My World Cup Story

tapo

Look, I’m just going to come out and say it. “I am glad that Ireland have not qualified for this months World Cup finals. I have thought long and hard before coming to this very difficult conclusion.
Now don’t get me wrong. I love my football and I love my country. I have been to the USA and Japan to support my team at previous World Cup’s
I have paid my money and been harshly treated and dually rewarded in equal measure
I dragged myself to Giants Stadium in New York in 1994 for the Italy Game. I was suffering from the worst bout of gastroenteritis known to man. My best friend who was due to sit beside me was so ill that he had to stay in bed in New York.
I tell a lie he was actually lying in the empty bath at the time in a bid to bring down his temperature and also to be close to the porcelain when movement occurred.
As I left to catch the bus to the stadium I had with me a bag with a change of clothes, just in case of accidents, energy drinks that I could not hold down, and that precious spare ticket. As I closed the door behind me I could hear my best friend crying in the bath. This was no way to start one of the most famous days in Irish history
When Ray Houghton scored the goal I was the only Irish fan in the stadium that did not jump up and down. I just couldn’t. I knew that if I moved a muscle the change of cloths in my bag would be pressed into action, quicker than a Jack Charlton substitute
Yes we left USA 94 with memories and stories to tell, it is just that most of them revolved around our medical condition and the urge to tell everyone we knew not to purchase the “turkey rolls” from that “dodgy deli” on Lexington Avenue

I made the trek to Brussels for the ill-fated qualifier against Belgium for a place at France 98
It rained all day and it rained all night and we got horsed 2-1 Houghton scored again and thankfully I was able to jump up and down on this occasion, but the hurt returned 10 minutes later when Nilis scored the winner for Belgium.
We were so close to France both physically and metaphorically that it made me sick
I watched the playoff game against Iran for a place on the plane to Japan and South Korea outside a pub in Dubai, where our Iranian brethren subjected us to a barrage of stone throwing. Did they not know that Bobby Sands has a street named after him in Tehran? We were supposed to be family.
We sat at the tables slowly getting drunk and singing and the Iranians stood behind us booing and throwing stones. It was only a matter of time before a Dublin wag beside me started up the chant “ your Shi-ite and you know you are, your Shi-ite and you know you are.
It still ranks as the best off the cuff football chant I have ever heard.
Japan was actually a pleasure. An expensive pleasure but we did manage to enjoy all the culture that Tokyo had to offer and of course the superb bullet trains
The highlight of the trip was being served an authentic Japanese breakfast in a local church hall in Tokyo. We had befriended a local Irish priest earlier in the tournament and he had invited about 50 Irish fans to enjoy a pre match breakfast catered by the female members of his congregation
We sat on school desks in the sports hall and were waited hand and foot by the lovely catholic ladies of Tokyo. This breakfast was all washed down by copious amounts of rice beer also supplied by the Japanese Catholic Church. All of this took place 10 hours before kick off, so you can imagine the state of us when we rocked up to Yokahama later that evening for the Saudi Arabia Game.
Having been a recent victim of Irelands economic disaster I could not have afforded to travel to South Africa had we qualified, and that would have broken my heart.
I would have had to sit in front of the telly at home instead of in the stand. I would have had to cry Irish tears of joy instead of African ones and when we got knocked out I would have just gone home to bed instead of going on safari.
So you see it is just something I could not bring myself to contemplate
I do not want to see the “green army” travelling to foreign fields for a major tournament without me.
At least this way I now have four years to save up for the next World Cup. I have time to brush up on my Portuguese and time to work out on my 6 pack in a bid not to look out of place on the coca cabaña beach
Can you just imagine all the milk bottle Irish strolling down the coca cabaña beach with their white O’Neill’s shorts, their chests puffed out and the white sports socks underneath the sandals
Now there’s a sight I am just not willing to miss
When Ireland Calls I want to be ready. I’m off to the gym.

pickarooney

Pretty good. Some very funny lines in there, but my favourite was "As I closed the door behind me I could hear my best friend crying in the bath."

Maybe you could submit it to backpagefootball or something? They're usually looking for articles like this.

tapo

Pickarooney, I have sent it off. Just a bit of fun before the serious stuff starts this weekend

pickarooney

I meant to write a few things but haven't had the time and it's only two days away!

tapo

my son was three years old last month. This is his first World Cup. The time for indoctrination cant come soon enough

pickarooney

Mine turns three on Sunday Unfortunately, having no alternative, he may be inculcated into French fandom before I've had a chance to teach him.

Antilles

pickarooney wrote: »

Mine turns three on Sunday Unfortunately, having no alternative, he may be inculcated into French fandom before I've had a chance to teach him.

You're supposed to teach your kids morals, pickarooney! There's nothing more amoral than supporting France.

pickarooney

[dean martin]When a big cheating get chucks the ball in the net, that's amoral[/dean martin]