Trust FAI to restore order
History does not relate whether Jack Grealish’s father was one of them.
Another chap from Birmingham, however, a gentleman called Bob, was most definitely among them.
Now when he was younger and untroubled by thoughts of his place in the world, Bob had informed his father that “if you don’t like it here you can f**k off back to Ireland”.
Admittedly he was 10 at the time. The passing of the years duly equipped Bob with a sense of identity, so much so that en route to Anfield he had a tricolour with the words Birmingham Irish flying from the car window.
“This’ll show those English f**kers,” he thought. When it was pointed out to him that the flag was getting nothing but approving honks from other motorists he responded, “Patronising bastards.”
Twenty years on, one assumes Bob will be cheering for Ireland at the Aviva tomorrow. But what about his offspring, if he has any and if they’re interested?
Will they be cheering for Ireland? Or will they be cheering for the land of their birth and the land of their father’s birth? And if the latter, how could we legitimately expect otherwise?
With the Grealish affair still producing an odour, a point that has been made elsewhere is worth repeating. In fact, it’s worth shouting to high heaven. Two decades on from Anfield, which was Jack Charlton’s last match as Ireland manager, and three decades on from his appointment, we ought to be producing our own Jack Grealishes.
You know, homegrown players. Talented. Well coached. Technically gifted and tactically alert. Able to play with their heads up, to pass off either foot, to move into space and take the return. Products of a system that aims to identify and improve talent as opposed to making big young galoots run around full-sized pitches and complimenting them on their ability to welly the ball.
If there’s a finger to be pointed it should be pointed not at Grealish or his father, not at Roy Hodgson or the FA, but— where else? — at the FAI. Fianna Fáil weren’t the only ones who blew a boom.
This country is a shining light in the international boxing ring because boxing here changed. Because it embraced good people and sound planning and systems and targets and standards. We languish in 60th place in the Fifa rankings because the FAI remained the FAI, happy to rely on outliers from Killybegs or Gortnahoe, content to trawl Birmingham and Glasgow for boys with encouraging surnames.
Apropos of tomorrow at the Aviva, who cares? Stuck somewhere between the Champions League final, Epsom and a roster of GAA championship fixtures it’s an afterthought. Frankly, that’s the way it should be.
One wouldn’t want England’s first visit to Dublin since the Lansdowne Road unpleasantness to take place in a competitive environment. Much better instead that it be a nothing, end-of-season match between two nothing, end-of-season teams. It’s not as though Ireland are still England’s rivals in a serious sense anyway, no more than England are still Germany’s rivals anywhere but in their own minds. And hey, as long as the Leicester City lads on the scene are given a strict curfew everything should go swimmingly.
Up to last Thursday it had been a good week for the FAI. Amid the tumult of the past 10 days — the bribes, the bungs, the revelations, the resignations, the arrests of the blazers and the Blazer — no sight was more astonishing than that of the FAI breathing the rarefied air of the moral high ground, lecturing Fifa on ethics and transparency. For a moment it appeared the end of days was nigh.
Then John Delaney opened his mouth. And now the earth’s axis has righted and the FAI are back to being the FAI and all is sane in the world once more.
So there we were at the Preakness in Pimlico this day three weeks ago, your correspondent and the Pepsi Sister.
And the main stand, which was doubtless a small wonder of the age when it was built back in the day, is falling down. And there was no running water in the ladies’ bathrooms from early in the afternoon. And getting out of the place afterwards was a logistical nightmare. Note to the Baltimore transport authorities: those feeder buses you have lined up at the top of the road to carry people to the light railway station? Next time, don’t send them back in the direction of the racecourse, thereby having them snarled in traffic for ages.
As it happens, there may not be a next time. The talk is that, its traditional home barely fit for purpose any more, the Preakness could be moved to Laurel Park in Maryland.
With Hollywood Park having closed in 2013 after 75 years, the dying sport that is US racing has rarely been in greater need of a boost.
It may get one at Belmont Park tonight when American Pharoah attempts to become the first Triple Crown winner in 37 years, the longest drought in the history of the event.
He is what I believe is known by the young people as “a baller” and in the Preakness he was superb, making the running in the slop — there was a thunderstorm 15 minutes before the off — and kicking on in the straight under a superbly judged ride from Victor Espinoza.
Problem is, winning the American Triple Crown, unlike its English equivalent, necessitates winning three races in six weeks. That’s mostly why, since Affirmed struck gold in 1978, 13 horses have captured the first two legs but failed to win the Belmont Stakes.
And though American Pharoah did a terrific final piece of work at Churchill Downs on Monday, the danger is that something that skipped the Preakness — perhaps Frosted, who was running on at the end of the Kentucky Derby — will be a fresher animal tonight.
They’ve been holding out for a hero. Fingers crossed.
Not the sharpest tool in the box, clearly, given that this was a repeat offence, but his antics at Arsenal’s victory parade will have annoyed — or perhaps faux-annoyed — none but the terminally sanctimonious. We complain that footballers are too rich, too remote and not in touch with the fans any more. Wilshere was neither of those last two things on Sunday.
Dublin by 27 against Longford. Tipperary by 22 against Waterford. The GPA say they’re working on designs for a new championship structure. Good luck with that one, lads.
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