

Now, admittedly, I’ve been out of the loop a little since the turn of the year but, if I understand correctly, the situation is as follows: the Irish lads don’t have a manager and want one and the Cork lads have a manager and don’t want him.

See where I’m going? That’s right, a swift shuffling of the deck and, hey presto: Teddy Holland takes over from Stan and Trap ‘n’ Tel become the Cork hurling and football managers respectively.

What’s not to like? Irish football gets a Holland makeover, Cork hurling tightens up at the back and launches the era of the scoreless draw, and Cork football gets to experiment with the Christmas tree formation. Everyone’s a winner, especially Terry Venables, who, after an inordinately long wait, would finally have a half-decent chance of actually managing a team at Croke Park.

Alas, poor Tel, I remember him well. How many years have passed since we installed him as Irish manager-in-waiting and drew up a list of puntastic headlines to cover all possible eventualities? For nostalgia’s sake, let’s recap, one more time with feeling: Terry gets a four year deal?

“Four Seasons O’ Tel”; The deal has its critics? “O’ Tel Reservations“; Terry gets fed up and buggers off for some fun in the sun with Becks? “O’ Tel California”.

Now it’s all change. Can a deal be done with Trapattoni? “If The Trap Fits”. What if the negotiations go nowhere? “It’s A Rat Trap”. And, in the event that it all proves to be an absurdist football fantasy? “This Is Spinal Trap”.

Another handful of compelling reasons there, I think, why Billy Davies mustn’t get the job.

But with all this focus on managers, whether wanted or not, it might be worth making the rather serious if obvious point that, no matter how impressive his credentials, there is no guarantee that the man at the helm will work the necessary wonders for Irish football. For that to happen, the players will have to do a wee bit too, you know.

In that context, the friendly against Brazil offered some mixed signals. The absence at full back of a Steady Eddie figure like Steve Finnan was clearly felt and, even though Lee Carsley and, up to his enforced substitution, Liam Miller, acquitted themselves well in midfield, any incoming gaffer will continue to struggle to fill that Roy Keane-shaped hole.

On the upside, Damien Duff’s return was hugely encouraging — although the jury is still out on whether he can recover his very best form — and we are entitled to optimistically anticipate the availability of Andy Reid, Steven Reid and, if he can sort out his head as handily as he sorted out his hair, Stephen Ireland.

From the start, as I have written here before, I was happy with Terry Venables’ candidacy, even allowing for understandable doubts about his likely commitment to the cause. The emergence of Trapattoni, however, radically altered the picture and, if a deal can be hammered out which permits the iconic Italian coach to come on board in May, well, as the TV ad used to say, it would be worth waiting for.

But frankly, either Trap or Tel would do me at this wearyingly late stage, and then we can finally let the talking stop and allow events on the pitch, the only place it really matters, to be the ultimate judge of who was right and who was wrong.

None of which will help sort out the problems on Leeside, of course. And with neither myself nor Kofi up to the task, that leaves just one final option. Send for the man who has proved himself able to mend bridges between the most implacable of opponents, a man, furthermore, who speaks the local language fluently and who, if needs be, won’t hesitate to knock a few heads together if all else fails.

Roy, boy, your county needs you.