Italia 90: Two goals in 480 minutes. So why is it forever special?

Like Jim Hawkins at the end of Treasure Island, I sometimes dream of my youthful voyage far from home. I dream of trains and pizzas and penalties and the Egypt match. And I start upright in my bed with that familiar, unlovely chat ringing in my ears. Olé Olé Ofeckinlay.

There will be goals, albeit not many of them, in this article. There will be ennui, and plenty of it. There will be trains, no planes, and one automobile.

There will be much chin-stroking musing about Italia 90 and whether from the Irish point of view it amounted to anything more than a tale full of sound, wonder, and furious joy that signified absolutely nothing in the long run. There will even be a visit to an adult cinema, which would have made for an infinitely more entertaining 90 minutes than did any of the Ireland matches except that — well, you’ll see.