I have been travelling quite a bit lately. Nowhere particularly exotic I must admit, but I have very recently traversed the quiet country roads and lanes of northern France and the equally rural and rustic outback of the east coast of England.
Counties like East Anglia, Norfolk, Suffolk and Cambridgeshire are set in a very flat, out-of-the-way portion of England that can still legitimately lay claim to the soubriquet of Old England.
Irish people generally would have little reason to direct their travels towards this somewhat isolated section of the country, but it has long been one of my favourite destinations when the force of circumstances creates two parallel events, namely my being in London and the weather lending itself to a couple of days of unrestrained solitude surrounded by blue skies, green fields and sweet smelling flowers that convey ones mind to the committed belief that, just for those magical moments, all is well with the world.
Of course, now that Roy Keane and Colin Healy are ensconced in this most attractive region there may be a few more Irish heads negotiating their way along the A11 to witness the latest twist in Keano’s intrepid football career.
I have always liked Ipswich Town as a club. It invariably resonated gentility, a genuine old-fashioned charm that was most beguiling in the manner in which it afforded visitors a belief that the club directors were always very happy in the prospect of your company.
This joie de vivre, is unfortunately, an aspect of professional football that has been replaced by a simple civility, which is more truthfully a euphemism for opportunity, and this implicitly implies that the home club directors are nowadays less appreciative of your company than they are of the opportunity your company grants for three points. Almost everything in professional football is now about gain.
I attended Lord’s last Monday for the second Test between England and Australia. Now I love cricket, and while I have to own up to my extremely limited ability with the bat, I am not the worst bowler in the world and I really enjoy the fielding. Monday was the day to be at Lord’s where the enigmatic Andrew Flintoff was at his most determined and aggressive. During his career, Flintoff has been an undisciplined sportsman who has allowed the frothy head of a pint to lull him away from the gentlemanly game on more than one occasion. But he was magnificent this week in taking the Aussie batsmen apart. Every now and then there comes along a performer who, irrespective of his human failings or his lack of consistency, possesses an uncanny ability to make enormous impact on his chosen sport and Flintoff certainly fits the bill here. Every time he took the ball the sense of anticipation around the ground, and especially around the crease, was tangible and almost hypnotic.
I watched the Shamrock Rovers game against Real Madrid in a small pub in Crouch End in north London on Monday evening. Unfortunately the MNS show was not available to me so I had to slum it with Ronaldo and company. The game came across well, apart from the commentators I have to state, and I was intrigued by the observations and remarks of the locals who were watching.
It is hard I find, not to be enamoured with the garrulous discourse of your average Londoner. The man with the reasonably well-curved waistline standing at the corner of the bar, nursing the remnants of his pint of bitter, who posed the question ‘Ooo’s this Shamrock’s Rovers then?’ received the indignant repost from his mate with the more pronounced well-curved waistline, sitting on a seat in front of the television, and if I am not mistaken, the last vestige of an Irish accent, ‘Its not Shamrock’s, Its Shamrock, Shamrock Rovers, you dipstick’, which induced a sort of sad puppy dog expression on the face of the reasonably well-curved individual. ‘Never ‘erred of ‘dim’, he said eventually, and to no one in particular.
This not-so-sparkling style of repartee was my companion for the entire evening, but happily, I was able to concentrate on the game and most of those watching were rooting for the Hoops and appeared genuinely disappointed when Real scored their late winning goal.
I worked with the loquacious John Kenny for RTE Radio at Dalymount on Wednesday for the Bohemians v Red Bull Salzburg match. Second leg games in European football can, by their very nature, be something of an anticlimax. With Bohs having gained an impressive advantage over in Austria it was eminently sensible of Pat Fenlon to try and hold onto the lead by placing a restraining order on the game. His tactics worked very well and his players, and indeed his supporters, deserve every respect for their application and concentration, although I personally would have liked an earlier use of the substitutes.
With 20 minutes or so to go it was obvious the legs were giving way and the exertions from the previous week and the game against Derry City on Sunday combined to make the last period a most difficult and ultimately an insurmountable challenge for the Irish champions. It would be the opinion of very many I would imagine, that the officials of the League of Ireland could have taken a more understanding stance on the challenge that Bohs faced. Not being seeded meant that they were always going to have a tough test and the weather across Central and Eastern Europe is always hot and humid at this time of year, the combination of which would have merited a postponement of the League game last Sunday.
The Champions League is the most prestigious competition in world football and I firmly believe that for this competition, and this competition alone, the League should offer its representative club the opportunity to have a free weekend between the two legs.
Thankfully Derry City and St Pat’s both progressed to the next round of The Europa League. Congratulations to both clubs and indeed to Bohemians for a brave effort and lets hope some important lessons are learned in the process.
