Our World Cup

Ahhh to be a 12 year old again, not a care in the world other than, do you have enough money for another game of Wonder Boy or can you swap your Steve Hodge Panini sticker for an elusive Lothar Matthaus one ? In the run up to a World Cup I always think back to that great summer in Ireland in 1990 when the whole of the country behaved as if we were teenagers and our parents had gone way for the month and left the keys to the drinks cabinet in the door. 

In one way I feel sorry for the 12 year olds of today growing up in Ireland, like us back in 1990 they are possibly seeing a country come out of economic hard times but they do not have a World Cup with Ireland in it to look forward to.  In fact back in June of 1990, none of us knew what to expect.  Ireland had qualified for its first ever World Cup.  We had a taster 2 years previously when Ireland played at the European Championships in Germany, beating England and drawing with the USSR along the way.   But even as a young 10 year old, I could grasp that it was a tournament for the football fans.   Italy 90 or Italia Novante as it was called in Italy and parts of West Clare,  was something different.  House wives, GAA Die hards, Parish Priests, pioneers all joined the party and became drunk on the fumes from the bonhomie that was exuding from the sweaty Irish in our Penny’s T Shirts.   Irish people young and old, city and country, embraced the party and every 3 or 4 days the country came to a standstill.  In what has become a well-worn phrase but was coined first by the great Con Houlihan, "I missed Italia 90; I was in Italy for it".   Well this 12 year old certainly did not miss the tournament.

 Although too young and far too serious about the football to be watching the games in the pubs, every game for me was a massive event.  The dissection of the games by Giles and Dunphy was pantomime and Shakespeare at the same time.   We were being educated and entertained and little did we know it but it was preparation for the English Junior Cert in 3 years’ time.   I loved the dribbling skills of Roberto Baggio, the power and dynamism of Lothar Matthaus, the flowing hair of Giuseppe Giannini and the not so great hair of Chris Waddle and Thomas Skuravy.   

In the year preceding Italia 90, RTE2 had started to show highlights of Serie A games on Monday nights.   In the pre internet age, many of us did not know the scores of these games which had been played over 24 hours previously.   Yet they became major discussion points in the school yard on the Tuesday morning.  AC Milan imploding as they blew the title to Trappatoni’s Inter Milan.  Week after week we were enthralled by wonder goals.  Every Monday night seemed to feature a 30 yard screamer that was better than the previous weeks.  Against this backdrop, the football "aficionados" which were our gang of 12 year olds  were well prepared.   We knew about the 3 Germans at Inter Milan and the 3 Dutch players at AC Milan.  Napoli had the 3 South American’s of Maradona, Caereca and Alemao.  

In a world where information was not as easily obtained as it is now,  we were well briefed going into this World Cup.  Of course sticker albums were a great source of information.   You would be familiar with the whole Romanian squad, date of birth and squad numbers.  You may have never seen them play before, but you knew that Daniel Timofte was 1.82m in height.  What that was in inches and feet was anyone's guess. Timofte was to go on to play a pivotal role in the history of Irish Football during that tournament.   It was his penalty that Packie Bonner so brilliantly read and saved that set it up for David O Leary to score and send us to Rome and a quarter final against Italy.   These were heady days but, we did not know they were not the norm.   It was the greatest time in the history of the country and anxiety and money worries were thrown out the window and replaced with a month long party that had no hangover.  

Ireland did make that trip to Rome to face Italy were they met the Pope along the way.   As we went out to a goal by a player that only a World Cup can throw up  Toto Schillaci, I was in tears as RTE ended its coverage that night with Edith Piaf’s, “je ne regrette rien” .  The journey was over for this team and I was devastated as we lost to Italy in the quarter finals of a world Cup. That statement now seems ridiculous after last nights debacle against Portugal.  They say the kids of today are spoiled, well in a footballing sense we were the most spoiled bunch of Irish 12 year olds there ever has been.  We have not reached the quarter finals since and we are not likely to do so in the near future.  But for the next month lots of 12 year olds in Bosnia are about to have the greatest month of their life as they watch their team take part in a World Cup for the first time.   I wonder will the Bosnian TV Station cancel ALF if the Bosnian match goes to penalties.   So for the next few weeks lets all be 12 year old Bosnian kids or at least be ALF and sit back and enjoy the action.  

“je ne regrette rien”