The sight of Dave Langan skipping along the wing at Lansdowne Road or Dalymount will live long in the memory of those of us privileged to have seen it. Exuberance is the word which comes most readily to the mind when these games are recalled.

The young man played for Cherry Orchard and won recognition as a superb servant of soccer there, at Derby County, Birmingham City, Oxford United, Leicester City and Peterborough and with the Republic of Ireland. he is still with us, but only just. In a match at Dalymount Park in 1981, which ended in a memorable win for Ireland over France, Dave Langan twisted a knee but, fired up by euphoria and adrenalin he played on in typical ebullient fashion. He has regretted his foolhardiness ever since.

In all he played 26 times for Ireland and always played an influential role. His mother now keeps parts of the knee which he twisted, in a bottle in her cupboard. It is a constant reminder to her and to him of the constant pain which now plagues his life.

In more recent times we have heard of prominent sports people earning huge sums of money on and off the field. Some of these have disgraced themselves and their sports, others have invested their money and lived on the income provided. The Dave Langans of this world have not been so lucky.

Always a fearless tackler, Langan went into one which has plagued him ever since. His then club, Birmingham, ordered him to rest for eight weeks but surgery was finally needed though without any great relief.

"The pain became so bad that I eventually had an operation but it was too late," he says.

Nowadays he works as a porter in Peterborough Town Hall earning a pittance and is officially disabled. He has been beset by arthritic problems and has had spine surgery. He is in constant pain and on medication to ease it but to no avail. He has a credit balance of £35 in the bank. He recently told a reporter for The Irish Post in London: "The person you're looking at now is a shadow of my former self. I was probably one of the fittest soccer players there ever was. I was fit, strong, healthy. My body was a temple; now it is just a shell. I'm only 42 and I feel my life is all but over - that's how bad I feel. "Everything I do, whether it is just to put on a pair of socks, takes a great effort. I ache all over. I have to take pain-killing tablets every day without fail or the pain is horrendous. I have to apply special cream to get rid of the stiffness from my joints and I must take anti-inflammatory tablets to do what most people take for granted. The pleasure of being Dave Langan is long gone. I'm a broken man."

That statement is the most poignant that this observer has ever come across. It is particularly painful given the fact that so many players of what is called "The Beautiful Game" seem to be willing to make a mockery of any mores whatever and who, off the pitch, seek to plunder what most of us regard as decencies and honourable behaviour.

The plight of Dave Langan should - indeed must - alert all of us to what our responsibilities are. As a sporting society we must recognise the needs of members of our own community. The contribution of £750,000 by the GAA to the fund to help victims of the Omagh bombing seems to have been overlooked to a large extent. Yet, when a player is sent off in a GAA match or a score is disallowed or allowed, there is full coverage in newspapers, radio and television for days afterwards.

£750,000 for the victims of one of the most horrific atrocities in the North seems more important to me than any (or indeed all) of that.

It is true that we can revere our national and international heroes when they are in their prime and forget them when they leave our minds and be replaced by others.

When I worked in London I frequently bought an evening paper from a small elderly man in Piccadilly Circus before going for a pint in what was then the Irish House nearby. One day the newspaper seller came into the pub and I offered to buy him a drink. He accepted.

He had a Scottish accent and he inquired where I was from, and when I realised that he did not have the wherewithal to buy another drink I ordered again.

Then we exchanged names and, to my astonishment, I discovered that I had bought an evening paper and two pints for one Jimmy Logie, arguably one of the greatest players ever to have worn the Arsenal and Scottish shirts. I never passed him by again without a friendly word, an evening paper or a drink. I was privileged. He was skint.

David Langan is not skint, although not far from it. He strives every day to provide a home for his wife and children while in constant pain. His friends from Cherry Orchard have set up a committee to raise funds to relieve his financial difficulties and to make his life more liveable. But the Cherry Orchard fund is not enough. We need an ongoing organisation to ensure that others, perhaps not as famous as David Langan, also receive help.