Month: November 2017

I’m a left-back. I haven’t darkened the doors of an 11-a-side game in 15 years but I am still a left-back. Despite playing 5-a-side for several years – up until a nasty leg-break in 2007 – I never enjoyed it quite like the real thing. Because I am a left-back and the skillset of such a player was never quite suited to the hectic, frenetic chaos that defines the 5-a-side game. The post-work astro matches, or indoor knockabouts did not lend themselves to raking passes down the line to the winger, overlaps followed by sweeping dangerous crosses, last-ditch sliding tackles, or the less spectacular jockeying of a winger down a blind alley, the latter probably the most satisfying of all. Let alone the one thing that we in the left-back union seem to possess more than anyone else – the killer dead ball. I never played at a very high-level for a multitude of technical footballing reasons, but stick me 25 yards from goal, or at the corner flag, and you were guaranteed a perfect delivery. I’m sure my former team mates in Portmarnock, St. Joseph’s and Granada FC will testify to that. Scoring corners was also a speciality between the ages of 10 and 13. In one of my earliest games for Joeys, with my new team mates blissfully unaware of this skill, my Dad snuck up to the corner flag and told me to shoot. I did and I scored. Full-size goals and miniature under-12 keepers helped. But it had to be on target and it usually was. As for free-kicks, well as many left-backs have proven over many years, we are effing lethal!

What inspired this post was the performance of Alberto Moreno against Sevilla last week. He is everything that I hate about the modern full-back. A show pony with far too many tattoos and not nearly enough discipline. He seems to have ascended to the Champions League level without having a notion of where he is supposed to be on the pitch. He looks good in attack, but has little end product, and is guaranteed to make an absolute balls-up at least once a game. But I don’t blame him. All he can do is play his best. It’s up to his manager to rein him on, or drag him off. His utter inability to be in the right place at the right time cost Liverpool 2 goals and ultimately 2 points. I’ve been hearing that he’s been better this year, but better than useless is still not good enough, and unlike David Luiz who seems to have shaken off his Sideshow Bob persona to become an essential part of the Chelsea defence, excelling in last year’s title win, I can’t see Moreno making the same journey. So let’s have a quick look at who we are comparing him to? Let’s talk about some of my favourite left-backs, some of whom had a huge influence on me when I played…

And we start with the much-maligned Steve Staunton. The first Irish international to reach 100 caps and the only man to represent this country at 3 World Cups. In 1990, a 12-year old me watched this guy in awe as he was part of the last Liverpool title-winning team and Jack’s Army in Italia ’90. He was a hero of mine, and I choose to ignore those who belittle him as a result of his managerial ambitions. He was solid. He never looked in danger, and he could attack as well. He played great crosses and was absolutely lethal with a dead ball, and he even once copied me by scoring a corner for Ireland. He also adapted into the role of centre-half for a lot of his career, which shows a degree of flexibility you seldom get these days. Could you have trusted Ashley Cole beside John Terry, for example? If you’re of a certain young age, you can be forgiven for thinking of  Stan only as the bumbling manager with the thick Louth drawl. If you’re my age or over and you still think of him that way, and that way only, then you are choosing to be ridiculously unfair to a great Irish international. He scored a lot of goals but this is probably my favourite for two reasons, (i) it starts off outside the far post and (ii) the magnificent sound it makes as it mills into the stanchion.

Staunton’s career overlapped with probably Ireland’s greatest ever full-back, certainly the best I’ve known in the last 30 years, Denis Irwin. Another perfect Irish footballer – humble, free of bullshit, efficient, effective and lethal when he wanted to be. Despite being a Corkman and a United man, I have nothing but admiration for him and his service to both the game and to the profile of the full-back. Of course, Irwin could play right and left back without any difference in the quality of the performance. My favourite Irwin moment though – and I’m sure many of you will agree – was actually provided by a Frenchman with a very different approach to the game and, presumably, to life.

Marvellous stuff!

As an Irishman, and moreover as an Irish football fan, you are simply reared to hate the English national team. You are bred to mock their every failure and dread the day they might actually do something. YoG waxed extensively on England last year after their humiliation at the hands of Iceland. While Euro ’88 saw this begrudgery play out in combination with absolute Irish euphoria in Stuttgart, it wasn’t until Italia ’90 when the nasty begrudgery for the sake of it really hit me. I was perhaps a tad too young to scorn the theft of their dreams by the cheating Maradona in ’86, but 4 years later I wasn’t. And at Italia ’90, it was a left-back for England who was one half of the pair of scapegoats for their eventual failure (by their standards) along with Chris Waddle. Stuart Pearce. Psycho. He missed a penalty in the shoot-out against West Germany in the semi-final which sent a very , very good English team out, Gazza and all. But don’t let that define him. Stuart Pearce was mighty. Legs like tree-trunks; a dead-ball assassin; an absolute bastard of a tackler; and the scorer of some unreal goals. And let’s not forget the massive pair of bollocks he has on him to come back for the Three Lions under the Twin Towers and do this 6 years after his humiliation in Italy.

Everything great about English football in one raging celebration.

 

Of course, this is not a list of the best ever left-backs, just the ones who I feel personified the position for me. There are enough top tens and interminable lists on other sites around the net without me adding to it, so please don’t think I’m saying Steve Staunton was a better player than Andreas Brehme, Roberto Carlos or Lizarazu! One thing these lists seem to have in common however, is the name in top spot – Paolo Maldini.

While he didn’t possess the dead ball skills or the ability to get himself a half-dozen or so penalties or free-kick goals a season, he undoubtedly epitomised everything about Italian defending. Relentless discipline; the ability to know what an attacker would do before he did; and the type of beguiling composure on the ball that 99% of full-backs would kill for. The names above are legends for their teams and countries. Paolo Maldini is an icon of the game itself. The most striking statistic about Maldini for me is that only 2 clubs – Real Madrid and his own Milan – have won more European Cups than him. He has 5 – the same as Barcelona and Liverpool, and with 18 years separating the first and last. Staggering. When he later moved into the centre, he was quoted as saying “If I have to make a tackle then I have already made a mistake”. What a wonderfully Italian way to look at it; tackling as a sign of your failure to read where the game was going. He made his debut in the 1984-85 season and his last game was in 2008-09. 647 appearances for one club, a club he helped shape and define.

While youtube provides a great resource for looking back at the career highlights of footballers, I don’t think a 30 second or 2-minute clip can ever do justice to what this man represented. The greatest left-back that ever played was also the one who looked the greatest. The scraggy hair; the piercing eyes; the untucked jersey (always the correct number 3) and the effortless stride. Growing up glued to Football Italia in the late 80’s / early 90’s, I think every kid who played his position simply wanted to be him. I know I did. As such, Maldini needs only a picture…

We’ll leave it there so…

Reality hit us hard last night in Ballsbridge. You’ve probably seen and heard enough hand-wringing to last until the next competitive game in late 2018, so I’ve just a few things I think we need to consider about the Irish national team.

1. We don’t have the Players

This mantra, this deafening, repetitive mantra is a load of absolute bollox. We have the players to qualify. We’ve proved that as often as not in the last 4 campaigns. Let’s not look back with rose-tinted glasses at the Jack Charlton and Mick McCarthy eras. Tommy Coyne of Motherwell played up front on his own in Giants Stadium, Alan McLoughlin and a clubless Gary Breen scored vital famous goals. “But none play in the top 4 in the Premier League, and none feature in the latter stages of the Champions League”, I hear them cry!!! How many of our Quarter-final reaching Italia 90 squad would get near those 2 standards today?? Bonner, NO, Morris, NO, Staunton, NO, McCarthy not a fucking chance. We could go on, but outside of Paul McGrath and maybe Ronnie Whelan, you’d be hard pushed to find any in among the Bernie Slavens and Tony Cascarinos that would excite the likes of Guardiola and Pochettino. Ditto USA 94, where Roy Keane and Denis Irwin had emerged to add to that list. By 2002, we could push a case for Robbie Keane and Damien Duff, but their respective club careers would suggest somewhat otherwise. And let’s not forget John O’Shea and Steve Finnan, who have a few Champions League medals and finals between them, albeit from a good few years back – would they get near them now?

Yes you can argue that the standard is lower now and you would be right, but lets stop losing our shit over this issue. Andy Townsend was not Nemanja Matic or Kevin de Bruyne. We have the players. We absolutely have the players to qualify for tournaments. They CAN play football. Even last night, when they did knock it about on those rare occasions, they created great chances. We have the players.

2. But do we have the Manager?

Eamon Dunphy got a lot of grief when he called Martin O’Neill “Trappatoni with a Derry accent”. He was wrong, but not that wrong. We need to move away from these conservative managers that seem to believe point 1 above. Trap really thought we had nothing, preferring Paul Green to Andy Reid or Wes, and insisting on a brutal brand of anti-football. Under O’Neill we’ve seen flashes of very good performances, notably in Paris and Lille last year, but also great tactical discipline in holding off Germany in Dublin. But throughout all of our campaigns under both these veterans, we have played abysmal stuff, most notably at home in this campaign. We need young blood at the helm, or at least for O’Neill to change his ways. Let’s not be rash. One qualification, albeit via a 3rd place finish, a last 16 in the tournament (again from a 3rd place finish) and a play-off defeat having come runners-up as 4th seeds, is no mean feat, and last night, despite its dreadfulness, including dreadful substitutions, was far from a sacking offence. Had we just drawn with Wales and had a nice wee friendly last night instead, O’Neill’s future would be secure.

3. Worst fans in the World

This offensive myth about the Irish being the best fans in the world can be well and truly consigned to the dustbin now. We can be truly awful. A bunch of drunk, smartphone-wielding up-for-the-craic, constantly aware of how much craic we are, irritating little fuckers, whose own sense of greatness is utterly nauseating. I say that because these fairweather town-square beer-soaked muppets were seen heading to the pub in their droves last night with 20 minutes to go! And a lot of them don’t do much for Irish soccer by staying at home watching Sky and ignoring their own league which provided half the bloody team last night. The best fans in the world stick around til at least the 85th minute  or into injury time – unless you truly believe your early absence will cause a much needed change like the walkout at the 6-1 loss to Germany eventually led to end of Trap’s reign. And the best fans in the world support their local clubs – the next James, Seamus, Daryl, Seanie etc. etc. The only saving grace from last night is we will be spared the incessant feed of “look what the Irish lads have done now” nonsense being force-fed to us by the balls.ie and sports joe brigade next summer as the 5th gas-ticket eejit of the day stares out from our screens, a red cheeked, sweaty, grinning gom with his viral antic of the day.

Oh I’ve enjoyed my travels as an Irish fan, don’t get me wrong. But being great is one thing. Being 100% aware of it, and doing all you can to record and share with the world how great you are is a whole different thing.

4. Grassroots and the League of Ireland

We don’t know how the significant changes to the structure of schoolboy football, controversial as it was, will work out. Ireland has always had a massive number of soccer players, all plying their trade for their local clubs or one of the big teams, primarily in Dublin – St. Josephs, Home Farm, Kevins, Belvo, Cherry Orchard, Lourdes etc., but with no link to the League Of Ireland, and with their eyes on England. This is changing now and should provide a pathway from schoolboy into a domestic top-level and to establish a unified approach to the game in Ireland, as the route to top-level in England seems less and less likely to provide a career as time goes on. We’ll wait and see how these national leagues pan out. It’ll be a few years before it bears fruit, but change was needed.

5. England and the Premier League

Irish football is unique geographically in Europe, but also as a sport in Ireland. It sits in the immediate shadow of the biggest sporting empire in history  – the English Premier League. The impact of this behemoth on the England team has been evident for a long time, as chances for English players at the highest level evaporate, but for the likes of the Irish, Welsh and Scottish, it has destroyed them, and related to point 1, it’s impossible to tell how much worse this Irish group is to those that played pre-Sky and pre-globalisation of the English game.

We need to somehow make that irrelevant. We need another pathway to get our lads playing in top-division winning teams; in the Champions League; and in the Europa League. Yes some have gotten more experience doing that by staying in the League of Ireland, but they also need to meet better players on a regular basis. From a purely footballing perspective every other league in Europe is a better option for a young Irish player than England in my view, yes even La Liga and the Bundesliga – not every team is Barcelona or Bayern, but we seem wedded to the familiar culture, and more importantly to the money it pays. The game as it is played and run in England is no good to us.

6. The “Irish” Way

What typifies Irish football? Who symbolises the Boys in Green in your mind? Who has provided the great, great moments of our football history. A football fan from abroad may conjure up some sort of Niall Quinn / Daryl Murphy hybrid. But nothing could be further from the truth. Ireland’s best players throughout the post-war era have been relatively small in stature and massively talented footballers. Giles, Brady, Whelan, Roy and Robbie Keane, Damien Duff. Add in the likes of Ray Houghton, Kevin Sheedy, Tony Galvin and then consider Robbie Brady, Hoolahan, even Hendrick at his best last year. Matt Holland and Mark Kinsella back in 2002 as well. Only McCarthy and Kerr seem to have understood this since the 1980’s.

These players represent the Irish way, not some horseshit about spirit and determination. We have no monopoly on that and to suggest otherwise is offensive to the rest of the world! If you watched the John Giles documentary, you would’ve heard this, and also Michael Walker alluded to it recently on Second Captains. Little dancers, the street footballers of Dunphy’s rants. He’s right. He’s absolutely right. Wes Hoolahan has had a phenomenal career. Dozens of former internationals would have given their right arm to have played and scored in a major tournament for Ireland, and had such a life in football as he has. Yet he was wasted in England and wasted by two Irish managers, O’Neill much less so, however Trap’s ignorance was a treachery of Irish football. We will make more players like Wes. There have been signs that Horgan, O’Dowda and Maguire could develop into important internationals. But my fear is that the English way – particularly in the Championship or at a battling Premier League team playing Samball and Pulisball – will compromise them. Maybe a few years in the Eredivisie or somewhere would do them no harm.

We need to re-establish that Irish way, and this is linked to all of the above points. It’s our football culture and only we the fans can do it. Sure we can curse and swear about the FAI and John Delaney, but they’re not erecting barriers outside Dalymount and Tallaght to stop you getting in. There are solutions and all is far from lost.

Real football is over for the time being, but it will be back…

The prevailing feeling and mood pushed by the English media – and one which has oozed into the hearts and minds of some Irish football fans – is that international football is rubbish and that the Premier League is the only show in town. People who think this way deserve no little opprobrium, but are probably more worthy of pity. They are missing out. They are missing out on one of the fundamentals of the game of football. Dunphy said it years ago – without international football there is no football. And in this small country of ours, where all of our best players play abroad, it holds a truly special place.

Our cultural and social history can be charted against the fate of our national football team – pre and post-Italia 90 – a grim old nation held its breath and gave way to a shiny new one; Saipan as a barometer of the ‘sure it’ll be grand’ brigade versus those who wanted more, who wanted perfection and to throw off the old Irish way of thinking; and Trappatoni’s Ireland as a symbol of the Troika, as the Germans came and pillaged 6-1 and €64 billion. Some of us measure Ireland the country by Ireland the football team (Some of us are daft!). The brand and quality on show is irrelevant. Real football is whatever you want it to be. It’s the football that brings you to your feet; that renders you helpless to that overwhelming urge to scream with both joy and rage. It’s the football that truly matters. And it’s back.

With that in mind, this momentous week begins. And it began with the news that Seanie Maguire will miss the play-off against Denmark. Yet another product of the domestic game who has risen to represent a new hope for our national team, this time where it’s desperately needed – up front. His goal against Brentford – with their 2 Danish defenders – last week was a bit special. But a hamstring tear in training has robbed us of his services. And has robbed him of a genuine chance to shine, but injuries have also robbed Denmark of the 2 defenders he scored against. He joins a long list of Irish casualties including Coleman of course, McCarthy, Walters and Keogh. Hendrick and Ward are also a worry. It’s half the bloody team and we’re looking very, very light up top.

But as we know, to the extent that it’s become a cliché, this team rises to the big occasions. Germany, Italy and Wales (the latter a big scalp since summer 2016) have all been done over by O’Neill’s team and we have no reason to believe they can’t do it to the Danes as well. It will be a tough 180 minutes, with very little between the teams. The strange over-confidence displayed after the draw will seem misplaced after about 5 minutes on Saturday. I really found that a strange reaction – drawing the lowest ranked first seed is not the same as getting an easy draw. They are a better team than us. Full stop. It will be extremely difficult. They have a trophy in their cabinet and no matter how long ago that was, it speaks to the strength of their football culture – a key factor in how nations approach games and tournaments. If we come back with a draw or a 1-goal defeat, I won’t be too disappointed. If we get an away goal in either of those scenarios, I’ll be bloody delighted.

On the other extreme of this confidence are those that are petrified by Christian Eriksen. As one of the form players in the Premier League for one of its best sides, he is certainly more than worthy of our close attention, but let’s not fool ourselves into thinking he will dictate the game, or run the show. He is not at that level and by focussing too much on him, we may forget others. Like Nicklas Clownshoes Bendtner. He hardly shone in his last outing on Irish soil, where his Rosenborg drew with Dundalk in a Champions League qualifier, but he now has 18 goals in 29 games, has just won the Norwegian title and is still the right side of 30. Forget the novelty boxers, he seems to mean business now.

This team have a lot of experience all over the pitch, but they’re hardly world beaters. It may take something special to beat Kasper Schmeichel however, and I’m sure his father has inspired him to seek revenge for November 1993. It was on that momentous night that he was sent up to the box for a corner in a desperate last-minute attempt to force one in against Spain in the last round of World Cup Qualifiers. A goal would have sent the then European Champions into 2nd place in our group and beyond us into USA ’94. He failed. And we had a bit of a hooley Stateside whacking the Italians before limping out in the second round. I won a pound in a poetry contest in school that week for a short poem about the last few minutes of that Denmark v Spain game. An Irish poetry contest no less! Go hiontach I was.

Elsewhere, let’s keep an eye out for the other M. O’Neill as Northern Ireland take on the Swiss. I’ve no love for Switzerland as a footballing country. They reek of ‘meh’, with their crafty but dull methods of fluffing up their ranking and seeding. They have never been exciting and a World Cup would be better off with our neighbours than that lot. I fancy the Nordies because Michael O’Neill appears to be some class of footballing wizard, whose departure from Tallaght is still felt.

Croatia will beat Greece I hope, and Italy will be made work by Sweden but will overcome them. Also Honduras play Australia and Peru play New Zealand. I’m gonna go with the 2 from the Americas on that one, purely because New Zealand banned foreign workers from buying houses and some Aussie MP slagged off the Irish. So fuck em both! Plus that Peru jersey is a classic (sorry to go a bit balls.ie here).

It all kicks off in Belfast and Zagreb on Thursday. Enjoy those games and Friday’s. Get through Saturday and you never know what Tuesday will bring. It’s been 15 years since Japan and Korea. Almost a generation since we last played in a World Cup. We deserve one now, particularly having been robbed once since then – come on, whose mind hasn’t drifted back to that poxy night in Paris in the past few weeks! I have a good feeling about this. I trust Martin O’Neill in this position. And moreover I trust this group of players.

Real football is back!!!