TV Verdict: ‘Traffic cop’ James McCarthy not Eamon Dunphy’s choice to police midfield

Aptly for the day after the day that was in it, the panel are singing the praises of a Tipperary footballer.

Shane Long is starting and according to John Giles he was as good as any striker in England, Harry Kane included, during the closing months of the season. With his pace, Liam Brady predicts, Long is “bound to trouble” the Swedish defence.

Liam announces he’s reasonably optimistic. So is Eamon Dunphy, provided we “set the tempo and don’t be reacting to the Swedes”.

There is one small problem. Sweden may not have Shane Long, the Greaves of Gortnahoe, but they do have Zlatan Ibrahimovic. Zlatan Ibrahimovic of PSG. Zlatan Ibrahimovic who, George will reveal during the game, has been responsible for 74% of his country’s goals, whether as creator or finisher, since 2012. Zlatan Ibrahimovic who this evening is up against Ciaran Clark of, ahem, Aston Villa. Gulp.

Over to Paris. The Swedish fans are “always colourful in their yellow shirts”, George Hamilton asserts, a statement with which there can be no arguing (and one, incidentally, rather more accurate than John Motson’s old line about the Brazilian fans providing a “kaleidoscope of colour” in their yellow shirts). Michael D Higgins is seen singing Amhrán na bhFiann. Is this protocol?

Never mind. Off they go. A pattern emerges after 10 minutes; Ireland are setting the tempo and not reacting to the Swedes. Eamon will be delighted. Robbie Brady goes close. Jeff Hendrick twangs the crossbar. They’re getting the ball down and passing it, and as the half wears on, they get Seamus Coleman into space on the right a couple of times. This is encouraging.

Tony O’Donoghue is pitchside. He notes that the turf is cutting up badly and frets that the upshot could be “an unfortunate bobble that might go against Ireland”.

Ronnie, fastening on this two-yard tap-in like the penalty-box predator he never was, chortles that we should “hope for a fortunate bobble that goes for Ireland”. Neatly finished, sir, if not quite as stylishly done as that night in Hannover.

We’re murdering them 0-0 at half-time. I knew Sweden were dross without Ibrahimovic; I just hadn’t suspected they’d be dross with him. The panel are almost giddy. “Outstanding,” rhapsodises Eamon.

There is high praise for Hendrick and Brady. There is rather less than high praise for James McCarthy, who Eamon wants gone — and replaced by James McClean — because he’s “doing nothing in the middle of the pitch”. It will not be Eamon’s last contribution on the topic.

Two minutes into the second half, Coleman gets forward again and his cross is met deliciously by Wes Hoolahan. A belated, and belatedly deserved, 1-0. “Just what the doctor ordered,” whoops George.

It proves to be a strategic mistake by Ireland. The next 20 minutes are all Sweden and they equalise in the 71st minute. The creator is Mr 74% himself. The finisher is poor Ciaran Clark. It would take a heart of stone not to bleed for him. As if spending the past season at Villa hadn’t been excruciating enough.

Martin Olsson continues to threaten down the left. One realises with a start that he plays for the same club as Brady and Hoolahan. How the heck did Norwich City get relegated? Villa, yes, but Norwich?

Ireland eventually manage to right the ship. It finishes 1-1. George: “A point is a point. Ronnie: “A point is a point, is right.” Liam: “It’s a good point.” [Then, reconsidering…] “It’s alright. It could have been so much better.” Oddly, what appears to be an inevitable existential debate on the fullness or otherwise of the glass fails to materialise.

Eamon’s overriding emotion is “disappointment, of course”.

This doesn’t prevent him returning to the scene of the half-time discussion and giving McCarthy a shoeing.

“He got his manager sacked at Everton. He’s strolling around like a traffic cop, pointing here, pointing there, doing nothing.”

If Frances Fitzgerald is watching and doing her job, yet another enquiry into the Garda Siochána can surely not be long delayed.

What Ireland lacked, Eamon and John agree, was the know-how to ride out the storm during Sweden’s good period. Someone to put his foot on the ball in the middle of the field and calm things down.

What an irony that the panel boasts not one but two men (clue: Eamon isn’t either of them) who could have done precisely that in their sleep during their prime.

Someone like Luka Modric, suggests John before sheepishly acknowledging the reality of the situation. Manfully and all as he strives, Glenn ‘My name isn’t Luka’ Whelan is, well, no Luka Modric.

But cheer up. We still have Shane Long. On to Bordeaux. Steady as she goes.