Of all the many incidental pleasures of the Spectator Editors’ Dinner last week, one of the most enjoyable was sharing a main course with Coleraine businessman Ken Belshaw and his wife Iris. Ken, a passionate rugby man, was filling me in on the glories of Irish sport, ironically at exactly the same time as, unknown to us all, Thierry Henry was manhandling Ireland’s football team right out of the World Cup.
But Irish friends who were in Paris that night broadly take the Roy Keane line: time to move on. It was clearly a brilliant evening: I watched the game after the dinner and the Irish played out of their skins. Robbie Keane’s goal was beautiful, almost Brazilian, and he and Duff had good-as-gold chances, which they fluffed. But the Irish should have won, no question. Ask anyone. Ask Thierry. One (Irish) friend described it as a ‘rigorous workout for the emotions’, with Irish and French fans sharing a two-hour singsong, followed by legendary drinking sessions throughout Paris.
For many in Ireland, the fixture had been elevated from mere football to a chance of national salvation from the recession, lay-offs and economic mayhem. But even losing should lift the spirits: not only were the Republic magnificent, the game generated not just some epic grudgery from Roy Keane, but a denouement so theatrical, so unexpected, so out-of-character, it will be talked of in decades to come, just as Maradona’s hand-of-god will live forever. And it might, just might, start Fifa, who usually make the Taleban look progressive, on the road to using video technology in games.
What a year for the Irish — think of Sea The Stars, probably the greatest racehorse many of us will see in our lifetime, with his unique record of wins, and his quite extraordinary achievement in the Arc, to come from almost last to first in a furlong and so create one of the most thrilling sporting events in any field at any time that I can recall. And don’t forget his trainer, the blessed John Oxx, as saintly as he is modest.
Then there’s golf prodigy Rory McIlroy, still only 20, the No. 2 in Europe and, like Tiger Woods, a player who can now add thousands to the gate and earn gazillions. He was living with his folks barely a year ago, and has made more than E3.5 million in the last 12 months. Nice work. Or red-haired Eoin Morgan, Dublin-born and bred, and a former top-class hurler who has turned himself into a ferocious left-hand bat and one of the principal piledrivers behind England’s resurgent limited-overs cricket performances. I would even argue that the decision by hurling star Donal Og Cusack to come out in that hyper-macho sporting world is as big an achievement as any.
And what of the rugby? If Ireland beat South Africa on Saturday they will have been undefeated all year. Can’t wait to see the Mighty O’s (Driscoll and Connell) start dishing it out to Matfield V and Botha B. The Irish, having mopped up the Grand Slam in such style in last season’s VI Nations, as well as O’Driscoll’s Leinster picking up the Heineken, were the spine of the summer’s Lions, who should have beaten the World Champions 3-0 in South Africa, rather than just taking that third Test in Johannnesburg so memorably. O’Driscoll, now with his 100th cap under his belt, is playing like a man possessed, or with a hot line to some divine inspiration. No wonder his autobiography was called In BOD We Trust.
So thanks Ken. A great year for the Irish. Though there’s a furious man from Cork over there in Ipswich with an overnight beard and a thousand-mile stare who might disagree.
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