Originally Posted by Eamon Dunphy
Those who have maliciously and persistently muttered about Irishmen with strange accents will doubtless surface again in the weeks ahead. There is one in every town and village, in every bar. Wherever a majority gather to celebrate the substantial achievements of this Irish team, a minority, vocal and often unduly influential, the Irish teacher, the really Catholic priest, the True Gael politician, will lurk, nursing a grudge about 'foreign games' and 'mercenaries'.
Reason is the antidote. For those who argue that Houghton, Babb, Townsend and Phelan are not Irishmen, citing as evidence the colour of their skin or the dialect they speak, the answer is that emigration is a fact of life on this small island. Phil Babb's mother was from Carlow. Roy Houghton's father a Donegal man. Andy Townsend's grandmother came from Castleisland in County Kerry. Terry Phelan's mother was a Sligo woman.
Far from resenting the presence of those men in an Irish shirt, those who love their country and understand its troubled history should rejoice in what is, in fact, an inspiring sub-text to the story of Jack Charlton and his team. For a nation familiar with the ravages of emigration, acquainted with the sorrow of sons and daughters gone never to be known again, for people all over Ireland who stare poignantly at that empty chair and that unoccupied bed, in places like Donegal, Carlow, Kerry and Sligo, spiteful slurs cast upon our Irish footballers ring hollow indeed.
When those slyly seeking to deny Irish identity to Andy Townsend and Phil Babb are, as is invariably the case, the very people who whinge loudest about emigration, we can see them for what they truly are; reactionary, bigoted, disingenuous. And, happily, a minority, whose influence wanes with every passing year.
Nobody who has seen this Irish team compete can reasonably doubt their commitment to their country.
Of the Irish players born elsewhere, it can be claimed that the ostensibly trivial pursuit of sport has awakened in them a true sense of Irishness, which has nothing to do with waving flags, hating others or speaking a particular language in a certain accent. To be Irish is a matter of behaviour. To be Irish is to possess a unique sense of humour, to be tolerant, to love a song, to face honourably life's vicissitudes, to be willing to play the game of life or sport, to win or lose yet have some fun.
It is to those real Irish virtues, which we natives sometimes forget or take for granted, that the emigrant Irish in Jack Charlton's team invariably refer when asked what playing for their country means to them.
And, wherever they have played, it is to those real Irish virtues that these Irish men have been committed. Which explains why, whatever is the final result of their endeavours in the United States this summer, Irish people everywhere will rejoice when they reflect on the saga of Charlton and his men. While bigots cavil about accents and other incidentals of national identity, the rest of us can celebrate this glorious reunion of men with their past.