Where were you when France stole our World Cup Dream? I reckon it is our JFK moment and in years to come it will be remembered by Irish people in the same way that Mr Kennedy’s untimely death is. Millions will claim to have to been in Paris on the night Henry handled the ball and the story will be embellished with each telling to the point where the incident will have happened deep into injury time after six of the Irish players had been knocked out by a mysterious gas secreted by the French secret service.
Oliver Stone will make a conspiracy movie on the issue with Will Smith in the part of Thierry Henry and Lloyd Bridges in the role of Trappatoni.
I was in a cafe on Melbourne’s South Bank when the game went to extra time. I had a meeting arranged for 9am in an Accountant’s office. I watched the first half at home and gambled that the biggest Irish pub in Melbourne would be showing the game which would allow me to catch the last twenty minutes.
Alas, PJ O’Briens is an Irish bar in name only. I have railed on here in the past about themed Irish bars and my experience last Thursday did nothing to change my mind. PJ’s doors were firmly locked with nothing to show that they actually realised that the biggest game in Ireland’s sporting history since 2002 was taking place.
So I was condemned to buying a latte and trying to follow the game on my Blackberry. Electronic devices are getting smaller and more sophisticated. But I seem to have a contraption that is based on a 1980’s 56k modem. It is slower than the Victorian postal system (I mean the 19th Century one and not the State I currently live in by the way, although locals tell me the 19th Century postal system was better) and presents internet data in eye boggling squashed format.
However, it did somewhat add to the tension of the occasion as every time I’d press update I’d have to wait five minutes for a response. I bit what’s left of my nails and rocked nervously in my chair to the bemusement of all the other customers who were normal Australians on their way to work, ignorant of the great events unfolding at the other side of the world.
In the end I had to go to the meeting and my opportunities to check out my blackberry were limited. At 9.30am, I snuck one last look and saw the disappointing result. At that stage however, I was oblivious to the media storm that was kicking off around the world which would become so fierce that by the weekend the Australian media was doing something unprecedented. Commenting on a football match that Australia wasn’t involved in.
I followed the game on RTE’s match-tracker and they included emails they were receiving from around the world. Jim was in Buenos Aires in an internet cafe. Patrick and Lisa were in Helsinki and couldn’t find a pub showing the game. Frank was doing the Inca Trail and amazed that he could pick up the RTE website on his Iphone. Barry was in a packed pub in Boston with about 500 other guys who had sneaked out of work early. I felt a small piece of pride as I read those messages. I was part of a Diaspora spread across the globe who felt enough connection to our home country to try our best to follow the game back home, whatever our time zone or circumstance.
It’s hard to measure how many of we overseas Irish watched the match, or spent anxious minute’s texting friends back home for updates. But I’m guessing lots did. For all our success in Rugby and passion for our native games, nothing excites the Irish public more than soccer.
I brought this issue up with Yuri my barber on Saturday. He’s from the Ukraine and they had their own pain last week. But he was pretty sanguine about that. He was more interested in our dilemma. “You should invade” he said. “Those French normally surrender after two or three days. You do what the Germans did to the Austrians in 1938. Take their best players, change the country’s name to Ireland and take their place in the World Cup”.
We had a bit of a laugh about that. But actually I don’t want to do anything about it. It’s sickening, frustrating and depressing. But its football and we should just leave it at that. I don’t agree with video replays, retrospective reviews or even extra referees. For the beauty of football is in the great injustice of these moments. Why is it the sport most talked about in pubs? Why do friends not argue passionately about Golf or Tennis? Why are the Germans still talking about whether a ball was over the line 43 years ago? Why are the English still moaning about their own “Hand of God” in 1986?
The fact is that the best team doesn’t always win. Players cheat, referees make mistakes or show deliberate bias and Administrators fix things so that big teams prosper. As a result, France are in the World Cup and Manchester United win more Championships than they should. Putting up with this sort of injustice makes the good times when they come feel all the sweeter.
If it happens all the time, you have to wonder why this incident made such a furore. Is it because Thierry Henry was previously considered to be the most honourable footballer around? Was it because France was the big team and we were humble minnows? Or was it because we actually outplayed the French in a way nobody expected and this took so many people by surprise, including it must be said, most Irish fans.
As it is, we will just have to dine out for the next 20 years on the pain and hope that in that Oliver Stone movie, there is a more favourable alternative ending.
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