By George, it’s a long wait until Tuesday

DIDN’T John Paul II get rid of limbo? Not so, it seems, though being a football man, he would surely have appreciated the helplessness we feel on a morning like this, with Tuesday as maddeningly distant as the results of a serious check-up.

Writing before close of play in Tallinn, one assumes, with Trap involved, four or five didn’t go in at either end, that there is unfinished business.

In Between Days, Robert Smith would call it. Days that already don’t feel quite right without one man’s involvement.

Play-off time just isn’t the same without George Hamilton, the man who has talked us through our one safe passage and soothed all our dismays except the Bursa blackout.

Not that we blame him for the disappointments. George has been careful recently on the biggest days not to jinx.

It’s a long time now since he kept us at home from Euro ‘92. “I might be tempting fate but I can’t see the Poles scoring… oh noooo.”

It’s everything else you miss. Didn’t you miss the old war-lust that begat the occasional undiplomatic moment? “We don’t really know what Iran are capable of when the gun is put to their head.”

Who, if we’re two clear on Tuesday, will take charge of tactics? “We should let them score one so they wouldn’t have time to score another.”

What about the bonus structure? “If Ireland are to get to Germany, Shay Given should go in some class of golden stagecoach.”

And even if the abyss looms, as it did in another do-or-die against the Swiss, no one can colour the darkness like George.

“The flags are waving, and no doubt at the foot of the Alps, the cow bells are chiming too. And it’s going to take a lot for Ireland to turn it round and sour the chocolate.”

Get well soon, George.