bigmac
22/10/2005, 3:02 PM
From Irish Times today. He makes some good points about the way the FAI are treating domestic football in the country. Nice to see someone who isn't an EL fan have a sympathetic view of what we have to put up with.
Sideline Cut: And so the deed has been done. It was not quite murder in the night but there was something vaguely sinister about the doing-in of Brian Kerr on Wednesday night.
As the hit man briskly informed a blubbering Jimmy Conway after whacking Joe Pesci's character Tommy in Martin Scorsese's Goodfellas: "He's gone. And there's nothin' we can do about it."
That was the strange thing about the long and bathetic week that followed the Republic of Ireland's 0-0 "loss" against those Alpine thorns in our side, the Swiss.
There was a gathering sense of momentum in this country, among supporters, commentators and even the FAI that the demise of Kerr was something beyond mortal control. For sure, the boys of the FAI were merely sitting down over tea and biscuits to discuss the best way forward for Irish Soccer Inc but there was a clandestine feel to the affair. It may have been the chill night air or the gloomy look RTÉ's Colm Murray adapted during his long vigil or the fact the meeting took place in the confines of an airport, with scandalous connotations of departures, arrivals and international drugs cartels.
Perhaps we were hoping for too much. Perhaps we had visions of a sudden spotlight illuminating the night sky as an FAI-emblazoned private jet did a triumphant circle before landing smartly on the runway and opening its doors to reveal the handsome waving figure of Johan Cruyff or the saintly Pele himself. After all, one imagines the demise of the beautiful game in Ireland must be a source of grave concern among the international football community. They say Maradona has refused to talk of anything else over the past week.
Or maybe we were subconsciously hoping for an impromptu television conference, a hastily assembled affair in an Aer Lingus storage room with a bare bulb and a semi-transparent screen bearing the silhouette of a tall and all too familiar Geordie. With a triumphant flourish, the FAI boys would draw back the flimsy curtain to herald the comeback of Big Jack himself, looking bashful and pleased and maybe a little confused, waving a fishing rod in the air for theatrical effect. "A've not spoken to Niall and big McGraff or Aldo but it's good to be back."
Maybe we craved a deliverance to those days when we were all slightly younger and were happy, in our sophistication, to label McGraff as "the Black Pearl of Inchicore". Or perhaps we were expecting the affair to deteriorate into another round of accusations and revenge.
Pat Kenny held Kerr in reserve last Friday night, his trump card, and when he came out, all the old effervescence and take-on-the-world light in his eyes had returned. And critics of Kerr could rightly ask where that guy had disappeared to for the last two years. It was a brave, persuasive performance and in terms of Irish soccer, it was merely Robert Emmet in the dock. And maybe it was an act of desperation, because Kerr was liberated by the sound of the last whistle and had nothing left to lose.
His pleas and promises fell on deaf ears. In a small way, that interview carried echoes of that time when the Late Late Show served as a public court for the issues that really mattered in this country. The omnipotence of the Kerr story, however forced, was a jolting reminder that global as the Irish reputation may be, this remains a claustrophobic country.
If you haven't met Kerr, chances are you know someone that has. The dilemma for Kerr was his dream job was a poison chalice, as they say in the business. For all we know, Irish international soccer might be on the edge of a black hole. For all we know, we might not qualify for an international tournament for the next 30 years.
There have been fairly persuasive arguments for letting Kerr go and equally compelling reasons forwarded as to why he should stay on. But the underlying and disturbing element to his demotion was that Kerr was representative of the National League and that his failure was, by extension, a failure of the domestic game. It seemed unanimous that the country owed it to Kerr, as the brightest light in the National League's 40-watt off-Broadway sideshow, to get his turn at the steering wheel. Deep down there was a scepticism and lack of faith in his ability to handle it.
I can't say I have ever been much turned on by the stuff of the National League. Those lashing, windswept nights in desolate football grounds and spotlights that seem designed to identify anyone who might try to sneak off early left me cold.
The Irish game seemed like a passion you were born into. That doesn't mean it doesn't deserve respect. It is obvious in every soccer town, the National League has a loyal and devoted constituency. And for all the mud that has been rightly, if gleefully, slung at the FAI over the past decade, it is true and sometimes forgotten there are unknown soldiers out there doing their damnedest to keep soccer alive. And although soccer might be the most popular and powerful game in the world, it belongs, in this wonderfully subverted country, to those minority sports struggling for sustenance in the forbidding shadow of the GAA.
The GAA may be slicker, smarter and more together than the poor FAI, and it may have recently called a truce through Rule 42, but do not forget that for decades the GAA was either actively hostile or at best indifferent to soccer.
A friend of mine who was a family friend of one of the great heroes of Dublin GAA recently recalled how, when a big soccer match was on television, the Dublin legend enjoyed calling him up to demand: "Are ya watchin' the big snooker?" Cruel but funny and, when all those tense stalemates and 1-0 nights of glory are viewed in retrospect, stingingly accurate.
Rightly or wrongly, it seems to me by dumping Kerr, the FAI has delivered a kick in the teeth to the plain people of Irish soccer, the National League folk. Some deep-rooted lack of confidence might well have been at the heart of the decision. It was notable that, when Kerr chose to attack RTÉ's high-profile television panel including John Giles, one of the most respected soccer writers in England was stung into labelling Kerr as being "out of his league", a jagged riposte. And even Pat Kenny, in a broadly sympathetic interview, betrayed something of the nation's misgivings when he wondered aloud if Kerr could actually get to speak to the likes of Alex and Jose Mourinho.
Perhaps Kerr suffered because the Irish game looks threadbare in comparison to the opulence and international appeal of the Premiership. Maybe he fell foul of some snobbish part of the national character. After he had gone, many commentators who care about Irish soccer said the whole business was regrettable and inevitable.
But it should be made clear at this juncture that it was not inevitable. It was a decision. And who knows, maybe it will be proven the most prudent. If FAI chief executive John Delaney can land Martin O'Neill, he is going to look like a visionary and there will be no complaints. However, if it all goes sour and the revisionism begins on the Kerr administration, Irish manager 2003-2005, let us remember that getting rid of him was a decision. It was a collective decision taken in the cold light of day and executed, in grand Irish tradition, on a dank autumn night. It was a choice.
By electing to make that choice, the FAI are instructing us to trust them, they are insisting they can appoint a superior man. They might be right. But in terms of football administration, it's 0-0, time is running down and, as the pundits say, we need something inspired now.
Sideline Cut: And so the deed has been done. It was not quite murder in the night but there was something vaguely sinister about the doing-in of Brian Kerr on Wednesday night.
As the hit man briskly informed a blubbering Jimmy Conway after whacking Joe Pesci's character Tommy in Martin Scorsese's Goodfellas: "He's gone. And there's nothin' we can do about it."
That was the strange thing about the long and bathetic week that followed the Republic of Ireland's 0-0 "loss" against those Alpine thorns in our side, the Swiss.
There was a gathering sense of momentum in this country, among supporters, commentators and even the FAI that the demise of Kerr was something beyond mortal control. For sure, the boys of the FAI were merely sitting down over tea and biscuits to discuss the best way forward for Irish Soccer Inc but there was a clandestine feel to the affair. It may have been the chill night air or the gloomy look RTÉ's Colm Murray adapted during his long vigil or the fact the meeting took place in the confines of an airport, with scandalous connotations of departures, arrivals and international drugs cartels.
Perhaps we were hoping for too much. Perhaps we had visions of a sudden spotlight illuminating the night sky as an FAI-emblazoned private jet did a triumphant circle before landing smartly on the runway and opening its doors to reveal the handsome waving figure of Johan Cruyff or the saintly Pele himself. After all, one imagines the demise of the beautiful game in Ireland must be a source of grave concern among the international football community. They say Maradona has refused to talk of anything else over the past week.
Or maybe we were subconsciously hoping for an impromptu television conference, a hastily assembled affair in an Aer Lingus storage room with a bare bulb and a semi-transparent screen bearing the silhouette of a tall and all too familiar Geordie. With a triumphant flourish, the FAI boys would draw back the flimsy curtain to herald the comeback of Big Jack himself, looking bashful and pleased and maybe a little confused, waving a fishing rod in the air for theatrical effect. "A've not spoken to Niall and big McGraff or Aldo but it's good to be back."
Maybe we craved a deliverance to those days when we were all slightly younger and were happy, in our sophistication, to label McGraff as "the Black Pearl of Inchicore". Or perhaps we were expecting the affair to deteriorate into another round of accusations and revenge.
Pat Kenny held Kerr in reserve last Friday night, his trump card, and when he came out, all the old effervescence and take-on-the-world light in his eyes had returned. And critics of Kerr could rightly ask where that guy had disappeared to for the last two years. It was a brave, persuasive performance and in terms of Irish soccer, it was merely Robert Emmet in the dock. And maybe it was an act of desperation, because Kerr was liberated by the sound of the last whistle and had nothing left to lose.
His pleas and promises fell on deaf ears. In a small way, that interview carried echoes of that time when the Late Late Show served as a public court for the issues that really mattered in this country. The omnipotence of the Kerr story, however forced, was a jolting reminder that global as the Irish reputation may be, this remains a claustrophobic country.
If you haven't met Kerr, chances are you know someone that has. The dilemma for Kerr was his dream job was a poison chalice, as they say in the business. For all we know, Irish international soccer might be on the edge of a black hole. For all we know, we might not qualify for an international tournament for the next 30 years.
There have been fairly persuasive arguments for letting Kerr go and equally compelling reasons forwarded as to why he should stay on. But the underlying and disturbing element to his demotion was that Kerr was representative of the National League and that his failure was, by extension, a failure of the domestic game. It seemed unanimous that the country owed it to Kerr, as the brightest light in the National League's 40-watt off-Broadway sideshow, to get his turn at the steering wheel. Deep down there was a scepticism and lack of faith in his ability to handle it.
I can't say I have ever been much turned on by the stuff of the National League. Those lashing, windswept nights in desolate football grounds and spotlights that seem designed to identify anyone who might try to sneak off early left me cold.
The Irish game seemed like a passion you were born into. That doesn't mean it doesn't deserve respect. It is obvious in every soccer town, the National League has a loyal and devoted constituency. And for all the mud that has been rightly, if gleefully, slung at the FAI over the past decade, it is true and sometimes forgotten there are unknown soldiers out there doing their damnedest to keep soccer alive. And although soccer might be the most popular and powerful game in the world, it belongs, in this wonderfully subverted country, to those minority sports struggling for sustenance in the forbidding shadow of the GAA.
The GAA may be slicker, smarter and more together than the poor FAI, and it may have recently called a truce through Rule 42, but do not forget that for decades the GAA was either actively hostile or at best indifferent to soccer.
A friend of mine who was a family friend of one of the great heroes of Dublin GAA recently recalled how, when a big soccer match was on television, the Dublin legend enjoyed calling him up to demand: "Are ya watchin' the big snooker?" Cruel but funny and, when all those tense stalemates and 1-0 nights of glory are viewed in retrospect, stingingly accurate.
Rightly or wrongly, it seems to me by dumping Kerr, the FAI has delivered a kick in the teeth to the plain people of Irish soccer, the National League folk. Some deep-rooted lack of confidence might well have been at the heart of the decision. It was notable that, when Kerr chose to attack RTÉ's high-profile television panel including John Giles, one of the most respected soccer writers in England was stung into labelling Kerr as being "out of his league", a jagged riposte. And even Pat Kenny, in a broadly sympathetic interview, betrayed something of the nation's misgivings when he wondered aloud if Kerr could actually get to speak to the likes of Alex and Jose Mourinho.
Perhaps Kerr suffered because the Irish game looks threadbare in comparison to the opulence and international appeal of the Premiership. Maybe he fell foul of some snobbish part of the national character. After he had gone, many commentators who care about Irish soccer said the whole business was regrettable and inevitable.
But it should be made clear at this juncture that it was not inevitable. It was a decision. And who knows, maybe it will be proven the most prudent. If FAI chief executive John Delaney can land Martin O'Neill, he is going to look like a visionary and there will be no complaints. However, if it all goes sour and the revisionism begins on the Kerr administration, Irish manager 2003-2005, let us remember that getting rid of him was a decision. It was a collective decision taken in the cold light of day and executed, in grand Irish tradition, on a dank autumn night. It was a choice.
By electing to make that choice, the FAI are instructing us to trust them, they are insisting they can appoint a superior man. They might be right. But in terms of football administration, it's 0-0, time is running down and, as the pundits say, we need something inspired now.