Peasant is a loaded term, particularly in a country like Ireland, defined by its legacy of rural poverty. It’s a term which should not be used lightly and I don’t do so here. Irish football, however, has undoubtedly been overseen and managed by an underqualified, arrogant, out-of-touch and aggressively incompetent peasant class. The central aspect to this claim is that the term “peasant” can mean more than the usual connotations of poverty and a lack of education. To me it also encompasses a particular trait which continues to dog Irish public life – the fact that the peasant is overly concerned with how he or she is viewed by others, most notably those from other countries. This trait is one of the defining ingredients in the almost constant battle between the FAI and the fit and proper governance of Irish football. It can be traced back through our wretched football political history, and reached its nadir in the last few months as John Delaney’s antics came to light in the most spectacular manner.
There are several elements to this story, but it starts with that most peasant-like characteristic of all – the decent skin. Sure, isn’t he a grand lad, didn’t he open that pitch over there paid for by “his” FAI. This sort of thinking makes me sick. It’s bad enough that the man was merely doing what he was paid to do: develop Irish football, but the money was not generated by some commercial genius CEO – it was the taxpayers money. John Delaney’s oversized novelty cheques were funded by you and me, and many hundreds of thousands of Irish workers with feck all interest in football. Yet the peasants were grovelling at the feet of this messiah; this phony; this man of little substance. Lest he think they were not worthy of his patronage.
Then there was the desperation of the peasants. We need a world class manager. A marquee name. Damn all the others. We are Ireland and if John Delaney needs to swing his mickey in Nyon at UEFA or in Zurich with Sepp, he has to have that name. That name was Giovanni Trappatoni and the FAI would facilitate disgusting sportswashing by Denis O’Brien, who stumped up for half his wages, in order to have that name. I’ve always hated this relationship and I believe that when we’re finally rid of all the wafflers and nodding donkeys in Irish football, we will look back at this grubby little episode with the most regret.
The peasants were so grateful to Signor Trap’s amazing work in getting this shower of amateurs to the dizzy heights of a tournament (for the first time ever was it?), having narrowly missed out in a play-off the previous time when the tactic was to ignore the manager, that his contract was extended in advance of a tournament, in which we were shamed by all-comers. More, and deeper, shame was piled on Ireland by the Germans before Trap was paid off by Messrs Delaney and O’Brien. How much money exited Irish football in that period, and how much do we have to show for it? Seriously, how many great memories do you have from Trap’s era? Poland was great for me because I went and for the first time, you were far better off being an Ireland fan at the tournament than at home because you had distractions, but what else was there?
Then like all peasants, they do have some good times. Martin O’Neill did well and got us to France, beating and drawing with the Germans who had routed us under Trap. All was well in 2016, but again the peasant grovelling at the feet of their colonial masters with all their European cups and witty ripostes, decided to extend the contract and the whole thing went into meltdown. Again. Irish football would be a shambles. Again.
But they were just the on-pitch scandals. What has emerged in the last few months eclipses all of this. His exorbitant wages have always been a massive issue, related closely to the idea that “sure aren’t we lucky to have him” – the catch-cry of the blinkered lickspittles, yes-men and cavemen. But to hear now that he was effectively using the FAI as his own personal bank is just beyond the pale. The expenses and the credit card bills. The commissioning of expensive management consultant report after report, and the imposition of legal costs which, if spent on the game, would make a huge difference to the Irish soccer community. This man has taken millions away from the boys and girls that will constitute the Irish senior national soccer teams of the future, in order to cover his arse, procrastinate and obfuscate.
Then there was the king of the peasantry himself, the chief of the Healy-Rae clan, with both his literal flat cap on his head and the metaphorical rope around his trousers. What a horrible embarrassment he was at the Dáil committee. I feel limitless sympathy for the honest, bright, visionary folk of Kerry who did not give him a 1st preference vote at the last election. He may top the poll, but 75% of “his people” would prefer if someone else represented them. Many of them, one would have to assume, have strong feelings on the matter. He represents Kerry in the same way Ahern represented Dublin. But, in fairness to him, he is stil a statesman compared to Ivan Yates, a broke bookie rabble-rouser whose tragic attempt to jump on the anti-Healy Rae bandwagon backfired in a truly spectacular fashion. People may not like the Kerry TD much, but they have no time for insincere, boorish, clickbait masquerading as TV journalism.
All the while this was unfolding, the little people, John’s people, the so-called grassroots, were coming out to defend him. The little men with their new astros, and their new balls. The loyalists. The bought and paid for. With their Ctrl+C, Ctrl+V unanimous, identical, support for him. Clubs like Limerick FC – who could afford the time to release one of these statements, but could not afford to pay their players. The grassroots – the gombeenmen, the peasants. A great bunch of lads. The absolute fucking state of ye!
And yet, every so often, on Virgin media, or on Today FM, the comforting, soothing tones of Dublin soccer personfied, (indeed Dublin City) was wiling away his time broadcasting. If not wasting his talents, at least not using them to his maximum advantage, or ours. As Brian Kerr spread wisdom on the airwaves, John Delaney spread exasperation. And then there was Niall Quinn, another voice of reason. There were tennis balls and Damien Duff’s fall from grace. There was Richie Sadlier’s gaze into the heavens and considered outbursts at every new revelation, every so often only the F-words would do. Second Captain’s listeners with young kids would postpone an explanation to another day.
Irish football is in crisis mode. 2 senior qualifiers came and went. We won both and played quite well in one and we look forward to the next. McCarthy is a breath of fresh air in a fog of uncertainty. Stephen Kenny is an energetic presence and one to look forward to. Our U-17’s were unlucky in the Euros and the local football crowd turned up in good numbers for a good spectacle. Attendances are up across the board, with a whopper crowd and a mega-whopper atmosphere at a mental Dublin derby, and another proper title-race in the making. The crisis is not on the pitches. If anything, we are in a relatively ok place as a footballing nation. On the pitches.
But off the pitch, we need to remove the FAI in total. We need an absolute clear out of the higher-level executive and board. We may need a troika-style takeover in the interim, but we must also seek to take back the game. Ask Quinn, Kerr et al what they would do. Listen to the educated voices, the voices of experience. Bring in a non-football CEO, a non-football treasurer – an absolute nazi in charge of the accounts. Transparent, evidence-based expenditure plans subject to appraisal, where every cent can be justified on the basis of how many will benefit from it and how it fits into the FAI’s corporate plan, the norm in many organisations must become the norm here.
We are beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. The peasants have been exposed and are in the process of being expelled, but they need to be replaced by thinkers, innovators, honest men and women with integrity. Only then will Irish football stop wallowing as the poor relation of Irish sport; the stain on Irish sporting governance; the runt of the litter staring doe-eyed at the GAA and IRFU with their competence and their professionalism. Only then will we finally get the association we deserve and the only then will we get the game we deserve.
A Yard of Grass 