Posted by fústar in 
Welcome, dear friends, to Super Euro Soccer Party – a Euro 2008 group blog that will attempt (like a hyperactive beaver) to keep you entertained, amused, informed and diverted over the next four football-stuffed weeks.
In kicking proceedings off I'd like to cast a fond glance1 back into (what has somehow become) the dim and distant past…
On Wednesday, 15th June, 1988 (in Hanover's Niedersachsenstadion), Mick McCarthy launched a bionic throw-in high into the upper reaches of the earth's stratosphere. When the ball finally descended to pitch level (about an hour and a half later) the left shin of Ronald Andrew Whelan was waiting…
The great Renat Dasaev flaps at empty air. The great George Hamilton roars a strangled "Oh…Wheeellaaann!!".2 The country goes a little bit mental.
It's a moment I shall never forget. For some reason, as I leapt from the living-room chair and punched the sky, my dinner (with little sense of timing or occasion) was on the parents' kitchen table getting cold. This is, of course, only a minor detail – but it highlights, perhaps, how little was expected of (or invested in) the Irish team in those days.3 Matches were but inconvenient diversions from the more serious business of eating chops.
That wondrous volley was, alas, to be the last great highlight of Ireland's Euro adventures. Not only did a hideous, freakily-spinning Wim Kieft header knock us out of that tournament (with the semi-finals a mere 8 minutes away), but we haven't played another match at the finals since – 20 long years on.4
Though we couldn't have anticipated the Euro-famine that was to follow, my schoolmates and I still instinctively knew (back then) that Ronnie's wonder strike needed to be remembered, commemorated and (most importantly) reconstructed. With this in mind any outrageous scissors-kick (or flying volley) was instantly dubbed "a Whelan" (as in "I scored a great 'Whelan' during P.E. yesterday").
Trying "Whelans" on the tarmacadamed 'pitches' we frequented was, however, a risky business. Getting a "Whelan" right meant glory and honour. Getting one wrong spelled a trip to A&E with a fractured skull. Beauty and perfection do not come without their prices.
Anyway, the first of this blog's (no doubt many) gimmicks is to be the "Whelan-o-meter" (a tribute to the great man). Whenever an acrobatic volley is scored (during the competition) marks out of 10 will be given to it depending on how satisfying a "Whelan" it is. The tally for such volleys currently stands at zero…a not entirely surprising statistic given that the tournament doesn't start for another 10 days.
The countdown begins. Welcome to the party.
“it highlights, perhaps, how little was expected of (or invested in) the Irish team in those days.”
The day Ireland beat England in Stuttgart, my parents took us to the beach! I didn’t even get to hear Ray Houghton’s goal on the damn radio. My brother and I have never really forgiven our parents for it, and even they themselves are a bit sheepish on the subject. Years later, I met a friend in college who had the same experience (or rather the same denial of experience), though an important factor was that his day away from the telly was a punishment, not a misguided “treat”.
“With this in mind any outrageous scissors-kick (or flying volley) was instantly dubbed “a Whelan”"
We called them “Ronnnies”, and practiced them regularly, as in “Do a long throw-in, I’m going to go for The Ronnie”. As the ball looped towards us, we’d hurl ourselves at it squealing “Oh…Wheeellaaann!!” in our best George Hamilton accents.
By Italia 90, of course, everything had changed utterly. Gangs gathered in houses & bars. The hours before and after kick off were put aside for nothing but football fever. Nobody’s parents thought (for a second) of taking the chiddlers to the beach.
Ronnie (and “Ronnies”) aside, the Euro 88 team remains my favourite Irish international one. The line-up that day: Bonner, Morris, McCarthy, Moran, Hughton, Houghton, Whelan, Sheedy, Galvin, Stapleton, Aldridge.
Poor chris Morris (and his booming crosses into the crowd) excepted – what a team! And this with Liam Brady sitting at home watching.
Where was McGrath that day? The likes of himself, Moran & Stapleton, not to mention the then recently departed Brady & Lawrenson and the non grata O’Leary show what fine quality players Ireland had during the 80′s. Much like the economy at the time, it seems our permanent state of failure was due to tragic mismanagement and lack of belief rather than lack of talent. The whole “Irish Granny” thing swelled the ranks of fair to middling players and gave us a little squad depth, but the genius was home-grown.
Good question. Injured possibly…I don’t remember. He definitely played in the other two games (who could forget his header off the upright against Holland?). Adding his name to the above list, of course, makes it a good deal more impressive and illustrious. Sheedy (a fine & intelligent player in his own right) played in his stead against the USSR. Other than that the team remained exactly the same for the 3 matches.
Sadly true. Sure wasn’t the team picked by a meddling “panel” for years? Bloody insane.
Having said that, there was also (from what I recall) a cruel absense of luck at critical times (despite what the cliche might say about the Irish). When we finally got a massive slice of fortune (thank you Gary MacKay) we secured qualification.