It was a seven-day period in which we learned that everything we know is wrong. Until the Saturday before last, there were three known knowns: Ireland don't beat the All Blacks, The Apprentice hosts don't become president, and Ireland don't win in Vienna. Now? We are living in bogey-busting times, drowning in a sea of unknown unknowns.
After 111 years of trying we’d never beaten the All Blacks, and it had been 53 years since we last conquered Austria, so combined that was 164 years of experiences so bitter it was best to harbour no hope at all. Alexander Pope probably had us in mind when he said, “Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed”.
Pre-match, Eamon Dunphy reckoned there was a metaphysical element to our Austrian bogey. By full-time he concluded that “the science of metaphysics is in rag order”. A bit like the science of pre-election polling, perhaps. Ahead of the game, he had declared Roy Keane to be our Donald Trump (“he never saw a microphone he didn’t love”), but come full-time Keano might well have responded: “What – a winner, like?”
Our panel was pleased enough with the team selection, apart from the centre of our rear-guard, Ciaran Clark and Shane Duffy, which Liam Brady said terrified him. The Dunph was equally frightened. “I don’t want to harp on about it,” he said, before harping on about it, the absence of the benched John O’Shea making his heart grow so fond of the Sunderland man, he regarded him as an amalgam of Franz Beckenbauer, Paul McGrath, Franco Baresi and Bobby Moore. Damien Duff was less petrified, but not overly confident of a victory. “I’d take a point now and get on the plane, I tell you that for free,” he said, his bags packed.
Bashing out
Over at the Ernst Happel Stadium, the home supporters were showing off how cultured they are by humming and flag-waving along to Strauss’s
Radetzky March
, while our bunch were bashing out
Come On You Boys In Green
, with the occasional Olé Olé thrown in.
George Hamilton, who RTÉ had wandering around the back streets of Vienna pre-match like a lost Midge Ure, was highly dazzled and worried that the Austrian team would produce as impressive a performance, Ireland having been distinctly “out of tune” in their past visits to the city.
As it turned out, both sides were more Chas and Dave than Strauss in that first half, one that felt 53 years long. Jim Beglin had the sound of a man who had mislaid the will to live, the half-time whistle a blessed relief. The one bright spot had been that rear-guard of ours, Ciaran Beckenbauer and Shane Baresi, performed admirably.
Still, it had all been so uninspiring The Dunph even conceded that Wesiniho was off his game, but he was encouraged by Austria being completely muck and reckoned “we should be thinking, we can win this”. The rest is history. Literally, like.
Meyler-Wesiniho-McClean, a move so sumptuous, a finish so fine, you wouldn’t complain if you had to wait another 53 years to see its like again.
Jim and George, though, did their level best to equalise for Austria by tempting fate more often than poor old Marc Janko misdirected headers. “It’s one of those nights when you think Ireland might just need a second,” said Jim, which, based on our past experience of surrendering leads, was as revelationary as declaring, say, that Strauss lad could write a good tune.
“Time is on Ireland’s side, you feel,” said George, which wasn’t true at all, it being the 78th minute when he uttered the line, and then in the 86th minute: “If Ireland win this . . . ooooooooh my goodness me, that was an opportunity for Austria!” And that was even before Janko forgot he had feet and headed wide from four centimetres off the ground.
But survived we did. The Dunph offered a sympathetic word to the defeated (“They were grade A bottlers.”), and then feasted his eyes on that group table, divil a nation above us. Bogey busted.
