The FIFA World Cup.
I remember exactly where I was when we last qualified for it.
I had come from another mundane day at school, just in time to watch the 2nd leg of our playoff against Iran. It was dark in Tehran, and even darker in Tuam as I sat down to a dinner my grandmother had prepared for me. Through a combination of not liking pork (at the time) and being fascinated with Irish football, my interest in the dinner disappeared once the game kicked off. I was 10 years old, and I don’t really remember the tension of the occasion in particular. Iran had chances, good ones too but I can never recall being at unease. Certainly not the kind of unease I would feel on the verge of qualifying for a World Cup today. Although did they manage to score, it was too little too late as Ireland held a 2 goal aggregate difference from the first leg. Half of my dinner was still there as the final whistle went but I didn’t care. I was happy, my grandmother didn’t take too much notice of that happiness (as she admonished my lack of appetite) but Ireland we’re going to their third World Cup. For the first time in my life that I could recall, I was going to see Ireland in a major competition. That was special, even more special looking back on it now.
I had come from another mundane day at school, just in time to watch the 2nd leg of our playoff against Iran. It was dark in Tehran, and even darker in Tuam as I sat down to a dinner my grandmother had prepared for me. Through a combination of not liking pork (at the time) and being fascinated with Irish football, my interest in the dinner disappeared once the game kicked off. I was 10 years old, and I don’t really remember the tension of the occasion in particular. Iran had chances, good ones too but I can never recall being at unease. Certainly not the kind of unease I would feel on the verge of qualifying for a World Cup today. Although did they manage to score, it was too little too late as Ireland held a 2 goal aggregate difference from the first leg. Half of my dinner was still there as the final whistle went but I didn’t care. I was happy, my grandmother didn’t take too much notice of that happiness (as she admonished my lack of appetite) but Ireland we’re going to their third World Cup. For the first time in my life that I could recall, I was going to see Ireland in a major competition. That was special, even more special looking back on it now.
That qualifying campaign and the subsequent tournament that
followed remain some of my happiest football memories. The friendlies we were
playing now took on greater importance. The fringe players were now being
mentioned with greater importance. Even the drama that was the Saipan incident
only added to the excitement and novelty of our involvement. I knew no
different, having been too young to recall USA 94. If I thought France 98 was
special, then Japan/Korea 02 was going to be a different class altogether with
Ireland in it. I would be waking up at 7 in the morning to watch us play
Cameroon. Going berserk in the school library as Robbie Keane equalised against
Germany. Going to school every day wearing my white Ireland jersey, with World Cup 2002 emblazoned underneath the
crest. Walking across to the nearby secondary school to watch us play Saudi
Arabia, still arguing about whether Roy Keane should be in the squad or not. We
were told to keep it down as students were sitting exams in the hall across the
way. Eh, what? Do you not realise we’re in a World Cup and we’re going to the
last 16? And then Spain, breaking our hearts after we outplayed them across 2
hours of football. Losing in arguably the worst penalty shoot any of us can
recall. I still remember the utter disgust of seeing GAA live on the TV later
that day. It was a Sunday, it was raining, and it was dull, compounded by our
World Cup exit.
Little did I know I’d still be waiting 15 years later for
our return to World Footballs Greatest stage.
The FIFA World Cup.
the source of never ending heartbreak
My earliest memories of football in general, are of Ireland trying to qualify for France 98. No matter what the team, era, competition or result, your earliest memories of your favourite team will always bring back a certain amount of nostalgia. One dreary October day (a lot of days in Ireland are dreary or dull) while I was procrastinating to my hearts content in college, I came across a glorious google image. The moment I laid eyes on our 1996-97 goalkeeper jersey, I was consumed with one track desire to obtain one of my own. Looking at that purple masterpiece brought back a flood of memories. Of how we lost in Macedonia wearing Orange shirts. In fact all four of our jerseys in that campaign were some of the greatest ones we've ever had. Romania were simply unstoppable, winning all but one of their games. Ireland on the other hand were drawing with Lithuania and Iceland at home. Not knowing when that Kevin Kilbane made his debut away to Iceland, it would be the first of 66 consecutive competitive games he would play for Ireland across fourteen years. I remember the baby faced assassin David Connolly banging in a hat-trick in against Liechtenstein. We avenged our 0-0 draw in 1995 with the Alpine minnows with 5-0 wins home & away. In the end, Belgium ruined everything for a campaign that was supposed be a transition phase. Denis Irwin gave us the perfect start with a 4th minute free-kick. Luc Nilis responded half an hour later. With an away goal to their name, Belgium made it 2-1 on aggregate in Brussels before Ray Houghton popped up AGAIN to score another famous Irish goal. This one you don’t recall as much because Nilis struck again, from a throw in that was supposed to go Ireland’s way. There would be no further response. I didn’t understand just how awful it would be a World Cup without Ireland in it. The campaign was a heroic failure that sowed the seeds for qualification four years later.
My beloved grandmother passed away in 2005. The evening of her removal coincided with Ireland’s 2-2 draw at home to Israel. I was completely oblivious to the fallout of that game. To this day, Dudu Aouate would evoke almost as negative reaction as Thierry Henry’s name would. For me, it doesn’t. I only saw the games dying moments and its meaning would never register with me understandably. The result was a setback for Ireland in the 2006 qualifying campaign, one we all had high hopes for. Brian Kerr had taken over from Mick McCarthy in 2002 and salvaged our Euro 2004 qualifying campaign to the final game against Switzerland. While we would lose 2-0 to the Swiss, fans were adamant that a full campaign with Kerr in charge would only result in qualification. Unfortunately it didn’t. Remarkably, the top four teams would all draw against each other except in one fixture. It just happened that France would defeat us 1-0 at Lansdowne Road. That result ensured they qualified in first place. It would force another final game showdown with Switzerland. This time at home, all we needed to do was win. Surely we would win, I thought. We didn’t even score. I can still remember the sheer sense of anxiety that came over me as we entered injury time. “We have 90 seconds to go to a World Cup”. The 90 or so seconds passed without a goal. The Swiss had outfoxed us again. Brian Kerr hasn't worked in Irish football since that evening, a travesty in itself.
The night we lost to France in Dublin, Thierry Henry scored
a sublime goal to settle the tie. It was the only bit of quality (aside from a
wonderful Shay Given save from Zidane) in an otherwise tense and fractious
game. And if Henry only had the fucking decency to score a similar goal four
years later instead of what he actually ended up doing, he would have saved me
and the whole country a significant amount of heart break. Nothing before or
since in my time following Ireland, or football in general, had such a negative
impact on me. After the debacle that was Steve Staunton’s spell in charge, the
legendary Giovanni Trapattoni was hired to restore order to the Irish National
team. He made an immediate impact in a campaign where we went undefeated with 4
wins and six draws. We were minutes away from a famous home win against Italy,
only to concede an equaliser in injury time that confirmed their automatic
qualification to South Africa. I had wild notions I'd go to that World Cup in
South Africa, despite being financially struggling 2nd year college student who
had never travelled outside of Europe. However wild those notions were, it was
still a dream I believed in. And a return to the playoffs, where we had such a
poor record at the time, didn’t faze me.
The alarm bells started to ring where in a move that snakes themselves would be proud of, FIFA decided to seed the playoffs. Previously, it was claimed that FIFA had indicated that there would be no seeding this time around. At the time of their decision, countries in play-off positions included France, Portugal, Russia and Germany. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the motive behind their decision, waiting to see which teams were in the play-offs before declaring the final format. Already the odds were stacked against our favour. As it happened, we were drawn against France, and our expectations were optimistic. France were now floundering under their incompetent manager Raymond Domenech. For all the talent at their disposal, to finish 2nd in a group containing Serbia, Austria (that sounds familiar) Lithuania Romania and the Faroes Islands (there also familiar) was a poor return. There seemed to be a divide amongst the French media and their support over Domenechs leadership and it cast a cloud of uncertainty I wanted Ireland to exploit. We were settled, solid, not easy on the eye but resolute and resilient. Yet, in front of a full house at Croke Park, it didn’t pan out the way we wanted. A single goal from Nicolas Anelka was the difference. We would be heading to Paris needing to score twice to take the lead outright.
The alarm bells started to ring where in a move that snakes themselves would be proud of, FIFA decided to seed the playoffs. Previously, it was claimed that FIFA had indicated that there would be no seeding this time around. At the time of their decision, countries in play-off positions included France, Portugal, Russia and Germany. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the motive behind their decision, waiting to see which teams were in the play-offs before declaring the final format. Already the odds were stacked against our favour. As it happened, we were drawn against France, and our expectations were optimistic. France were now floundering under their incompetent manager Raymond Domenech. For all the talent at their disposal, to finish 2nd in a group containing Serbia, Austria (that sounds familiar) Lithuania Romania and the Faroes Islands (there also familiar) was a poor return. There seemed to be a divide amongst the French media and their support over Domenechs leadership and it cast a cloud of uncertainty I wanted Ireland to exploit. We were settled, solid, not easy on the eye but resolute and resilient. Yet, in front of a full house at Croke Park, it didn’t pan out the way we wanted. A single goal from Nicolas Anelka was the difference. We would be heading to Paris needing to score twice to take the lead outright.
Our performance lacked cutting edge, on a night where the occasion called for something special. We had gotten it at times against Italy a month previous but not this time. Despite this, I remained convinced we could qualify. I don’t know what it was. Never for a single second did I think France would win comfortably in Paris, I knew Ireland were going to score. I travelled down to a pub in Letterkenny almost too emotional at the thought of history in the making. I will never forget the sheer explosion of delight and sheer surprise in the pub as Robbie Keane put us 1-0 up on the night levelling the tie. What took place that evening was arguably the finest display an Irish team has ever produced. They abandoned the cautious gameplan and approach instilled by Trapattoni and simply fucking went after it. In the second half, we squandered several good chances in the second half to kill the tie. Each one more devastating than the next. What killed me and thousands of others across Ireland was the moment Hnery handled the ball twice to set up William Gallas’ equaliser in extra time. Karma had no time to reply. France qualified for South Africa and we stayed at home. The fact France eventually did implode at the 2010 World Cup, the fact the FAI got a €5 million settlement for missing out, did little to alleviate the depression I felt for weeks and months after it.
The FIFA World Cup.
I wouldn't be here without it
Italia 90 is defined as pivotal moment in Irish history, never mind Irish sporting history. The novelty and success stemming from our participation in Euro 88 exploded into a cultural phenomenon that reverberated across the country. Amidst a backdrop of a team only scoring two goals and failing to win a game in normal (or extra time), every man woman and child alike was transfixed by the World Cup. Football, or Soccer, had always been popular in the country. World Cups were always a big draw for RTE to the point they’d been covering them for a number of years. This time however, Italia 90 took on a far greater significance naturally due to our own participation, the first in our history. Remarkably, we would reach the quarter finals, thanks to a famous penalty shoot out victory over Romania. While we lose to the hosts in Rome, no shortage of books, plays, songs and careers were born out of our involvement in this tourmanent. And Toto Schillaci was cursed on a T-shirt. Legends were made and we haven’t been the same since. Anyone born during or a short time after March of 1991, like myself, can work out the math. Those of us football inclined can attribute our immaculate conception to this wonderful tournament. Before you ask, I didn’t work this out myself. It is something pointed out to me time and time again by an older generation of Irish fans, much to their amusement. I haven’t asked my parents directly nor do I have any intention. However, it would explain a lot. An Irish football fanatic born out of our participation in a World Cup. Is it any wonder I want to go to one!
Italia 90 is defined as pivotal moment in Irish history, never mind Irish sporting history. The novelty and success stemming from our participation in Euro 88 exploded into a cultural phenomenon that reverberated across the country. Amidst a backdrop of a team only scoring two goals and failing to win a game in normal (or extra time), every man woman and child alike was transfixed by the World Cup. Football, or Soccer, had always been popular in the country. World Cups were always a big draw for RTE to the point they’d been covering them for a number of years. This time however, Italia 90 took on a far greater significance naturally due to our own participation, the first in our history. Remarkably, we would reach the quarter finals, thanks to a famous penalty shoot out victory over Romania. While we lose to the hosts in Rome, no shortage of books, plays, songs and careers were born out of our involvement in this tourmanent. And Toto Schillaci was cursed on a T-shirt. Legends were made and we haven’t been the same since. Anyone born during or a short time after March of 1991, like myself, can work out the math. Those of us football inclined can attribute our immaculate conception to this wonderful tournament. Before you ask, I didn’t work this out myself. It is something pointed out to me time and time again by an older generation of Irish fans, much to their amusement. I haven’t asked my parents directly nor do I have any intention. However, it would explain a lot. An Irish football fanatic born out of our participation in a World Cup. Is it any wonder I want to go to one!
I’ve been following Ireland all my life and have only
properly seen us compete at one World Cup. We have been good enough to qualify
for more than just one in that time. Be it luck, or a cruel turn of fate, the
greatest competition in football has eluded us and summers in this country have
been that bit duller every four years. I still enjoy watching the World Cup
regardless if we aren’t in it. It’s a month of high drama, high quality
entertaining football that captivates audiences worldwide. However, I’ve had
enough of watching these tournaments without us being there. Having been to the
last two European Championships, it is no surprise to any of you reading this
that if we are lucky enough to qualify next week, I will be going to Russia. It
would be a dream come true to attend a World Cup where Ireland are involved. The
closer I’m edging to it, I am reminded of the brief snippets of glory and
eternal heartbreak and the fascinating excitement of our involvement in years
gone by. The closer we get to the playoffs, the more this dream is becoming a
desperate obsession. Denmark stand in our way. No pushovers by any means but we’ve
faced better sides in recent years and come out on top. The thought of hearing
the final whistle on Tuesday night knowing we have qualified brings shivers to
my spines. I can’t comprehend what my emotions will be like in a couple of days
time. I know right now I’m anxious and excited in equal measure.
Russia may not be the most ideal place to get to, or travel across, and many harbour doubts about their ability to host the tournament on a variety of levels. I’m not concerned about that nor will I be getting into it here. If you look ahead to the next instalments of this competition, the Russia 2018 edition becomes a lot more appealing. In 2022, you’ll have the prospect of travelling to Qatar. Many were bemused when the Arab country was awarded the privilege of hosting the greatest show on earth (move over Superbowl). I’m still surprised they haven’t been stripped of that privilege, given their human rights record and reports of people dying when constructing their stadiums. Speaking of these stadiums, they’ll be air conditioned apparently. And that still won’t prevent it from being held in Winter. Throw in Qatars strict alcohol restrictions and you’ll have a tournament that will rob the magic of a World Cup to suit their needs, their financial needs. From 2026 onwards, there'll be 40 teams taking part. That ruins everything in my opinion. You’ll have to break the bank just to see Ireland qualify for the last 24 or whatever expanded round they will come up with. Although the extra places are divided equally amongst separate continental confederations, even if an expanded World Cup allowed Ireland an easier passage of qualification, I would be not interested. A 40 team World Cup is diluting the overall quality of the tournament. Qualifying for it in its current set-up is an achievement in itself and worth celebrating. And that’s before you dream of going further.
Russia may not be the most ideal place to get to, or travel across, and many harbour doubts about their ability to host the tournament on a variety of levels. I’m not concerned about that nor will I be getting into it here. If you look ahead to the next instalments of this competition, the Russia 2018 edition becomes a lot more appealing. In 2022, you’ll have the prospect of travelling to Qatar. Many were bemused when the Arab country was awarded the privilege of hosting the greatest show on earth (move over Superbowl). I’m still surprised they haven’t been stripped of that privilege, given their human rights record and reports of people dying when constructing their stadiums. Speaking of these stadiums, they’ll be air conditioned apparently. And that still won’t prevent it from being held in Winter. Throw in Qatars strict alcohol restrictions and you’ll have a tournament that will rob the magic of a World Cup to suit their needs, their financial needs. From 2026 onwards, there'll be 40 teams taking part. That ruins everything in my opinion. You’ll have to break the bank just to see Ireland qualify for the last 24 or whatever expanded round they will come up with. Although the extra places are divided equally amongst separate continental confederations, even if an expanded World Cup allowed Ireland an easier passage of qualification, I would be not interested. A 40 team World Cup is diluting the overall quality of the tournament. Qualifying for it in its current set-up is an achievement in itself and worth celebrating. And that’s before you dream of going further.
The FIFA World Cup
It's encapsulated many aspects of my life.
It's time I, and thousands of other Irish fans, experienced its magic again.
It's time I, and thousands of other Irish fans, experienced its magic again.
