TV View:How many goals has George Hamilton cost the Republic of Ireland football team down the years?

RTÉ rightly takes pride in assembling the best squad of soccer analysts in the business but it has been shocking that Dunphy, Giles and Brady have not made the connection between the fact that Ireland haven't enjoyed a meaningful away victory for 20 years and that Our George has been "calling" matches for roughly the same period.

The man is a flaming jinx. Since roughly 1988, generations of Irish sports fans have grown up screaming at the television as George almost helplessly tempts fate in the last few moments of crucial matches. In theatre, actors have long considered the mere mention of the play Macbeth an absolute curse.

In the superstitious world of Republic of Ireland soccer, George is the Macbeth of commentators. It is as though he is begging the gods to punish us - as they always do, frequently from corners.

On Saturday night in Bratislava, he was at it again.

"It just goes to show you, you have to concentrate to the finish," he mused thoughtfully as Richard Dunne hoisted a clearance into the Slovak sky.

This kind of fatalistic chat makes you immediately anxious and you find yourself talking to the television, or rather directly to our man behind the microphone: "C'mon George, steady on, there's still three minutes to go, its not over, don't say anything daft, just hold it steady, ask Ray a question, talk about the stadium . . ."

But no, no: George cannot help it. Most of us didn't even see the equalising Slovakian goal because we had dived behind the sofa even as George delivered his ruinous address beginning: "Make no mistake."

Ah, those three simple words, spoken into a tiny microphone in an antediluvian stadium in the old east, bouncing off broadcast masts in the frozen Alps and winging their way into our homes and to internet receivers all over the globe: they changed the direction of Irish soccer.

You cannot make a declaration like "make no mistake" when the Irish football team are winning a match in injury time.

"Make no mistake," George instructed as one of the Slovakian guys hoofed a ball aimlessly forward.

"This was a night when it was felt that they could get three points (the football is now skidding off Richard Dunne's forehead and we, the television masses, are frozen in horror). "When they played well enough to get three points . . ." (the ball has fallen perfectly - divinely - in front of their number four, who is about to "pull the trigger", as the pundits say, and John O'Shea is recoiling as though being worried by an angry terrier, and we are fascinated now, aghast but resigned to what is about to come) ". . . and with the heart to get three points. And they won't! They won't!"

That was George's commentary for the 91st-minute equalising goal. In a way, it was brilliant, a kind of perverse negative of Kenneth Wolstenholme's classic line on Geoff Hurst's smashing shot back in 1966. And it needs to be studied as closely as the Zapruder film. It deserves the full Special Branch treatment and a Tribunal. Look at it.

"This was a night . . ." George was speaking in the past tense before the goal was even scored. He knew! George knew Slovakia were going to score! We are not saying the man is a clairvoyant but time and time again he has illustrated this cursed power he has to determine the outcome of matches - against Ireland.

It is a problematic situation because as well as being a jinx, George is a national treasure. Do not forget all those dark winter Monday nights in the 1980s that George brightened in his guise of cheerful presenter on Know Your Sport.

In a time of great unemployment, Glenroe, miserable house prices and dancing priests, many a broken man had his sense of self-worth reaffirmed when he shook George's hand and proudly accepted his Know Your Sport umbrella.

But, damn it, we cannot overlook this curse any longer. Drastic action must be taken.

We know that as well as being a football man, George is a huge fan of the classical composers and presents a very enjoyable radio show on Lyric FM.

The only way around this dreadful problem is that on Wednesday night in the Czech Republic, once the game passes 90 minutes, George ceases talking completely and chooses a nice concerto piece with which to see the match out - and forbids Ray Houghton to hum along.

Afterwards, Tony O'Donoghue had the dubious honour of conducting the man-of-the-match ceremonies with the heroic Richard Dunne.

"Congratulations and here is so-and-so to present you with your, eh, bowl."

The Honey Monster glumly accepted what was, undeniably, a fruit bowl. The sponsors are going to have to realise that as a nation we have moved on from the days of the Know Your Sport umbrella. Richard Dunne earns around 60k (Queen's notes at that) a week.

He probably has 15 man-of-the-match bowls in his house already. How much fruit can one man eat?

In Wembley on Saturday afternoon, there was a worrying indication English football is in danger of losing its old coalmine, industrial roots. After half-time against Israel, John Motson complained that most of the corporate seats were still empty, as the jet-set continued to quaff champagne and munch on prawn sandwiches and caviar.

FA chief Brian Berwick had told Motty in frustration that they had tried everything - sounding alarms, five-minute warnings, turning off televisions. But nothing worked. Back in studio afterwards, Gary Lineker asked Mark Lawrenson, a man reared on the boot-room values of Anfield (and Ireland) for his views. Lawro raised an eyebrow, gave his trademark shrug and looked cooler than Brian Ferry.

"Well," he sighed. "If you're tucking into your glass of Sancerre, you're probably thinking, 'What's the rush?'"

It wasn't from the Bible of Shankley but it definitely reflected the times we live in.