The forgotten man in the precious goal Ireland manufactured in the Ruhr on Tuesday evening was Aiden McGeady. The Glaswegian-born kid has been a delightfully cantankerous and elusive figure in his 10-year Irish career but in Gelsenkirchen there were further clear signs he is ready to assume the sort of central role for which his legion of admirers have long pined.

The lead-up to that goal has been pored over – Wes Hoolahan’s deep cross, Jeff Hendrick’s marvellous, instinctive hook into the box and then John O’Shea’s celestial intervention. But prior to all of that was McGeady’s contribution after taking possession from the original throw in by Hoolahan.

It wasn’t one of McGeady’s more flamboyant turns but it was vital: shadowed by Eric Durm, he dribbled down towards the end line and sucked another German defender in before producing a swift and immaculate turn and rolling a pass in front of Hoolahan, who had looped behind his Irish colleague.

McGeady had earned the respect of the Germans because he had repeatedly demonstrated sleight of foot and quick thinking to keep them honest. In that instant, cagey by sustained Irish pressure, they were worried about being outwitted so they kept their distance. He did the only thing he could possibly do in that position and bought Hoolahan just enough space and time to deliver the cross.

It is impossible to care for Irish football and not be drawn to McGeady. His football life will come full circle next month, when, along with James McCarthy, he is certain to receive the hottest of receptions from Scottish partisans still smarting from his schoolboy defection from Scotland to the Republic of Ireland.

Outsiders will always cock a cynical eye at the grandparents rule and Ireland’s liberal welcoming for second and third generation sons of the soil. But McGeady has repeatedly said he treasured holidays to his grandparents’ home place in Gweedore and his family story is perfectly symbolic of the close, complex relationship between Donegal and Glasgow.

Long tradition

He belongs to a long tradition of casually skilful Irish midfielders, from John Sheridan to Ronnie Whelan to Liam Brady. And he is one of the few Irish players to have made a career from the game not through the more robust fundamentals and sheer graft but from trying things, from being daring and almost show-offy . . . for attempting and sometimes achieving the sort of dreamy, outrageous skill which has been at the heart of the world’s enduring obsession with football. He doesn’t always have the confidence to match the invention and can be a maddeningly moody little git at times.

But in Gelsenkirchen, he looked comfortable in the company of Toni Kroos and Tomas Müller and Mario Götze .All of the Irish players were under ferocious pressure but McGeady had the speed and poise to make them mind their manners.

There is a contradiction about football and television. In many ways, the game is made for the screen and spending great chunks of time studying 22 men attempting to manipulate a football has established itself has one of great distractions in life. And yet television constantly makes a lie of football. It rarely tells the full story.

Ever since Ireland got to take its place among the nations at Euro ’88, the RTÉ football team has been there to provide the narrative, to ask the questions and set the mood and, on the most emotional nights, to try to speak aloud what hundreds of thousands of Irish people feel at that moment. At their zenith, what Giles and Dunphy said mattered almost as much as the game.

On Tuesday night, the duo was deeply disenchanted with the way in which Martin O’Neill sent his team out to play. Their dissatisfaction was echoed by Liam Brady, arguably the most innately skilful player to ever wear the Irish shirt and who at 58 years of age still seems like the kid in the company of the two senior men. I’m pretty certain when Dunphy looks across at Brady, he is still seeing the roller-skate skinny ingénue with the mop-top wearing an Arsenal shirt tucked out, so casual that he was almost rakish.

On Tuesday night, Dunphy was dismayed O’Neill could not find room in his team for Wesley Hoolahan, the closest player the contemporary Irish team has to Brady. At heart, he was arguing for the kind of Irish team everyone wants to see: a team playing football and daring to take on the regal nations. Nobody warms to the Dunphy’s arguments as quickly as Dunphy himself. On Tuesday, in summing up, his verdict on the O’Neill selection was succinct: “Bonkers.”

Full picture

But Dunphy and the panel were watching the match in Montrose and television did not fully illustrate how relentlessly the Germans pressed up on the Irish backs and midfield. The cameras didn’t really illustrate how vital Glenn Whelan’s uncompromising presence was in midfield or how often Jon Walters battered into Mats Hummels in competition for the many, many long balls raining down on the German back division. Nor did the camera really explain how thoroughly James McClean dominated his battle with Antonio Rüdiger. Television didn’t really illuminate the complexity of the German runs and it couldn’t begin to capture the high-stakes, gambling energy the Irish players exerted as they harried the Germans during the last 10 minutes, leaving massive gaps behind them.

Despite the loudening public gripe that it is time to retire Giles and Dunphy to the Horseshoe Bar, big football nights would be a lot more vanilla in their absence. But as Ireland prepares for what will be a stirring gathering of the clans in Glasgow, the Irish football team does not need the RTÉ panel to make Wes Hoolahan the latest great cause or to constantly hammer Glenn Whelan for not being Bastian Schweinsteiger.

There is nothing to suggest Hoolahan won’t play a major role in this qualifying campaign or that O’Neill doesn’t understand that McGeady causes most mischief along the wing. There is no need for Dunphy to wage war on O’Neill from the studio just to show how much he cares about Irish football. The next few weeks should be brilliant, with Scotland resurrecting a football culture dormant for too long. Ireland’s visit to Scotland is certain to resurrect too the ghostly memory of Gary Mackay’s goal from against Bulgaria in November 1987, which secured Ireland’s unlikely passage to those European Championships and which made everyone ever involved with Irish football – not least Giles and Dunphy and Brady – swell with giddy and innocent pride. Maybe the nation’s favourite malcontents need to rediscover some of that before another Irish football campaign is accompanied by a chorus of dismay regardless of results.