Neil
21/04/2003, 11:11 AM
LAST Thursday evening I reacquainted myself with the League of Ireland. After an absence of two decades, I dragged my two kids from the TV and headed for Richmond Park for St Patrick's Athletic's first derby of the new season against Shamrock Rovers.
I wasn't sure what to expect but felt a little apprehensive as I pondered which end of the stadium to head for. A seat in the Pat's end would have been unthinkable in my early teens, while plumping for the Rovers end would have shown complete lack of loyalty to my heroes of that memorable era - the mighty Thurles town.
For those of you unaccustomed to the halcyon days of domestic soccer in the late '70s, here's a quick history lesson. John Giles returned to take over Shamrock Rovers after an illustrious career at Leeds United. Irish football had known nothing like it as Gilesy promised not only to restructure football in these shores but also to put in place a detailed plan for the Hoops to conquer Europe.
He introduced full-time pros, full-time trainees and a top class set of coaches that undoubtedly left the league's other clubs feeling somewhat insecure. It all looked so good.
At the other end of the scale, Thurles Town and Galway Rovers joined the top flight for the first time. The wily old hurlers on the ditch in both of these GAA strongholds poured scorn on soccer's attempt to bring its bandwagon to rural Ireland.
The contrast could not have been more complete as the innovative Rovers planned to lure the giants of European football to Milltown while the minnows from the country were busy collecting in plastic buckets outside Sunday Mass.
Around this time, a neighbour of mine in Crumlin was accepted into the fold as a full-time pro at Shamrock Rovers. The stream of teenagers who hung around at the shops were stunned that someone who played ball with us every evening was heading for stardom. Larry Murray, former apprentice baker, at 19 years of age became our hero, a working class hero in its real sense. His transformation from street kid to first team regular occurred virtually overnight and his emergence perfectly epitomised the vision of the astute Giles.
Larry played outside right and managed to win an FAI Cup medal in his first full season. Fairytale stuff it may be but - how about this? - all the kids in our gang who wanted to see the mighty Hoops play on Sunday were bundled into the back of Larry's ancient Transit van where we remained very still until our convoy passed through the players' entrance.
No tickets required, just like that. I reckon I saw 20 games that season courtesy of a decent skin who wasn't about to let the big time get to him. Somehow you can't quite picture Giggsy with a bootful of Salford scallywags breezing past the burly Old Trafford security guards in his red Ferrari, can you?
Anyway, I'm not sure if the moneymen at Rovers copped onto our little scam but Larry soon found himself in the stiffs (footie speak for the B team). Disillusioned, he opted to swap Giles' dream of football dominance for the real world of early morning shifts and a part-time footballing post at Waterford.
Our brief love affair with Shamrock Rovers was over, too. As a form of protest against the manager's selection policy we unanimously agreed to abandon our allegiance and opted instead to switch camps. Don't ask me how it occurred but suddenly we were all loyal to the cause of Thurles Town.
We let go of our relentless pursuit of silverware for the far more rewarding moral victory trail: travelling home and away to follow the hapless new boys in their annual quest to avoid finishing bottom of the league. They didn't win many games but with legendary player/manager Pat Dunne, journeyman pros Ingoldsby, Lyons and Knowles (son of the famous crooner Sonny Knowles), plus the enigmatic 12th man, Neville Steedman, the Town provided magical days for a hidden cell of teenage fans in the heart of the capital. One day, in particular, stands out. Bottom-of-the-table Thurles faced the gigantic task of beating Giles and Co in their own back yard. Entering Milltown, this time semi-legally through the U12 turnstile, we prepared ourselves for the worst.
But fate decreed otherwise. Deep into injury time and holding on for a 1-1 draw, Town suddenly broke on the counter-attack. Thurles played a series of one-twos which - if my memory isn't playing tricks on me - left Johnny Cervi in his yellow shirt clear on goal.
Time almost stood still as he slotted home from 12 yards leading to a deafening silence throughout the ground. Even the travelling army of 50 or so Town fans fell silent - we just couldn't believe it.
Not long afterwards, John Giles swapped dreams too, and headed for Canada where a more forward-thinking football society benefited greatly from his expertise. Rovers didn't lie down though, and on the back of seeds sown by the great man a hugely successful period under Jim McLaughlin followed. Sadly, yet predictably, Thurles Town also departed from the league, folding into a history file aptly titled 'At Least We Tried'. The GAA stalwarts may have sniggered but at least the Tipperary boys left us one great day to remember. God bless 'em.
ANYWAY, back to last Thursday at Richmond Park. Our seating predicament came to an end when a very kind ground steward ushered us to the Directors' Box (after I paid in, honestly). Sitting in the divide between rival directors, I couldn't help but notice how vociferous they all were.
The game itself was thoroughly enjoyable and we marvelled at the level of skill on display from both sets of players, with Pat's Tony Bird's performance worthy of special mention in the 1-1 draw. The huge crowd of fans are to be commended too for their spirited support.
Leaving the ground alongside the stream of contented supporters, I wondered about our perennial begrudgers and how they are all so quick to knock our domestic product. It felt really good to have sampled the atmosphere of this local derby and, for what it's worth, I have some advice to those who would rather the comfort of a pint while staring at the giant screen in awe of their cross-channel gods.
Next time you have the choice between interactive live football (press the red button on your remote) and the REAL thing, why not head for the terraces? Something smaller but wonderfully enriching is taking place at League of Ireland grounds and, you never know, you might just appreciate the entertainment our own stars have to offer.
Just two days ago I sat in the middle of a conversation between George Best and Rodney Marsh. Ironically, the subject was the League of Ireland and, unprompted, these two great characters fondly described their end-of-career venture to these shores.
Besty was particularly charming in his recollection of his days with Cork Hibs. Marshy recounted enjoyable spells at Cork and Waterford and both players were very knowledgeable of the present domestic scene.
It was comforting to learn that two of the game's greatest exponents would pay such wonderful compliments to soccer on this island. It got me thinking that maybe we should feel a little more proud of soccer in Ireland. At the very least we should support it.
I wasn't sure what to expect but felt a little apprehensive as I pondered which end of the stadium to head for. A seat in the Pat's end would have been unthinkable in my early teens, while plumping for the Rovers end would have shown complete lack of loyalty to my heroes of that memorable era - the mighty Thurles town.
For those of you unaccustomed to the halcyon days of domestic soccer in the late '70s, here's a quick history lesson. John Giles returned to take over Shamrock Rovers after an illustrious career at Leeds United. Irish football had known nothing like it as Gilesy promised not only to restructure football in these shores but also to put in place a detailed plan for the Hoops to conquer Europe.
He introduced full-time pros, full-time trainees and a top class set of coaches that undoubtedly left the league's other clubs feeling somewhat insecure. It all looked so good.
At the other end of the scale, Thurles Town and Galway Rovers joined the top flight for the first time. The wily old hurlers on the ditch in both of these GAA strongholds poured scorn on soccer's attempt to bring its bandwagon to rural Ireland.
The contrast could not have been more complete as the innovative Rovers planned to lure the giants of European football to Milltown while the minnows from the country were busy collecting in plastic buckets outside Sunday Mass.
Around this time, a neighbour of mine in Crumlin was accepted into the fold as a full-time pro at Shamrock Rovers. The stream of teenagers who hung around at the shops were stunned that someone who played ball with us every evening was heading for stardom. Larry Murray, former apprentice baker, at 19 years of age became our hero, a working class hero in its real sense. His transformation from street kid to first team regular occurred virtually overnight and his emergence perfectly epitomised the vision of the astute Giles.
Larry played outside right and managed to win an FAI Cup medal in his first full season. Fairytale stuff it may be but - how about this? - all the kids in our gang who wanted to see the mighty Hoops play on Sunday were bundled into the back of Larry's ancient Transit van where we remained very still until our convoy passed through the players' entrance.
No tickets required, just like that. I reckon I saw 20 games that season courtesy of a decent skin who wasn't about to let the big time get to him. Somehow you can't quite picture Giggsy with a bootful of Salford scallywags breezing past the burly Old Trafford security guards in his red Ferrari, can you?
Anyway, I'm not sure if the moneymen at Rovers copped onto our little scam but Larry soon found himself in the stiffs (footie speak for the B team). Disillusioned, he opted to swap Giles' dream of football dominance for the real world of early morning shifts and a part-time footballing post at Waterford.
Our brief love affair with Shamrock Rovers was over, too. As a form of protest against the manager's selection policy we unanimously agreed to abandon our allegiance and opted instead to switch camps. Don't ask me how it occurred but suddenly we were all loyal to the cause of Thurles Town.
We let go of our relentless pursuit of silverware for the far more rewarding moral victory trail: travelling home and away to follow the hapless new boys in their annual quest to avoid finishing bottom of the league. They didn't win many games but with legendary player/manager Pat Dunne, journeyman pros Ingoldsby, Lyons and Knowles (son of the famous crooner Sonny Knowles), plus the enigmatic 12th man, Neville Steedman, the Town provided magical days for a hidden cell of teenage fans in the heart of the capital. One day, in particular, stands out. Bottom-of-the-table Thurles faced the gigantic task of beating Giles and Co in their own back yard. Entering Milltown, this time semi-legally through the U12 turnstile, we prepared ourselves for the worst.
But fate decreed otherwise. Deep into injury time and holding on for a 1-1 draw, Town suddenly broke on the counter-attack. Thurles played a series of one-twos which - if my memory isn't playing tricks on me - left Johnny Cervi in his yellow shirt clear on goal.
Time almost stood still as he slotted home from 12 yards leading to a deafening silence throughout the ground. Even the travelling army of 50 or so Town fans fell silent - we just couldn't believe it.
Not long afterwards, John Giles swapped dreams too, and headed for Canada where a more forward-thinking football society benefited greatly from his expertise. Rovers didn't lie down though, and on the back of seeds sown by the great man a hugely successful period under Jim McLaughlin followed. Sadly, yet predictably, Thurles Town also departed from the league, folding into a history file aptly titled 'At Least We Tried'. The GAA stalwarts may have sniggered but at least the Tipperary boys left us one great day to remember. God bless 'em.
ANYWAY, back to last Thursday at Richmond Park. Our seating predicament came to an end when a very kind ground steward ushered us to the Directors' Box (after I paid in, honestly). Sitting in the divide between rival directors, I couldn't help but notice how vociferous they all were.
The game itself was thoroughly enjoyable and we marvelled at the level of skill on display from both sets of players, with Pat's Tony Bird's performance worthy of special mention in the 1-1 draw. The huge crowd of fans are to be commended too for their spirited support.
Leaving the ground alongside the stream of contented supporters, I wondered about our perennial begrudgers and how they are all so quick to knock our domestic product. It felt really good to have sampled the atmosphere of this local derby and, for what it's worth, I have some advice to those who would rather the comfort of a pint while staring at the giant screen in awe of their cross-channel gods.
Next time you have the choice between interactive live football (press the red button on your remote) and the REAL thing, why not head for the terraces? Something smaller but wonderfully enriching is taking place at League of Ireland grounds and, you never know, you might just appreciate the entertainment our own stars have to offer.
Just two days ago I sat in the middle of a conversation between George Best and Rodney Marsh. Ironically, the subject was the League of Ireland and, unprompted, these two great characters fondly described their end-of-career venture to these shores.
Besty was particularly charming in his recollection of his days with Cork Hibs. Marshy recounted enjoyable spells at Cork and Waterford and both players were very knowledgeable of the present domestic scene.
It was comforting to learn that two of the game's greatest exponents would pay such wonderful compliments to soccer on this island. It got me thinking that maybe we should feel a little more proud of soccer in Ireland. At the very least we should support it.