TV View:It was clear by 10 o'clock last night that RTÉ's Made Men had already arranged for a horse's head to be dispatched to Steve Staunton's bed.

"It was nothing personal in any way," clarified John Giles, the don of Montrose, in a voice that sounded genuinely sombre. It was that kind of evening.

But the bosses were agreed. Stan had been a good earner in his playing days but now he had to go.

As usual, Eamon Dunphy was the man who wanted to close the curtains on the Staunton regime - just as he had heckled for the doors to close on the Kerr, McCarthy and Charlton shows. In summing up the Staunton era, he managed to insult football managers, the lads in Heuston Station, just about anyone who has enjoyed a kick-around in Dublin's main nature reserve, and for good measure he threw the travelling plans of half the nation into disarray.

"I wouldn't give him any credit," Eamo snapped.

"He doesn't look like a manager. He doesn't talk like a manager. He looks like someone in the Phoenix Park."

And then, mystifyingly and unforgettably, he demanded Bill O'Herlihy answer this question: "Would you let him drive the train to Cork without training?"

It had been a rough enough night for Stan without the nation having to picture him in Thomas the Tank Engine mode, peaked cap pulled down just so.

Bill looked blankly at his old sidekick and finally asked 'Chippy' Brady if he agreed that Stan had to go. For a long time, Chippy was silent and glum.

This was the question he had always dreaded.

"I wish I didn't have to say it but I think that is the case. Because why did he play McGeady after his performance on Saturday. He is a mate of mine but I have to call it. I wish I didn't have to say it. I think the FA have to move."

By the sounds of things, Staunton would be better off staying in Prague.

Things might have been better had he thrown his chips in with Stephen Hunt. Few commodities have risen as fast as the reputation of Hunt, who was referred to in godlike terms by pretty much all the RTÉ pundits over the past few days. In Prague, he appeared. Briefly.

"I think Hunt is getting ready," Ray whispered with the kind of reverence we have not heard since Alex Higgins was shooting black for the 147 in the crucible.

And sure enough, it was the Lesser Spotted Hunt. In a generally awful match, the appearance of Hunt was intriguing. Thanks to the ravings of Eamo and Gilesy over the last few days, he had been transformed in our imaginations from being a good young Premiership player belonging to a modest club into a kind of Maradona. And there was something instantly likeable and reassuring about the lad.

Like a lot of the Czech preeners, our Hunt sported long hair. But not for him the namby-pamby hair braids or headbands that the Europeans favoured. He was half footballer, half Angus Young from AC/DC. Fleetingly, a generation of Irish football fans sighed for the ghostly image of the youthful Liam 'Chippy' Brady, who many decades ago strolled onto the turf at Dalymount as a long-haired 18-year-old and tore the old Soviet Union apart with his sheer skill.

But those, as Eamon and John Giles would sing in the Shelbourne after a skinful, were the days.

Hunt is more about heart. As Ray told us many, many times, "he likes to run and he will have a go." Just ask Peter Cech. The Czech goalkeeper bore the full brunt off Hunt's full-blooded style while playing for Chelsea last season.

And in Prague, the home crowd were determined to exact revenge. Hunt proceed to rip the Czech left flank apart through heavy booing, the kind of scenario that will guarantee him hero status in Ireland.

Hunt was the shot of whiskey we needed and after just six minutes, Ireland had hit the Sparta Prague post and generally looked a much better team. It was all the vindication that Dunphy needed, and as early as half-time it was clear how his full-time manifesto would sound.

"He now, after a game and a half on the road, has something like the right team. You cannot fault this Irish team for effort. It is a disgrace, Bill. Because we should be going to Euro 2008 with these players."

That was half true and half wishful. Our boys were certainly heroic. The Czech brought about their Republic with less bruising than they inflicted on big Richard Dunne last night. Hunt, in fairness, evened the score, continuing his remarkable vendetta against the Czech nation by slicing through Polak and earning himself a red card and another resounding chorus of booing from the stadium.

You had to like him. His dismissal was the whiff of injustice and bravery for which Eamon Dunphy has always had a soft spot: he may now officially be in love with Hunt. Such is the price you pay for representing your country. We went close at the end but it was one of those glorious nights of moral victory, a bloody good chorus of Molly Malone afterwards and then away like the clappers to hit the dance clubs in downtown Prague. Back in Dublin it was different.

Dunphy was blunt: "I don't feel sorry for any manager. I buggered up in plenty of jobs and it was out the door."

As if the night wasn't gloomy enough, there was worse news for Richard Dunne. He won the Eircom "man of the match" award - again. Poor guy had to lug another fruit bowl around the airport at Prague after midnight.

If the Made Men have their way, big Dunne should just pass it on to the Gaffer as a memento, as something to remember them by.

And if you hear a familiar Dundalk voice announcing "This is yer boss, this is the gaffer here, the train stops with me" on the 5.15 to Cork next Friday, you will know how this week has ended.