With Irish underage teams doing so well in recent years, I had an idea that it was going to be the beginning of a golden generation – something akin to what came through under Kerr in the late ‘90s, with some elite-level players and a steady stream of good Premier League and upper-Championship level of talent to fill out a consistently competitive squad. This time, we would have a progressive young manager in place to jettison the dead-wood from a squad which has delivered nothing but failure, harness the immense talent of our underage conveyor belt, qualify for the World Cup in Qatar, and bring a smile back to the Irish national psyche as we continue to deal with these uncertain times.
But it's looking likely that we'll see the same old collection of passive, past-it cloggers who have rarely, if ever, delivered in an international shirt. Stephen Kenny will encourage them to pass the ball, but they'll end up giving it away cheaply, our defence will be exposed, and we'll probably lose about 4-0 to Serbia, and play out a dismal 1-1 with Luxembourg. Scoring an actual goal seems to be a lofty ambition, at this stage.
So what’s happened to our great young players this season?
The positives:
Caoimhin Kelleher looks like a talented goalkeeper, and has skipped ahead of Adrián at Liverpool. Gavin Bazunu is highly-rated at Man City and getting decent experience out on loan. Dara O’Shea has been good at times for West Brom. John Joe Finn, a Real Madrid youth product now at Getafe, might play for us. A fifteen-year-old winger, Kevin Zefi, has gone to Inter Milan, but there's a chance that he could end up playing for Albania (after Grealish and Rice, I'm not holding my breath about any dual-qualified player). Nathan Collins and Jason Knight look the most likely to succeed, but before we start talking about them as the new Paul McGrath and Roy Keane, it’s worth mentioning that Clive Clarke and Jeff Hendrick were spoken about in similar terms, playing in exactly the same positions for exactly the same clubs, in previous decades.
Aaron Connolly hasn’t pushed on; in and out of the Brighton team, with two goals. Troy Parrott hasn’t scored in over twenty senior appearances on loan in the lower leagues; he couldn’t hack it in the Championship, now he can’t hack it in League One. Adam Idah was expected to explode in the Championship with Norwich; he’s made one start, fifteen substitute appearances, and scored two goals. An aspiring international striker should be doing better. Jayson Molumby has been seconded to the Irish graveyard of Preston. Conor Coventry is an afterthought at West Ham. Michael Obafemi has disappeared. Conor Masterson has gone backwards at QPR, and is now crocked. Unable to break into one of the most appalling Celtic teams of all time, Jonathan Afolabi and Lee O’Connor have been exiled to Dundee and Tranmere. God knows what happened to Luca Connell. Zak Elbouzedi – a serious talent for our U-21s – went to League Two and has since disappeared. Connor Ronan’s development has stalled in the second tier in Switzerland; he is running out of time to become the Hoolahan-level playmaker we so desperately need. Ryan Nolan is nursing a cruciate ligament injury, having swapped Inter Milan for Serie C, and subsequently Getafe’s B team, in the last year. Ryan Johansson decided he wasn’t arsed playing for us after all. Liam Delap and Louie Barry remain in the English youth system – we can only hope that they stall at their clubs, drop down the divisions a la Callum Robinson, declare for us, and come good later on in their careers - because if they continue to make waves at City and Villa, there’s absolutely no fucking chance of them playing for us.
So with our younger generation turning out to be more Terry Dixon than Robbie Keane, it’ll most likely be the same old faces in Belgrade. With Hendrick, Hourihane and Brady, we could end up having the most invisible midfield in world football. Shane Duffy will most likely start, possibly even as captain, despite the fact that he is, on current form, probably the worst professional footballer in the UK. Callum O’Dowda will probably appear somewhere in the front three, along with James McClean, who would be world-class if he put as much effort into his first touch as he puts into social media victimhood. Maybe Shane Long will lead the line, just to evoke memories of a time when we weren’t quite so shit.
As you can probably tell, I’m getting sick of all this.
For most of my life since I was nine years old, I’ve worked myself into frenzies of excitement and hopefulness before every Ireland game. Always the hope of a famous humbling of a bigger nation; a convincing defeat of a weaker side; a creditable draw away to a tough qualifying rival; a young player that I’ve followed since his youth team days coming good on the big stage; the chance to see world-class players like McGrath, Roy Keane and Duff in their prime; the drama, colour, spectacle and passion of international football.
Then, the national anthems are played, we kick off, and I bear witness to the first five minutes of calamitous, cowardly, unjustifiable ineptitude: ‘My God, we’re shit, and this is fucking terrible.’
I can’t recall how many times I’ve read about a promising young player, or watched him grow through the ranks; starring for the youth sides, making a maiden appearance in the Premier League, or scoring a few goals in the Championship. So many times, I've thought: ‘This is the one. This is the player Irish football needs,’ and started following their progress closely; dipping into the diehard fan forums of Blackburn, Fulham or Hull to canvas their collective expertise on our new Great White Hope.
Then, this wonderful young player ends up a hopeless, fat, alcoholic mess at Finn Harps. Or a bit-part player for Shamrock Rovers, getting roasted by some Bosnian kid in a Europa League qualifier. Or lining out in the seventh tier of English football. Or crippled by injury, having been kicked to pieces during a League Two loan spell.
So often, they just weren't good enough to begin with, and massively overhyped by clickbait journalists with article quotas to fill, and nothing better to write about – or fans just like me, clutching at whatever straws we can for some glimmer of hope.
As any regular reader of this blog will know, I tend to get consumed by my interests, often to the point of obsession. But I’m beginning to step away from Irish football, and I’m starting to concentrate on, quite frankly, more important things; stuff that will actually benefit me more than watching these useless green-shirted cunts repeatedly embarrassing themselves. Nutrition, running, weight-training, growing my own food, getting better at the guitar, reading good books; all better areas in which to devote my time and energy.
So this might mean no more blog, and I probably won't be quite so forthcoming with my opinion when you message me after matches. 😅 It's going to be nothing more insightful or considered than: 'we were shit' or 'that was surprisingly okay.' When you analyse something, there should be some kind of idea in your head that the problems are theoretically fixable. With Irish football, thanks to the FAI and John Delaney in particular, they are not - at least, not in the short-to-medium term.
Sure, we could have better-resourced LOI clubs to handle our young players, which could happen if they got better crowds and more public interest/sponsorship. But the thing is, I can well understand the reluctance of a grown adult human to spend their free time and hard-earned money watching League of Ireland football in the pissings of rain on a Friday night. It takes a special type of diehard to put themselves through that level of commitment, and unlike in, say, Croatia or Sweden, we don't have that kind of football culture. Rugby and GAA are simply able to provide a more enjoyable match-going experience for the casual fan, with the knowledge that they are watching elite-level players in their sports. This would still be the case even if LOI teams were run competently. Look at the USA - they've poured their immense resources, wealth, and can-do entrepreneur spirit into MLS, and tried to create a viable footballing culture. Yet average attendances aren't much higher than the Championship, and soccer is still seen as a game for girls, Latinos and dilettante nerd Europhiles, far-removed from the glamour and high-scoring spectacles of their native sports. Same in Australia, with competition from AFL, NRL and Rugby Union.
I’ll still try to enjoy the ninety minutes against Serbia, but I’m barely going to consume any of the build-up or post-mortems. If we’re unable to put two passes together, and struggling to get out of our half in the first ten minutes, I am going to – for the sake of my mental health – mute the TV, have a cup of lemon and ginger tea, put on some Pink Floyd, read a good book, and have the match on in the background.
But what if we play well and win?
