Life is predicated on a never ending cycle of swings and roundabouts. Sporting or otherwise. For example, if the appointment of Harry Whelehan hadn’t brought down Albert Reynolds’s Government, John Bruton never would have been Taoiseach.
If the Irish World Cup squad of 2002 had had the balls to stand behind their captain instead of the plastic Irishman manager, there was the genuine possibility they could have gone on and lifted the Jules Rimet Trophy. Genuinely, as Miriam might say!
If Constitution Hill had ever consented to jump properly again, might the gelding have regained his Champion Hurdle crown? A curiosity which will now probably never be solved. Mind you, one curiosity which will probably always endure is just how insertion of the word ‘Cup’ into the title of sports competitions can bring about such extraordinary occurrences.
Think of Wrexham, long before the current glamorous incarnation of same. Way back in 1992. When Cork’s Brian Carey – once of Manchester United – essayed the goal which saw the men of the Racecourse Ground defenestrate Arsenal from that season’s FA Cup.
Of course, that grand old competition is famed for throwing up fairytale results (depending on your perspective) like Northampton sensationally beating Manchester United back in the day or, much more recently, John Rooney’s Maccelsfield dumping out 2025 winners Crystal Palace.
Turning attention to soccer at International level and the scenario is no different. In fact, it might be even more applicable. Think of the time 60 years ago when they thought it was all over, and then it was.
Or 24 years thereafter this little nation holding its breath before David O’Leary’s spot kick did indeed decide it all one seemingly endless summer evening in Genoa. When, in all the years that have passed, nearly every Irish person you talk to claim to have been there. Even though most of them were never within a mile of a cowsh*te!
What then of the searing heat in New Jersey when we were the Giants in the Stadium as Houghton put the ball in the Italian net. Making the great Gianluca Pagluca look like a Sunday league stopper. Not as he was, one of the greatest netminders of all time. Possibly surpassed only by the one who replaced him – Gigi Buffon.
Recall also how Houghton’s heroics only truly manifested on the public consciousness because of what still stands – and will take some topping – as the greatest display the one seeing eye in this seat has ever witnessed from an Irish exponent of association football when Paul McGrath singlehandedly held the entire nation of Italy at bay in inhumane heat for 90+ minutes.
Having said all of the above, one man’s fairytale is another’s nightmare. Spare a thought for the poor sods who have thought it was/is coming home every time since the last occasion it did in 1966. How deliciously ironic would it be if it did so the one time nobody has even mentioned it doing so? And sculpted by a German as well!
If you take a step back from the perceived ‘big boys’ – France, Argentina, Brazil, Portugal and, yes, probably England, in one way that’s where the authentic ‘Cup’ stories reside. From an Irish perspective, with our own team not there, it’s been great to be able to latch on to the adventures of ‘Pico’ Lopez of Shamrock Rovers with his native Cape Verde.
Not to mention countries such as Paraguay and Morocco taking out Germany and Holland respectively. The only pity being that Senegal didn’t complete the hat-trick and cull the most over hyped country in the recent chronicles of international football – Belgium.
I’d imagine a bookie would offer short enough odds on another big name being defenestrated before what would be the expected timing of same. And therein lies the magic of the word Cup!
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