Just four years ago he was at the top of his game, bathed in glory. Tom Humphries talks to one of Ireland's once-bright young things about a surreal decline into obscurity.

It's a few blinks of an eyelid from beginnings to oblivion. Yesterday he wasn't even interested in football. Yesterday he was, oh, eight, nine. The baby of the family. He liked a kick-about but he preferred climbing trees, riding bikes, yakking with mates.

Yesterday? How far back do you want to go? Anne Lambe was a Dub. From Church Avenue by the Four Courts. Anne's mother died when she was young. Her dad bought a hotel in Bournemouth. They hit England but never lost the accent. A few years later they were in Luton. Victor George, from St Lucia, had moved in a few doors away. Funny thing. Anne would see Victor and was quite scared off him at first. She'd see him and run off.

Young Liam was dispatched to Ireland every summer for six weeks. Looking back, it was fun. When he was a kid it seemed like the annual abduction. Taken away from his mates. Snatched form the streets. His friends confiscated for the summer holidays.

Every relative got a go of Liam. He was shipped around from week to week. Every uncle and auntie cooing. Fairview to Santry to City Centre to Belcamp to Blackrock. Like a cabbie he got The Knowledge. You could ride horses and play knick knacks in Belcamp. You couldn't in Blackrock.

Back home, he went to the local Catholic school, St Joe's. Joined their Sunday league team but was dog lazy about it. The season he signed they would come beating the door down and he'd lie on in bed, playing hooky. Next year, though, something told him he was good at this game. He got disciplined. Luton Town came to see him in a Bedforshire schools final. St Joe's won 6-3. He scored the hat-trick that made the difference.

He got addicted. He continued playing with St Joe's when he was at Luton. Two games every Sunday. Played left wing mostly. Mainly right-footed, but comfortable on his left. A few tricks in the bag.

And those summers in Dublin. Every week the same two questions from every relative. How's the football going? If you make it, who will you play for, England or Ireland? Silly questions. He knew he was good enough. Knew he'd be Liam George of Luton Town and Ireland.

As bad as it gets. He walks into a dank dressing-room in Mansfield. His collar is turned up against the cold, his black wool cap sits down on his brow. This is his audition. Off, off Broadway. Way off. A reserve game for Mansfield. Against Scunthorpe. Oh well.

When you're a kid in football the big year, the exam year, the make-or-break time is when you are an under-16 and they keep you on tenterhooks until you discover whether you'll get a YTS offer. Under-16 year and Liam George injured his knee and didn't play. The year before had been good, very good. He already had the YTS wrapped up.

First year on YTS and he was languid. The manager didn't like languid. He got on Liam's case to the point where Liam thought he was being picked on. Anne Lamb listened to her son. Heard quit in his voice and lost her Dublin temper.

You go back, she said, you're not a quitter.

And? It turned around. He scored goals. Started playing. In his second year on the YTS he scored 35 goals in 25 games. When it came to signing the pro forms there was no question. He was top of the queue.

He looks back. He was close with Steve Agostin then, he moved in and shared a room with Liam during the YTS days. Steve was going to be the best player ever to have come out of Luton. He came back after a long injury, and got a compound fracture in his leg. Still can't walk properly, can Steve. He's a security guard in London now. He was going to be one of the best.

Gary Doherty was a year younger. You never can tell. He was big and unlikely but earnest. He's at Spurs now. Andrew Barr was up front, with Liam. Andrew saw the signs early. He's a chartered physio at Bolton FC now.

It went like that. Guys splintered off from Luton Town and you never heard of them again. That's the game.

It's not the Nou Camp. He casts his eye around the gloaming in the dressing-room. Heart sinks. He's the only player in here with a voice that's broken. Mansfield are playing a bunch of kids and three trialists. Maybe they know what they are doing. Maybe this isn't a great Scunthorpe reserve team. Maybe with so many kids about I'll shine like a beacon.

He was scoring so many goals in the subterranean world of youth football that England and Ireland called at the same time. The question that was asked all through those Dublin summers. England or Ireland? Never a choice. It was in his heart. Give me that green jersey please.

He made his senior debut at the end of the 1997-1998 season with Luton. Everything coming up oranges and lemons. Then he went off to Cyprus with the magic man, Brian Kerr. You remember the moments. He scored a goal against Cyprus, where he got the ball at the half-way line, beat a few players and scored. Unbelievable. Two against Croatia he got. All the glory pouring down. He scored a good goal in the final which was ruled offside. It finishes 1-1, that European Under-18 final against Germany. Liam George of Luton and Ireland slots the winning penalty. Dread-locked head illuminated by a million-dollar smile.

UEFA selected a team of the tournament. Liam George and Robbie Keane were the strikers. Stephen McPhail was in midfield.

"Nothing like Cyprus has ever happened to me since," he says and wraps his fingers around an outsize cup of hot chocolate. "The penalty. The final. Being European champions. I remember afterwards driving to Larnaca to a hotel that was near the airport. We'd spent the whole tournament in Aya Napa, so all we wanted to do was to get back there. All the teams went to a dinner together and we were itching to get out. Nobody ate a thing. 'We're finished, Brian.' We went out, stayed in one bar in Aya Napa and ended up back in the hotel the next day at three. Boys arriving in dribs and drabs."

He got back to Luton and his celebrity had preceded him. He was involved straight away in the first team squad. It's a blinking of the eye, though. Dawn comes up on Cyprus and you're young, drunk and happy. Next thing you're on the turf at Wigan and they are baying in your ear.

Back then he had the habit of taping his ankles before every game. He had started three or four games. And this afternoon he went past the defender with all the confidence of the young. The defender threw in a last-ditch tackle and all his weight came down on George's trailing leg. Liam could feel the bone pushing violently against bandage.

As soon as he landed it went calm again, though. The tape was holding everything in place. The physio helped him hobble off amidst the catcalls. They cut the tape off. It all fell apart. The season was a bust. Snapped fibula. Dislocated ankle. A mess.

He took it on the chin.

"I couldn't be too depressed. In the space of a month the biggest high you could ever have and the biggest low. It's all balanced. Everything happens for a reason."

A few minutes in. The dumb lanky kid at centre back is sent off. Mansfield reserves are a goal down. The ball hasn't been in the Scunthorpe half of the pitch yet. Liam George wishes he'd kept his woolly hat on. It's cold. It's miserable.

KIDS want everything today. A broken fibula taught him that some things don't come that fast. He worked and waited. He healed. He was back into the Luton team at the end of the season.

Next season he had lift off. Established at last. The first real season of his career. It was going by like an express train. After 11 games he'd scored nine goals. Rattling them home. He finished the season with 16 goals. He looks back and wonders why a kid just back off injury was playing so many games. Looks back now and realises his poor tail end to the season was tiredness. Soooo tired. He wouldn't have swopped it, butsomebody should have shouted stop.

He was top scorer though. A few bids came in. Burnley. Forest. The gaffer, Lennie Lawrence, quashed them. Luton was a club in administration. The real world was banging on the door.

Next season he was top scorer in a weak Luton team that got relegated. Four managers in the course of a season. Started with Lennie Lawrence, finished with Joe Kinnear.

"I thought Joe Kinnear would be good for me. We didn't end up seeing things the same way."

After two seasons as top scorer, after Cyprus, after the Under-20 World Cup in Nigeria, after his Under-21 caps for Ireland, he was out of contract. He went to the office. Luton offered him the same deal again. Same terms he had gone pro on. He felt disappointed, but he knew the score, he assumed it was an opening offer. Cat and mouse. The reward would come. So he said no.

They never got back to him. Next week he was training with the youth team, working on his days off. Going to games with the reserves. Nobody gave him a reason. Just a wall of silence. For two months he thought it was cat and mouse. He'd wait them out.

Then he went to Joe Kinnear.

"So Joe? What's going on?"

"You're in my plans, son."

"Really?"

"Everyone is in my plans."

"Oh."

"Yeah, yeah. We'll get you involved. Give us a bit more. I want more."

He'd go away and bust his gut. Nothing. For six months that was his life. Reserves and youth team. He worked on a week-to-week basis. The club wouldn't let him go. He couldn't go on loan anywhere because you need a permanent contract to go on loan. He couldn't just leave because he was under 24. Luton Town owned him but didn't want him.

People began asking, whatever happened to Liam George?

"I didn't know what happened. I was out in the dark. No row. No stupid demands. No discipline problems. No sulks. No moans. I was just out."

Twenty minutes gone. Despite being organised like kids in an adventure playground Mansfield have equalised. Against the run of play, surely, but they've poked one back. Now, says Liam to himself, now we'll get going. Give it to me boys, give it to me.

Finally Colchester came in for him. He went to Joe Kinnear.

"So, Joe. What to do?"

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to stay."

"Okay, stay."

Everyone told him to stop and think. If Luton wanted Liam George they'd give Liam George a deal.

Colchester. They were offering a deal, less than Luton but a deal. He went. First week he's training and he gets the flu. Three days off. In the second week, on the Monday, they get around to his medical. On Wednesday they come back and say "You've failed". Do not pass go. Do not collect £200.

He asks how he failed. They won't say. To this day they won't say.

Back to Luton on the old week-to-week shift. Told Kinnear he'd try to get himself fixed up somewhere else. Picked up a little ankle injury just then. Tore a ligament. Eight week rehab needed.

He's desperate to leave now. He's like a spook around the place. He goes to Gillingham for two weeks while still injured. Breaks down a couple of times. Gillingham put him back where they found him.

Back at Luton he complains to the physio.

"I was going places and doing no justice to myself. I asked could I get it scanned? They agreed. Then on the day of the scan Sheffield United called and asked would I play a friendly. I went up like a fool, still injured."

Played 50 minutes. Broke down. Sheffield saw something, though. They said get fit, come back and do pre-season with us. Then we'll look at you.

Liam went back to Luton. Got the scan on Friday. Confirmed. Out for eight weeks. On Monday morning a letter arrives from Luton Town. You are released. Two weeks' money and good-bye.

Consider the timeline. He has no club. He has an eight-week rehab programme. Transfer deadline day is nine weeks. Tick, tick, tick goes his career.

Half-time: Scunthorpe Res 3 Mansfield Res 1. Scunthorpe Reserves are beginning to enjoy themselves in a way that you wouldn't imagine you could enjoy yourself against Mansfield Reserves in winter. Liam George decides he's going to go down into midfield and get the ball himself.

Eight weeks. He's fit as a flea now. At the end of it he went to Cambridge for a week. John Taylor of Cambridge knew him. He'd played against Cambridge four times in the previous two seasons and scored three goals, but now it's a buyer's market and Taylor is pretending he doesn't know him. He says he'd like to see him in a game.

Leyton Orient call and ask him if he'll come and play for them in a game. The two proposed games are at the same time on transfer deadline day. The vibes at Cambridge are wrong. He goes to Leyton Orient instead. They win 2-0. Does well.

It's deadline day. At end of the game Leyton Orient are iffing and butting. They ask Liam George will he come and train for free for a while. No thanks.

Stevenage. Wayne Turner, an old assistant at Luton, spots his distress. Says to come down, play three or four games, stay involved, pick up a few bob.

It's like a nightmare now, this odyssey through the slums.

Come summer he takes Sheffield United up on their offer. He's doing well. Neil Warnock sits him down. Liam has a pen in his pocket. He'll sign anything. Now.

"I won't lie," says Neil Warnock. "We have eight strikers here. I have three first choices. Is there any point in you staying here? Would you even want to sign?"

Liam knows the body language by now. Warnock is waving goodbye.

An hour gone. Scunthorpe have scored six now. They bear comparison with any of the great Scunthorpe Reserve sides you care to name. Any hope of Mansfield clawing their way back into the game with five lucky goals evaporates when Mansfield have a second player sent off. Liam decides to move back to central defence.

So he has some choices. His agent rings around the foothills. They're not the choices you'd wish for yourself. He goes to Clydebank for a week. An agent up there talks to his agent. Here's the deal. Play one game. It'll be cold and miserable but a few Scottish Premier clubs will come. Not Celtic mind. Not even Rangers. Others though. Do well and who knows?

It is cold. It is miserable. There's 200 people there. Nobody looks interested enough to be a scout. The Scottish agent rings again.

"He says, 'Hey, a few took notice. Can you play again?' They all want to come now. So I've gone up a second time. Played in another game. Mad."

It's the beginning of the second half. Clydebank are losing one-nil and the big hack defender minces Liam George. Bloodfest. He needs six stitches in his head. He's covered in blood. He's feeling the cold needle in and out of his bones and he's thinking to himself that he's a fool. They've been lying. Zidane couldn't do well here. He can't see anything because all the blood is running into his eyes.

The physio pats his arse.

"You going to go back on sonny?"

"No, I think we'll leave it at that," says Liam George politely.

Nearly over. Peter Beagrie is playing for Scunthorpe. Remember him? Everton? Fine player in his day. This afternoon he is somewhat of a one-trick pony. He throws dummies. Chops down on the ball, changing its direction so violently that he goes one way and the defender goes off for a cup of coffee. So far he's scored with a penalty, a free-kick and he's lobbed the goalie not once, not twice, but three times. Liam has tangled with him once so far, saw him coming, anticipated the feint and chop and launched Beagrie about two yards into the air. Just saying hello.

HE could have been a contender. He could have gone to Mansfield long ago. They wanted him to come and train. He was lured away though by the bright lights of Bury. At Bury they were offering a three-month deal and money.

"I had a savings account my mum made me open when I signed my first contract. Put a little away, she said. Every week. You never know. So I'd used all that when Bury called. I said to my agent, do I go and train with another club? Do I go to Bury? He said, 'Frankly, there's a little money at Bury. If you do well in three months you'll walk away to something bigger'." So, he said to himself, this is what I'll settle for. Division Two.

During the nightmare he hadn't kept track of things. His mate Paul and himself drove up aweek before the season started. Bury were playing Burnley in a pre-season friendly. Liam is to sign and then play. Paul and Liam talked about how Luton had just got promoted to Division Two. Wouldn't it be weird to end up playing Luton early in the season?

They get to Bury. They are sitting outside waiting to go in and sign, but Liam is short-taken and wanders off to find a toilet. He scurries back. Paul has a baffled face on him now. Liam points out the distant toilets and waits alone.

Sitting outside he starts looking at the fixture list, trying to find Luton. Lots of team names he recognises but he can't see Luton. He checks the date. Yeah, it's this season.

Shit. Paul returns.

They're in Division Three, Paul, aren't they?

Yep. I know.

Mansfield are Division Two, Paul?

Yep. I know.

And he went in and signed.

Now Beagrie is coming at him again. Liam is on his toes. He's noticed that Beagrie prefers his right foot, and when the chop comes it's usually into a position that favours his right. He tries it once. Liam doesn't bite. Tries again. Across the face of the goal. Liam concentrating like a greyhound coursing Beagrie's right foot. Suddenly Beagrie says out loud, "Don't tell me your keeper's off his line again?" and then there's no chop, just a chip with the soft touch of an angel's kiss and, sure enough, the ball is floating towards the Mansfield net. 10-1.

Bury! It's not bad. Really, it isn't. Start of the season and they play Oxford away. Liam George comes on for the last half hour, does very well.

"I said to myself, yes, he's getting me slowly involved. Good idea. We played Cambridge on Tuesday, I played half an hour again. Not bad."

Then he sat on the bench for 12 games without coming on once.

"What's the story?"

"We're just trying to find where to play you."

Three months is up. Liam George begins to see the picture. He's been cheap cover, that's all. Bury come to him and say, you know we have no money. And he says, you know, you've wasted three months of my career. I've not played. I knew it was a risk, but there has been no point. And oddly Bury bow their heads.

"Sorry. We do apologise."

Liam's agent sorts out training opportunities at three or four clubs. On the Friday when he is due to leave, Bury come back like a partner in a fractured marriage and ask if they can't try again. Another month? Puh-lease! We'll get you involved. Oh c'mon.

He signs. The month takes him to the beginning of December. He doesn't play.

Beginning of December and it's exactly the same story. Groundhog Day. No money. Good intentions.

Liam's agent has to call all the teams again. Mr George can train with you now! Again, on the day he's due to leave, Bury turn up the heat. We'll have to take one hundred a week off your wages but, but, but . . .

He takes the money. The bank account after all is as bare as the cupboard of old Mother Hubbard. His agent isn't optimistic about the outside world. Perhaps this will be his chance.

He signed for all of December. Played three games in the middle of the month and won all three. After the last game he caught the manager's eye. Played three. Won three. Scored one. Are Bury not a better team with Liam George in their midst?

"Yeah, well. We don't think you've quite done well enough."

Yet, come January, when they said they'd sign him for another month there was enough there to nourish his optimism. He sat on the bench for another month.

End of January came. End of month. No money. Not playing. Not getting on. Nothing going on but the rent.

Bury use the money excuse every month. Fair enough. Another goodbye.

Afterwards, the Mansfield Reserve manager comes to Liam. He puts on his condolences face. Sorry about that. Hush, says Liam, hush, there's nothing you can say right now, nothing you can say. It's all going into the big experience book.

That was last week. He decided then it was time to start making some sunnier entries. Too much Mansfield. Too much rain.

He was 24 just last weekend. Today he goes down to London with his old friend Nathan. Nathan is a postman. He's going to get Liam forms for a job in the postal service.

Robbie Keane and Gary Doherty are in the same team at Spurs now. He's delighted for his friends, their success buttresses his confidence.

"It gives me something to know I played with them. I was good enough to play with them. That keeps me going. Me and Gary were always talked about in the same breath and he's at a Premiership club. Robbie and I were a good partnership. Seeing them get on makes me smile. Keeps me going."

His mother gave lots of them away to relatives, but he still has the important Irish jerseys. He has the press clippings. The little souvenirs pins. A few shirts, two of them up on the wall. The Germany shirt from the European final up in the hall. He passes by every day and thinks that he hasn't had a bad life.

"Once I felt like I was the King of Ireland. Lots of people will never feel that. How could you be bitter?"

There's interest this week from St Pat's in Dublin. From Charleston in South Carolina. He's dreaming again. Go somewhere. Score a hat-trick on his debut. He's Back! Smaller dreams though.

Ask him about the Irish jersey. Will he ever wear one again?

"An Irish jersey! I'm just hoping to wear a jersey again. That would be a start. A jersey. A crowd. Goalposts."

For now. Sure, it can only be a blink of the eye from oblivion to the big time again.