On the surface, 2018 was no different to any other football year, with very few surprises across the major leagues in Europe and at home. The big boys all won as expected and the gap between the haves and have-nots grew even more, prised open ever further by increased TV money leading to a raft of record transfers. But looking back now, a few significant things did indeed happen:
- Video Assisted Refereeing was not only introduced but has become such a part of the game that it is now being cried out for across many competitions and at as many levels as is feasible. The technological revolution, for so long resisted by the traditionalists, has arrived in football, and it will only go in one direction. This will lead to a fairer game with less and less incorrect decisions due to human limitations.
- Women in football began to be heard that little bit more. From an increasing TV presence, to the award of a Ballon D’Or for the first time, let’s hope that the role of women in soccer can be elevated to the level of coverage it has enjoyed historically in the likes of Athletics, Tennis and latterly Gaelic Games. Who would have thought that women’s hockey would provide one of Ireland’s great sporting highlights this year but it did, and I for one long for the day that the Irish Women’s National Team do something of that scale. That will require our support with more of us willing to attend the games and more journalists willing to give it column inches and bandwidth.
- Probably not unconnected to this, the macho bullshit so beloved of Proper Football Men is now on its last legs and this above anything else may mark out 2018 as the year football culture grew up. The boorish garbage spouted by Roy Keane all year long finally caught up with him, but not to the extent that he felt unable to go on one last dreadful rant against United’s players after Jose’s pox of a reign came to an end. The relatively young – by managerial standards – alpha male Mourinho now finds himself with nowhere left to go in the club game after a 6-month strop. Pulis, Allardyce, Pardew, Hughes et al look increasingly anachronistic. All while characters like Klopp – an on-pitch hug for every player and an arm around the shoulder when needed – go from strength to strength. The truly tragic side to the old ways continues to emerge with Gareth Farrelly the most recent one to speak up at the horrors inflicted on young men and boys by the toxic masculine culture that defined our game for so many years. The likes of Keane may blindly and ignorantly deride the modern player for being “very weak human beings” as he did about United’s players this week, but they’re not hiding their misery behind a rake of pints every afternoon Roy. They may not be your sort of man but they are still men.
These were my big all encompassing trends from 2018 in terms of the culture of the game itself, but now we can have a look back at the biggest on-pitch events of the year, starting right here at home where the domestic game harried and bullied its way into the mainstream of Irish soccer, as the quality and the brand of football could no longer be ignored by the general public or the powers that be.
Dundalk
Brilliant. Just brilliant. Again and again and again. When I saw the Lilywhites play Legia Warsaw in August 2016 in Lansdowne, it was the best game of football I had seen at the new stadium, and probably still is. Their entire Champions League and Europa League experience that season was a clarion call to the Irish soccer community, announcing at long last what we were capable of doing. With the right approach, the right attitude and the right coaching, Irish footballers can exceed expectations, and exceed them to a huge degree. Where Shamrock Rovers went in 2011, Dundalk went further in 2016, and they have maintained that approach up to today. Their second double in 4 seasons, playing a magnificent brand of football, this Dundalk team will be spoken about for many years to come. Patrick McEleney was their standout player this year and despite losing players across the water, they have maintained a core throughout this period with the likes of Seán Gannon, John Mountney, Robbie Benson and Gary Rogers.
But perhaps the most important mainstay throughout this period has been Stephen Kenny. From setting up Tallaght Town in his 20’s with the aspiration of bringing League of Ireland football to this massive suburb, to his eventual appointment to the Irish national team manager’s job in 2020, Stephen Kenny has immersed himself in Irish football, often taking on massive challenges. As a Rovers fan, I regret the lack of patience shown towards him by the fans and by extension, the club itself during his brief spell there. A success everywhere he’s been, with the exception of Dunfermline where he was relegated albeit in a season where they only lost the Scottish Cup Final 1-0 to Celtic, he never got the chance to impose himself on the Tallaght club, desperate to maintain the standards set by Michael O’Neill in previous years. His ascension to the Irish job is the recognition, long since warranted, that a small football country need not have a small football mindset. I know he will make the most of the 2 years in charge of the U-21’s and in his overseeing role for the entire underage set-up. My only fear is that the national team’s gain is the League’s loss. It’d be nice to end Dundalk’s general dominance, (admittedly Cork have been right up there) but not at the expense of the league overall.
Ireland’s Annus Horribilis
What a waste of a year for the Boys in Green. What a toxic, useless and depressing 12 months of dire underperformance, immature and reckless management and delusion of a scale unseen in this arena previously. Graham Burke’s goal against the USA was the only smidgeon of joy to be garnered from the entire year. He became the first League of Ireland player to score for us in 40 years, since Ray Treacy scored against Turkey. It should have been a celebrated milestone, but it was clouded over by the general apathy around the national team’s lack of direction.
I wrote about Roy Keane enough already. It’s a shame his glorious playing career has given way to managerial and punditry careers which reflect only the darker side of his on-pitch presence. Great clickbait all the same!
As for O’Neill, his reliance on the wisdom of a football genius from the 1970’s and 80’s for inspiration was baffling; the lack of coaching irresponsible; the lack of preparation unprofessional; the attitude to the media unnecessarily immature and poisonous; and overall, as evidenced by Stephen Ward’s WhatsApp voice message, the atmosphere around the squad seems to have grown toxic. The one thing we always relied on was the bursting desire to pull on that jersey and it seemed lost. It cannot be a coincidence that Declan Rice seems willing now to declare for Ireland since the toxic twins have departed.
Having dragged Ireland back to where we felt we belonged in 2016, 2017 was a shitshow, and 2018 the final nail in the coffin. It’s hard to imagine from our position, but right throughout the hierarchy, from the European aristocrats down to the most remote footballing outposts of the continent, the Nations League was embraced and, in many cases absolutely loved. But in Ireland, it was almost disregarded as some mickey-mouse tournament unworthy of attention. It was a shameful experience all round, it’s only function to expedite the curtain’s fall on the MonKeano pantomime.
There were only 2 men I wanted to take over this job, so imagine my surprise when they both got it! I’ve written enough about Stephen Kenny above, and I had started an article on Mick McCarthy before he got the job, which I never got round to completing. Suffice to say, that I think he has it all – the personality; the humour; the team ethic; the footballing style; and the one thing that we want above all else – the ability to get players to play out of their skins. He led us through a group of death to the 2002 tournament, got us out of the group despite the turmoil, but lost that battle in the end. In a funny way, had Saipan not happened, you could imagine that he could still be manager today rather than coming in for a second stint!
Will we qualify? We’ve every chance, as I argued here. Mick will get a lot more out of this group, and I think we will enjoy it. For the first time since 2016, I’m looking forward to a campaign.
Liverpool
I’m a Liverpool fan. 2018 has been unreal. From the relentless assault on Europe, ending in calamity, but only at the final hurdle, to the relentless solidity on display in the league campaign so far this season. There is no one wearing a red shirt this season that I do not trust or do not love. Even Lovren and Matip have been ok when called for. The first 11 or 14 have been immense. Van Dijk makes me feel inadequate as a man – so cool, never bothered by anything. Shaqiri brings me to my feet so often with his effortless command of the football and his goals. Salah is still the King; Mané and Firmino have not set the place alight but have managed to knock in a few in any case. Allison looks a bargain; Keita and Fabinho have yet to be unleashed. Milner has maintained his incredible form and – I use the word again – relentless positivity and collective ethic. And before you say anything, Robertson gets his own section below.
I can’t say they are favourites with City still holding that particular status, even with a gap of 4 points, but this is the best Liverpool team in 30 years. That alone is worth enjoying while it lasts. A trophy would be nice. A league title would bring me to my knees in praise of God, Allah, Kenny, Bill and Bob, and require a week off work to watch every second of the season again. Here’s hoping. (and no apologies for my partisanship)
Man City
I wish they’d just piss off, but they are incredible. Despite succumbing to Liverpool’s shock and awe in the Champions League, they were head and shoulders above the lot in the league and are there again. Definite favourites – the pressure is all theirs, but could Pep and Jurgen not have gentlemen’s agreement that City can have Europe and the Reds get the title? No? Yeh Unai and the Mauric(z)ios may have something to say on that even with the gap to the top. One other thing is also certain. This has been the best Premier League in a long time, and that’s with the biggest giant of all curled up in his cave asleep.
Sergio Ramos
The most successful shit of all succeeded again. A nasty bastard; a sly and entitled Real Madrid prick who denied Europe what was shaping up to be a truly great final by taking both Salah and the useless-enough-already Karius out of the game. Listen he didn’t score an overhead kick like Bale did, or do anything much to win it, but we all know now how he affected the game. Karius is not a good keeper but even he isn’t as bad as the 2 goals he threw away. He was taken out by that elbow meaning his usual 5/10 standard dropped to 2/10. And that, along with Salah’s injury, was the difference on the night. I’d hoped Liverpool would draw Real in the last 16. And done them.
Man United and Jose Mourinho
No empire lasts forever. Liverpool, the last great English football superpower, have spent the guts of 3 decades rebuilding with fleeting successes serving only to highlight how far off the pace they really were. United’s fall is similar in many ways – a succession of managers that didn’t work out; media becoming dominated by former players weighed down by medals; dissatisfaction with the owners and the structure; and a feeling that football itself has left you behind. But on the pitch and in the dug-out, Liverpool never imploded in the way United have this season. And the critical factor in that contrast is Jose Mourinho. A poisonous presence in the game and in that great club, his descent justifying their decision not to appoint him in 2013. No one will write as well as Ken Early on this, but it is clear to all that the man is suffering some sort of professional breakdown and will need time out if he is to regain any status in the European game.
United, on the other hand, have so much on which to rebuild that it won’t be long before they put this dreadful period behind them and start playing the United way and with some success. The immediacy of the new manager bounce evident in Cardiff should not be taken with a great degree of caution. The leash was off and everyone seemed happy but greater challenges await. The current squad is probably good enough for the Top 4, a few additions and a manager (maybe Solskjaer) would definitely have them challenging for the title, but remember Liverpool challenged under Evans, came runner-up under Houllier and Benitez, should have won it under Rodgers and now sit first again under Klopp. Decades pass in the blink of an eye and the football world moves on.
Best Book – “State of Play – Under the Skin of the Modern Game” by Michael Calvin
Following on from the phenomenal “No Hunger in Paradise” Michael Calvin trawls through every aspect of modern football in another grand exposé of the game’s underbelly. The heartbreaking analysis of the impact of concussion and dementia is one of the early highlights of this work. But he goes into areas of increasing corporatism; women in football; the rage unleashed by Fan TV outlets; the rage of modern football in general; referees; racism; and the central role of the sport in countless communities. Only by writing this piece have I realised that I need to read this again. This is an epic tome, not in its length, but in the weight and substance of its content.
Best TV
I’ve only watched 2 episodes of “Sunderland ’til I Die” and within 30 seconds of it starting, it was obvious that something very special was to follow. As a Dubliner, it’s impossible to really understand how one institution can so fully represent a city and its people in the way football clubs often do in one-club cities. This is a sporting documentary but also a social study of how a town ravaged by under-investment and reeling from the collapse of its old industries and ways of life without replacement seeks answers in a club that they love and loathe in equal measures. I look forward to watching the rest of it.
England v2.018
When we all laughed at England in 2016 we could never have envisaged how the entire culture around their national team could be turned on its head so quickly. Back then, having limped home from France after defeat to Iceland, it all looked so desperate, but in the space of one summer month, England fell back in love with the three lions. Gareth Southgate took on the burden of the poisoned chalice and, notwithstanding the ease of their passage, went where only 2 men had gone before. Only Bobby Robson and Alf Ramsey had led England out at a World Cup Semi Final. Both are revered knights of the realm; both are spoken of with awe and held in the highest esteem possible. Southgate’s England are less easy to despise than all previous incarnations. He seems like a very decent, thoughtful and intelligent man. The players, when in this group, come across as dedicated, professional and immune to the myriad distractions that have plagued previous squads. This may truly be their golden generation and I would not bet against a trophy being added to the Jules Rimet at Wembley in 18 months time.
The 2018 World Cup
Which brings us onto the World Cup. A full YoG was done here and looking back now, it never failed to provide the entertainment, the intrigue and the epic sporting stories that we all crave every 4 years. Every day provided a new talking point. While only France vs Argentina and Spain vs Portugal can be recalled as truly great games, there was more than enough to warrant this tournament’s place as one of the better iterations. The early shambolic exits of Spain and Germany and the Italian and Dutch no-shows did take a little bit from the tournament and will have the English, Belgians and Croats really kicking themselves that they didn’t win it, but my highlight was undoubtedly South Korea doing the Germans in injury time. That was a remarkable event in every manner.Watching Luka Modric play every few days for a month was also an honour. The last summer tournament for another 8 years though, which is a massive shame and a disgrace, but we’ll have to live with it. It’s impossible to feel anything other than slightly sick when thinking about Qatar, so we won’t for now.
My Favourite Player of 2018 – Andy Robertson
I was a left-back in my playing days. I still am. You never stop being a left-back. Which is why I wrote YoG No. 33 – The Left Back . It’s a very specialised position that only other left-backs understand. But surely right-backs do too, I hear you cry. No. They don’t. They are completely different. Honestly they are. I’m not gonna explain myself, but let’s just say that when I see a great left-back in action, my heart sings and I’m brought straight back in my mind to a freezing field somewhere on the edge of Dublin in the early 90’s, overlapping at full-pelt down the wing, running onto the pass, beating the right-full and whipping in cross for the striker to slot in (I’m sure I managed that once or twice). Or beating a marauding winger to the ball and taking him with it. Lovely stuff
This is why I love watching Andy Robertson. He does everything required of a left-back and he does it to perfection. I also love him because he has transformed from a journeyman Scot at Hull into the love-child of Paolo Maldini and Roberto Carlos. He just never stops. He never stops running; harrying; tackling; passing; sprinting; crossing; dribbling; turning; talking; instructing; leading; inspiring. He has been the undoubted highlight of a year of highlights for Liverpool. The sort of player you’d want your kids to be like. World-class and not a hint of an ego to be seen. I hope he plays for Liverpool for the rest of his life and that Scotland make it to a World Cup so the rest of the international left-backs union can watch in awe and admiration.
Second Captains
The lads on the Second Captains podcast just keep getting better. Their output in 2018 was truly outstanding. The highlights for me this year was missing actual football during the World Cup (maybe the first half-hour of a match or two) because I wanted to finish listening that day’s podcast. Ken Early’s travelogues are the best sports broadcasting has to offer. His tiff with Eamon Dunphy was priceless and the player’s chairs delivered truly brilliant insights, in particular the Paul Kimmage and Liam George ones. My head towards the end of the year couldn’t handle the extremely well-received and extremely important Brian Lenihan episode, but I will get around to it.
The lads are just getting better and better. Richie Sadlier is becoming a very strong force for good in Irish media. His analysis around the Belfast rape trial and the culture around being a teenage boy in today’s world belongs as much to current affairs as sport. It was powerful vital stuff. As I alluded to, the end of the year wasn’t great personally, but through a lot of driving back and forth to Vincent’s Hospital, I took great comfort and escaped from it all listening to Second Captains. If any of you are reading this, thank you for doing that little bit to help bring a smile back to my face on those difficult evenings. It was badly needed.
My Dad
My father died in October after a long battle with cancer. There is just no way to do justice on here to how much he influenced every single aspect of my life, my career and what type of Dad I have been myself. But as with so many fathers and sons, and increasingly mothers and daughters, football was the unbreakable bond that was stitched into every fabric of our relationship from the day I was born to the last days we shared.
Born in 1947 in the inner city, his family moved to Artane when he was 4. He went to O’Connell’s School in town. His was the generation of the ban, and he was suspended after a Christian Brother caught him playing the garrison game on a Saturday morning in Fairview Park instead of attending a school Gaelic football match. Such compulsion had the opposite effect and there was no doubt that soccer was his game.
The Busby Babes were his first love and he always remembered the moment he heard about the Munich tragedy. But it was during his teenage years when the Holy Trinity of Best, Law and Charlton came of age that Manchester United became embedded within him and he got to see them in the flesh when they played Waterford in Lansdowne in 1968. Memories of him screaming at the radio when they won the league in 1993 “I’ve been waiting 26 years for this!!!”, or roaring the house and neighbourhood down when Solksjaer scored that goal in the Nou Camp in ’99 when only a phone call from my (also United supporting) sister at full-time allowed him catch his breath, will always stay with me, in particular because as a Liverpool fan, I was grudgingly sitting arms folded tut-tutting at how bloody jammy they had been on every occasion!. I also have a memory of one of the many Liverpool vs. United matches we watched together when I punched a lampshade in relief when Liverpool equalised. The lampshade didn’t matter to him, but the scoreline did. And of him telling my brother Karl (also a United fan) on the phone the day after Istanbul that “yeh he’d had a few last night”. They were still up when I got home!!!
As a kid, he took me to Dalymount and Tolka a load of times when we lived in Portmarnock. He was never a fan of any domestic club growing up – he used to just support whoever his uncle – the goalkeeper Mick Smyth – was playing for, in particular during his early years with Drumcondra, so whoever was playing a decent game at home we’d pop along. When we moved to the Southside, we went to the RDS quite a lot to see the Rovers of Vinny Arkins, Derek Tracey and Gino Brazil. These games stayed with me and despite not attending domestic league matches for many years, I always followed Rovers, and renewed that interest about 10 years ago and started going to Tallaght more regularly.
But if there was one football moment or one experience with my Dad that I will always cherish and one I think of at least once every day if not every hour, it was Ireland at Italia 90 . He brought the whole family over to Malta for a week and we went via catamaran to the games against Egypt and Holland. We were there behind the goal in Palermo when Niall Quinn scrambled the ball into the net and the entire nation went into meltdown. As a 12-year old football obsessive, this was the greatest experience I could ever have. As a 40-year old, it still hasn’t been beaten. We were there. The seeds has been sown and life would never be the same again. The obsession is now evident from my season ticket for Lansdowne; trips to Poland in 2012 (I rang him after every match for an “explanation” of what I had just witnessed) and France in 2016; in a grandson whose first word was “ball”; and this blog. I have my Dad to thank (or blame!) for all of that.
Weekends were all about the game when we were young. I remember most clearly the times around the age of 13 to 16 that I’d go training with Granada FC on a Saturday morning. My brother might have had a Leinster Senior League match for St. Joseph’s that afternoon that we’d go to in Tivoli Terrace in Dún Laoghaire. We’d drive around Dún Laoghaire and Blackrock doing a few bits and pieces as BBC Radio 5 Live flitted in and out of audibility on the Medium Wave 606. Then on Sunday morning usually, I’d have had a match. He was at nearly every game we both played at home at least, and for me a lot of the schoolboy away matches as well, bringing a clatter of my teammates in the car with us. We’d usually be well home in time to watch whatever match was on the telly that afternoon. And the lampshades were put away.
He’s there still every Saturday afternoon as I listen to the games on the radio at home or driving around the place with the kids, and I hear his reaction to every incident and his wisdom in or around 4:45 each week as the results come through. I remember him saying to me about Liverpool exactly what I said above about United. After they ended their 26-year wait, I said Liverpool would never go that long without winning the title. His response, borne from bitter experience, was that you never know. I do now.
There are countless other memories throughout my life, my family’s life, including the grandchildren, of my Dad as a football man and all I can hope to do is pass his love of the game onto my kids, as well as everything else. It won’t be an easy Christmas this year but life does go on. There’ll be many more 4:45s on Saturday afternoons and many more nights in Lansdowne and I’ll be thinking of him at every kick of the ball.
Thanks for reading.
Half-time against Egypt in Palermo
A Yard of Grass 