Rep. Of Ireland…2
Portugal…0
The Parrott repeated the line twice, the archetypal hero became the villain and the (relatively) new stadium shook like the old one had in glory days of the past. The notion of – never mind the chant – You’ll Never Beat The Irish does my head in. We’ve spent centuries being beaten in sport, history, politics and any other arena you care to mention.
However, for all the times effort does come up short, there is, in fairness, something wholly admirable about the indomitable nature of the Irish spirit. Which in itself makes the occasions when our representatives do upset the apple cart all the more special to savour.
In such a sports mad nation, examples of same are thankfully never in short supply. Whether it be Houghton’s goal in ’88, the penalties in Genoa, Steve Collins battering auld Eubank into submission twice, Stephen Roche winning the big bike race and ending up on the cheese box, beating the All Blacks in Soldier Field, Chicago nine years ago and any Irish Cheltenham Festival winner you care to mention.
As far as soccer goes, Thursday’s persecution of Portugal stands comparison with the best occasions to ever grace the short pitch around Haveloc Square. Up there with the night Shane Long hit the winner against Germany. And the one and only time mouthy McAteer ever did anything noteworthy in an Irish jersey when downing the Dutch and sending Ireland to Saipan!
Now though, it will be Troy Parrott’s name which will be repeating until Polly gets a cracker after the former Tottenham forward beat Diego Costa in the 7th and 45th minutes. The latter being a piece of individual brilliance which saw the productive forward gathering the ball in the home side’s left attacking channel before burning off the attentions of Manchester United’s Diogo Dalot before putting a bullet across the bows of the custodian.
2-0 up at half time, it is still a facet of the Irish predisposition to worry that such a buffer will not be enough. Especially in a situation such as that which they found themselves here. Facing a side with some of the recognised best players on the planet. Albeit Roberto Martinez’s men was bereft of the services of Bruno Fernandes.
Then again, there’s nothing the Irish love more than putting a feline in the middle of a bunch of message carrying birds. Except on this occasion they got a (slightly) unsolicited helping hand when the petulant side of a certain Mr Ronaldo picked a perfect time to raise its beautiful head. Albeit with a little assistance of the brilliant Liam Scales.
But, for this sporting romantic, enveloping one of the great nights for Irish football was the sense that this was all about the, well, they couldn’t be all classed as the older brigade, but, lads who had been through many dark days in the green jersey.
Standing head and shoulders above all others in that bracket is Seamie Coleman. The most beloved Irish footballer since Paul McGrath. He absolutely deserves to play at a World Cup. Hopefully they finish the job on Sunday.
