Going through the phases to party time
Phase 1: The Honeymoon. A blissful, if brief, time of serenity. A degree of trust is placed in the new man who is, invariably, “a good guy.” The problem is, Bill, we don’t have the players. The little guy on the street is extinct. PlayStations. Third Level education. Traffic, explains Giles.
Phase 2: Doubt creeps in as the new man fashions a plan to suit the modest resources. “We are paid to analyse, Bill.” These wonderful players — at least seven or eight are now world class — are artists denied a canvas.
Phase 3: The cause célèbre. Liam Brady. David O’Leary. Ronnie Whelan. John Sheridan. Stephen Ireland. Andy Reid. Seamus Coleman. A prodigal son is cast whose exile personifies all that is rotten about the current regime.
Phase 4A is then the more familiar route as criticism turns to ridicule. The hotseat incumbent is branded a congenital loser or ruled incapable of driving the train to Cork.
Alternatively, and this is where we find ourselves now, the freak arrival of some success — down to the lion-hearted players, naturally — brings about a downing of arms. Think Genoa, just days after the disgrace of Palermo. “We think it’s bloody great Bill.”
It will all end in tears whenever Phase 5 arrives, probably next summer. But for the time being we could relax last night. Brady, Giles and Dunphy had all come to party and Eamo was flag-waving with the rest. “Nothing can spoil tonight. We’ve all come to celebrate. It’s a wonderful achievement and it will put a smile on our face and cheer us up over the summer.”
The level of concern about Estonia’s threat was summed up by Billo’s prompting.
“Let’s have a look very quickly at Lithuania.”
The players too didn’t appear terribly worried, even if Robbie Keane remained a little unclear how exactly international football worked.
“We’re not England or Spain or Italy, people who can pick players from anywhere.”
We’ll need all our best men for the job ahead so with George still out, it was good to see Tony O’Donoghue back in full health on the sideline, casting a wry eye around the fuller Aviva and the plastic hammers. “There’s plenty of room on the bandwagon.”
BY half-time, confidence had been turned beyond conviction to disinterest by Stephen Ward’s goal. It would, as Darragh Moloney pointed out, be “the most dramatic collapse in the history of collapses.”
“There was a Mexican wave,” observed Gilesy, sounding disappointed. “That usually means people are bored,” suggested Billo. Eamo, fearing a mass switch to Fair City, pulled out an old script.
“I don’t want to use the word caveman, but this is a very old-school game we’re playing. “It’s not pretty to watch. It’s against all the trends in the modern game influenced by the likes of Barcelona.”
But nobody’s heart was in it and it was left to Brady to point out the obvious. “We haven’t got Messi and Iniesta and Xavi playing for us.”
Vassiljev’s equaliser wasn’t going to impose a curfew and Ronnie Whelan got the party started at the final whistle.
“We weren’t sure Trapattoni was doing it the right way. But he put together a squad who believed in each other. They’ve gone out, they’ve worked to his rules and they’ve qualified and you can’t ask for any more than that.”
Back in studio, Billo was keen to skip the dancing and move straight to Phase 5. “Is Trap’s style the way forward for Ireland?”
But Dunphy was happy to keep his powder dry. “What he’s done is similar to Jack Charlton. They don’t think very highly of our technical qualities but they do think highly of the honesty and resilience and commitment of our players.”
“Is he selling them short?” pushed Billo. “That’s an argument for another day. He’s identified our strengths, nurtured them and put players in the side that maybe I would have had, to represent those virtues.”
It’s an argument we will soon have, no doubt. For now, John Delaney, minus his tie, kicked the music up a notch. “It’s made my life.” Party time.
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