Zero tickets, one Gerry, two Johnnies, three penalties
Gerry Buckley
“Scuttered, hungover, belch and burpin!”
Apologies for the seemingly rude opening line, but T-shirts with those gross sentiments were the rage in West Germany for the Republic of Ireland’s inaugural major tournament appearance at Euro 88, a landmark time when Credit Union loans allegedly for ‘house renovations’, ‘car purchase’, ‘landscaping’ etc became popular in Mullingar and nationwide. I had won a trip in a team sports quiz – so, for once, I didn’t need to lie to the admirable organisation in Oliver Plunkett Street.
For the uninitiated, the words were a malapropistic play on the venues of Big Jack’s troops’ three match venues i.e. Stuttgart, Hanover and Gelsenkirchen. As a loyal fan of the ‘Boys in Green’ long before the Geordie had made it a sexy pastime, yours truly proudly attended all three games. And, yes, in truth, I was worthy of the aforementioned ‘celebratory’ T-shirt!
Indeed, my devotion to an often-taxing cause means that next September marks the Golden Jubilee of my first away trip for a highly creditable 1-1 draw in Wembley, two years after my home debut for the sensational 3-0 win against the USSR.
Two years on from the Euros, in 1990, came an even more momentous occasion with our World Cup debut. My ‘landscaping’ requests had become hard to accept by the Credit Union authorities as a highly-mortgaged resident of a basic three-bedroomed semi-detached house, and it was ‘just’ the last-16 match v Romania in Genoa for me. Of course, as it transpired, this was our tournament highlight in an era when we could actually score all five penalties in a shootout (even if Tony Cascarino was lucky with his scuffed spot-kick).
One of the unheralded highlights of Euro 88 for this fan was the half-time declaration on the electronic scoreboard in Hungover, sorry Hanover: ‘You are wonderful fans, signed the German Polizei.’ Probably expecting us to be an assortment of tattooed hooligans like our neighbours across the Irish Sea – their tattooed hooligans abounded in Scuttered, sorry Stuttgart, after Ray Houghton ‘got the ball and he stuck it in the net’ – the police were clearly thrilled to witness genuinely happy-go-lucky supporters whose only ‘crime’ was to sing and dance outside the local hostelries in a jovial manner.
I thought of that scoreboard when I approached a member of what is called the policie in Czechia for directions last Thursday morning in Prague. His English was very good – a hit or miss scenario from my four-day experience – and having thanked him for his help, I assured him that the Irish fans would cause no bother whatsoever in his city. His smile suggested that he had already sensed that.
Parrot-themed items were in abundance in and around the city centre, correctly celebrating the AZ Alkmaar striker whose astonishing five-goal haul against Portugal and Hungary had sensationally given Heimir Hallgrimsson’s charges a chance to bridge a 24-year gap since our Roy Keane-less appearance in Japan and South Korea (don’t mention the war).
Needless to say, the jovial green and white-clad hordes (surprisingly lacking in female numbers, I felt) took over the city, much to the bewilderment of the conservative locals and other ‘normal’ visitors to what is a beautiful city. One young Polish couple approached us genuinely asking: “Is today St Patrick’s Day? We worked in Ireland for a couple of years and I recall it was in March.” We told him he was nine days out, but that our away football trips invariably evoke similar inebriated patriotism!
Like thousands of others, I flew to Prague without a match ticket, my long-time partner Emer’s son Seán working in a bar out there being a sufficient cause to justify the trip (not funded by the Credit Union) regardless. As it transpired, the craic in his place of employment, Durty Nelly’s, was fantastic. Seán’s cordoning off of an area for pals and invited guests proved to be a godsend, as the alternative was a sardine-like ‘view’ elsewhere in the thriving pub. I had met popular Mullingar businessman Eddie Casey a couple of hours before the kick-off, and he was glowing after unexpectedly securing match tickets that afternoon.
The Durty Nelly’s guests included the Two Johnnies – don’t tell them, but my boasting texts home garnered responses on the lines of, ‘that pair of goms’ (polite version), to ‘is that the best bit of name-dropping you can do?’. Indeed, an earlier WhatsApped photo home alongside Minister Charlie McConalogue – a huge man when you meet him in person, the epitome of an old-style no-nonsense centre half – didn’t rate on the Richter Scale of name-dropping either.
(Possibly the only Coke-drinker in the place), I realised that the lady directly beside me in the pub was the affable RTÉ sports reporter Siobhan Madigan, who had also been right beside me in Chadwick’s Wexford Park four days earlier, when the Dublin lady was as flabbergasted – if not as upset – as yours truly with Westmeath footballers’ awful failure to gain promotion to Division 2 in the National League – in a totally avoidable fashion.
Oh yes, the three penalties? That was our shootout total, but the Czechs got four. So goodbye to our World Cup dreams – in a totally avoidable fashion. The Credit Unions can relax and the landscapers won’t have to invent invoices!
Footnote
It’s not a word of exaggeration to say that the gut-wrenching – and did I mention totally avoidable? – losses in Wexford and Prague still don’t taint the magical feeling I am carrying from the victory of the ‘real’ boys in green in Croke Park on the ‘real’ St Patrick’s Day. Those fabulous Coláiste Mhuire lads actually know how to win games.