All superheroes eventually face a pivotal moment where it could all unravel. In Superman III, tar-laced kryptonite turned Clark Kent on himself. In the Dark Knight, the Joker forced Batman to confront everything he once believed in and source some fancy new weapons.

The pillars of guff are no different and on Friday night the unthinkable happened; Eamon Dunphy caught himself in mid-contradiction – swung off the road in mid-u-turn.

As is the way with the lads, a post-match discussion of Uruguay-Ghana had evolved into general ramblings about the lack of a “youth structure” in English football.

Eamo was busily berating English clubs for “solving their problems with a large cheque,” when he perhaps caught a glimpse of Liam Brady smirking beside him and suddenly had total recall of several winters spent mocking Professor Fawlty for his frugality and faith in youth.

“This is the irony of what I’m arguing. I’ve criticised Arsene Wenger for not spending money…” What excellent value that summer house in Damascus is proving.

Already this tournament Thomas Meuller, the kid “who looks like he won a competition in Tesco to play in the Champions League” has produced his Clubcard again to emerge during this tournament as a “truly outstanding player.”

Brazilians Juan and Robinho earned temporary promotions to the ranks of “real players” having previously been regarded with deepest suspicion. Stevie G has lurched from zero to hero and back more often than Michael Portillo, while David Silva, the donkey getting in Cesc Fabregas’s way in Euro 2008, is the solution to all Spain’s problems now that he’s out of the side.

And the Netherlands’ passage this far means Arjen Robben hasn’t yet been confirmed as “a birdbrain”.

Eamo’s great super-power, of course, is the delivery, on demand, of entertaining, if wildly exaggerated, snap judgments. The weatherman who dismisses global warming every time a wind blows up from the North. So there was a real worry that this moment of introspection might decommission the conveyor belt of invective that makes RTE’s coverage so watchable.

We need not have concerned ourselves. Before long, Eamo had conceived of the silver bullet that renews for good his licence to shrill.

“History is there to be disproved and changed, that’s why we have it.” A line that ought to be forever tattooed in rubber on his costume.

And so it was business as usual on Saturday night. Spain defended more shambolically that “any team in the Leinster Senior League and that’s no disrespect to the Leinster Senior League.” Gerard Pique was simply “an awful chancer.”

“You’re exaggerating again, Eamon,” rebuked Brady, but Eamo, his life’s work freshly enshrined in a motto, knows now that Spain could go ten years without conceding a goal and not diminish his theory. “I’m prone to that,” he beamed proudly. Would we have it any other way?

Gilesy, meanwhile, spent most of Saturday working on his own evil master plan to take over the World Cup with a team of organically fused super-defenders. “Bertstuber” and “Bertesacker” went straight from the lab into the German side. They could be just the men to take care of that dangerous amalgam of Spanish attackers from the ages that Eamo has dreamed up; “Llorientes.”

Much of RTE’s quarter-final grousing was aimed at the refereeing, with Billo particularly furious that officials should be appointed from such dubious “jurisdictions” as the Seychelles and, er, Japan.

Defending the rogue Japanese, Darragh Moloney pointed out that with South American and European sides involved, FIFA may have wanted a neutral. A red rag to Euro-sceptic Ronnie Whelan; “Well, what about an English one?”

If we’re looking to improve the standard of punditry, we could do a lot worse than heed the example set by Gernot Bauer, host of Eurosport’s marvellously eccentric World Cup magazine show Soccer City Live. A study in sobriety on the outside, within Gernot bubbles some of that “Ja, for sure, a little bit crazy” spirit that has made Germany great. “Let’s see what some of you guys back in the Internet are discussing.”

With Gernot however, a pundit must earn his corn. So while Aaron Winter received a warm welcome when he arrived on the show to discuss the Netherlands’ progress, Gernot ensured there was no danger he would get ideas above his station. “Of course we also have Patrick Kluivert here who is still our main expert on the matter.”

The English have learned a fair bit from the Germans already during this tournament and maybe it’s time Gary Lineker adopted the Bauer approach with some of his under-performing panel, where exaggeration is rarely the problem and history requires no revisiting.

Reflecting on Ghana’s sad exit, Shearer set this weekend’s standard: “Pele did say an African team would win the World Cup before 2000 – I think it’s going to be longer.”

This article first appeared in the Irish Examiner

Spotter’s badges to @bootsybah and @theironsloth

Half-time in Port Elizabeth and it’s parallel universe time again. Remember the movie Sliding Doors, when Gwyneth Paltrow’s life split in two when she missed her train? On RTE, Gwynnie’s England might have held a half-time lead over Slovenia but the carriage doors had slammed firmly in their faces.

A stickler for punctuality, Eamon Dunphy was pulling out of the station. “England haven’t done all that much since the goal. They don’t look themselves, they look uptight.  It will be scramble over the line job against a very poor side.” Conductor Whelan agreed: “They didn’t kick on. I think they got worse after the goal.”

Unfortunately for tardy Gwyn, her life quickly unravelled and so too it seems has Wayne Rooney’s. “Things are not right. How do you reduce Rooney to a shivering wreck?” Eamo felt that fear factor had replaced X-Factor as the pulse of a once-great nation. “Don’t forget what happened Robert Green; his life is over, in a certain kind of way.”

Over on the BBC, meanwhile, parallel England had slipped comfortably through the sliding doors and were already cruising through the part of the movie where Gwyneth gets a foxy new haircut, a fancy fella and all is well with the world.

“England excellent since they scored the goal,” beamed Hansen. “Much more comfortable; passing with pace, passing with purpose,” creosoted Shearer. Impatient Lineker was already fast-forwarding to see the ending. “The result of the USA game, of course, only makes a difference to who wins the group – which would be an easier path to the semi-finals.”

Earlier in Montrose, we’d had the familiar pre-match warm-up. The usual 20 minutes dissection of how poor England are; no fluency, no coherence, no playmakers, no pressing, no plan, was the thrust of the Giles-Whelan-Dunphy thesis. Followed, naturally, by a firm assertion that England would almost certainly win. Better the devil you know.

Shearer and co had been bullish too but you sensed nerves. Brian Blessed was unleashed to deliver a rousing call to arms for “Fabio, England and St George.” You had a feeling this tape hadn’t been due in the machine for at least another week.

Ray Houghton’s biggest worry was what the red rag might do to John Bull. “Teams wearing red tend to be more aggressive,” suggested Gok Hamilton. “Yeah, its something they have to look out for, they need to keep their discipline.”

As a tense evening wore on, the smell of fear from a nearby gantry may have become ever more palpable, as Lawro developed more prosaic concerns: “Watching England is sometimes a cure for constipation.” “This is unbearable,” yelped Guy Mowbray beside him at one point, hopefully in response to another Rooney miss.

His “Jermaine Defoe is not a big-game player,” might have uncuffed one hostage to fortune, but Eamo’s vision of a scramble over the line duly materialised as England players lined up to take it in the corners.

They were nearly there. “It’s beginning to sound like a night at the Proms,” marvelled George as “Britain, Britain never shall be slaves,” rang out, a sensitive nod to their hosts.

At the whistle, it was Gabby Logan who took over from Paltrow, throwing a few handy ones to Fabio and foxy enough to impress Gilesy. “She seemed to be a very attractive girl. Maybe that’s why she’s doing the interviews.”

“They played with freedom?” suggested Gabby. “Yes, I prayed for freedom,” countered Fabio, eyeing the press box nervously. “Very, very, very good,” claimed Lawro, adjectival diarrhoea his latest problem.

Studiously detached analysts as they claim to be,  Eamo and Gilesy will forget now how pleased they were after Romania in ‘90 despite Gheorghe Hagi and his 200 shots. “We think it’s bloody great, Bill.”

So perhaps Shearer and co had earned a moment’s celebration.

“Much better. More spring in their step. Passed it better, created chances. Big positives. Much, much better.”

Sadly, fortunes hadn’t improved for RTE Gwyn. “Scraped through really,” sniffed Gilesy. “The England performance was absolutely, incredibly bad,” smirked Eamon.

Of course anyone who made it all the way through Sliding Doors may recall that foxy, train-catching Gwyneth eventually met a premature Waterloo, while her miserable alter-ego lived happily ever after – or at least long after poor Rob Green.

Dunphy, unlike Lineker, is happy to let the story unfold. “Let’s keep this soap opera going.”

This article first appeared in the Irish Examiner

Ten days into the World Cup and if Martin’s wife Bonnie is still holding out for a hero, the morning light has finally delivered. As we know, it’s during major tournaments that you really get to know players. More importantly, it’s when you really get to know your remote control.

And so, as Ghana and Australia surrendered our attention for an inexplicable moment, we pressed Help and selected Subtitles and there they were. These selfless miracle-workers. Typing in every last blessed word Gilesy and Didi and Razor splurged carelessly in their direction.

Real heroes. The stamina. The patience. The self-control not to storm the studio, shake Gilesy warmly by the throat and invite him to finish just one of the hundreds of sentences left… you see the thing about the Africans, Darragh… I know I’m repeating myself…Didi, you played in a World Cup…

Exhilarated by this triumph of the human spirit, we put on the BBC and there they were again. Only these lads were faced with Adebayor. And Mark Bright. And it was soon evident that the Broadcasting House heroes were a good deal less tolerant that their RTE counterparts.

So having lagged for a while ten sentences or so in Adebayor’s wake, our man decided that the deaf British public would lose nothing in some judicious summarising. For that matter, it was agreed that the hard of hearing had enough to contend with without reading another weak Lineker pun.

And once Brighty took over, let’s just say our man decided gems like “People like skills don’t they – especially in Africa.” and “Play it back to your goalkeeper. He is always the man behind you.” could be safely excised from the written record of the fixture.

These boys should be in charge of editing the universe.

In the end, overawed as we had become, it was a little reassuring when the odd finger of clay materialised. Like when Simon Brotherton applauded a “superb save from Marsh Water” in the Australian goal. Or when Didi’s unique brand of Scouse Deutsch earmarked Brett Holman as “the man who can herd Ghana.”

Sadly Didi has left us now, having emerged as another hero of the opening week with his research and his fancy ways, even if his permanently quizzical eyebrow seemed to act as something of a muzzle on Eamo’s wilder theories.

At times you felt Eamo might be all set to blame the peaceful nature of the Velvet Revolution for the late equaliser Slovakia conceded against New Zealand, or maybe simply tell us Messi is useless, only to glance at the Hamann Arch and think better of it.

Didi returns now to the dislocated bosom of MK Dons and maybe he’s gone before we truly got to know him at all. “Africans can drive you mad,” he thundered on his last day, having made sure the cheque had already cleared.

He is replaced by Ossie, another stiff test for the subtitles boys. And any man who fielded the Famous Five will clearly make his own rules. “When you’re talking about Mexico, you’re talking about Bolivia or Colombia.”

With a hint of bromance in the air, Liam Brady seemed happy enough for Ossie to reconfigure the world whatever way he liked. “You used to score goals like that,” offered Chippy coquettishly at half-time in Slovakia-Paraguay.  ”So did you,” blushed Ossie.

Ossie will soon learn, no doubt, that his colleagues will mainly be talking about England. The first official England inquest was conducted by Chippy and Souey on Saturday night, RTE sparing Eamo and Gilesy on the basis, surely, that there will be at least one more of these to come.

So instead of pointing the finger at Playstations and education for England’s horrors, Souey blamed their high-altitude base for starving English bodies of oxygen. The theory seemed to be based largely on his own experiences in Mexico ’86, when he couldn’t muster the energy to keep his perm in order, never mind kick Klaus Allofs.

But it was as good an answer as anyone across the water has managed yet.

In fact, many of them are still getting to grips with the question. Lee Dixon hasn’t even put a fair price on it. “What happens to them when they put on an England shirt,” wondered Lineker. “That’s the 64 dollar question,” came the shout from the bargain basement.

Poor Alan Shearer’s whole world has been turned upside down. “England have struggled to keep the ball, but Japan can do it and we don’t really know their players,” he whimpered, failing to acknowledge this criterion would rule out anyone outside the Premier League completing a passing movement.

On Talksport, Mike Parry wondered if England would encounter “Germany or Siberia” in the second round. Of those options, only Germany looks off the current agenda.

This article first appeared in the Irish Examiner

“As Humprey Bogart said in, what was the picture Eamon, of all the places, in all the world…” Oh Gilesy, of all the gin joints, in all the towns, thank goodness you walked into ours. Now help yourself. The Bacardi and Cokes are on us tonight.

His movie reveries might be as sharp as Emile Heskey’s finishing, but you know Gilesy is up for it when he’s quoting Bogie instead of Bremner during the opening ceremony. Big tournaments are for big analysts.

And dare we say, whisper it, that Johnny needs a big tournament. A Champions League winter marked by Jose Mourinho’s tactical acumen was pockmarked by Gilesy’s insistence that there was no such thing as tactics at all.

It brought tears to our eyes to think it, but would Johnny soon be as relevant as the “personal stereos and that” he once blamed for the decline of international football?

But Gilesy’s performance in the aftermath of England’s defeat (ask George Hamilton) on Saturday night made us realise we had begun to ask too much from the Cabra magician. It’s not Gilesy’s role to know, ahhh, anything about the Uruguayans, Bill. It is not even Gilesy’s remit to wonder about the narrowness of South Africa’s 4-2-3-1.

Just as Gilesy the player was born to pull the strings, Gilesy the pundit was delivered fully formed in 1986, sporting a fetching golf shirt, to analyse the subject closest to his heart; midfield play.

A deliciously insightful 30-second clip cut through all the “shambles” rhetoric right to the heart of England’s struggles. Taking charge, Gilesy leaned forward in his pew as if to shake off his marker and make a couple of yards of space for himself.

Stevie Gerrard was the main target. “He’s walking around,” roared Johnny as a succession of England defenders gazed upfield in varying states of panic, wondering if there was anyone, anywhere willing to take delivery of the hot potatoes boiling over on their toes.

“No interest in making himself available to receive the ball,” damned Gilesy as both Stevie and Frank Lampard remained as oblivious to their rearguard’s needs as James Corden seems to be to the growing tide of public revulsion.

“I don’t think it’s that they don’t want to do it,” observed Gilesy almost kindly, “I think it’s that they don’t know how to do it.”

He could, of course, just as easily have been talking about his punditry counterparts across the water. At times you wonder if RTE would have any viewers left at all if it wasn’t for Gilesy, Eamo and Bill.

The lines to South Africa keep breaking down and RTE’s commentaries have invariably been a split second ahead of the action, allowing George Hamilton to intercept every moment of excitement just before a defender does.

And the Montrose response to the vuvuzela din typified the can-do spirit that has made this nation great. By Argentina-Nigeria on Saturday, BBC had adjusted the crowd and commentary levels to make things bearable. It was left to Billo to deliver the RTE solution: “Get used to it!”

One thing the BBC seems unlikely to fix is the Adebayor factor. Manu, as they have taken to calling him, might well be the most informative pundit of them all, but since he last took a breath after that dash towards the Arsenal fans, we’ll probably never find out.

“AssoonasyouhaveyournationalcountrytshirtonyouforgetaboutwholeWorldCup,” was an opening gambit. Hansen, naturally, is reacting like he walked into the one place in Lanzarote where they have no English. YOU. LIKE. FRANCE. YEAH? CHIPS. WITH. THAT. MERCI.

In fairness, there was one beautiful moment on Saturday afternoon, courtesy of Shearer, of all people. “The likes of Messi would play the game for nothing.” Manu’s quizzical glance was a picture.

At least with Jurgen Klinsmann – and occasionally Lee Dixon – trying bravely to inject sense, the Beeb are well ahead of ITV. Whatever about RTE’s technical issues, at least they are showing us the goals. While Adrian Chiles looks a disastrous signing, by turns patronising and cheerleading like a mean girl on Glee.

Flicking between RTE and ITV on Saturday night was like umpiring a tennis match between players in adjacent realities.

“I can’t believe England have played that badly,” volleyed Souness. “I thought we played well,” came Southgate’s weak backhand. 15-Love.

Dunphy: “Astonishingly inept.” Paddy Vieira, out of pure politeness surely: “They dominated the game from start to finish.” 30-Love.

Gilesy: “By far the worst performance of the tournament.” Keegan: “Good enough to win any game, including this one.” Chiles could at least have told him the score.

Chiles reassured his people that the 2006 winners drew with USA in their first assignment. But Billo is usually quick to sense blood on these occasions and this was no different. “So are we writing off England, lads?” Gilesy, on his toes now, was first into the net. “Yes!” Game, set and match.

This article first appeared in the Irish Examiner.

Larry Ryan has three questions for Eamo, Gilesy and Ronnie Whelan.

There were many conclusions drawn in the RTE studios at the end of Barcelona-Inter Milan last night.

The reputations of Pep Guardiola, Zlatan Ibrahimovic and La Liga, in particular, took another battering, not that Zlatan’s stock hadn’t already been long offloaded in Montrose.

Jose Mourinho, in turn, was a genius and a hateful individual. “Bad behaviour is bad behaviour, Bill,” was Gilesy’s verdict.

It was all great entertainment as usual, but the lads’ analysis of the game – particularly “senior analyst” John Giles – had three central planks:

1. There are no great tactics out there! Mourinho didn’t set out to defend!

2. Barcelona are defensively flawed because they won’t defend “on its merits”.

3. Barcelona should have played Lionel Messi wide.

In turn, we have three questions for the lads.

Tactics
As sure as moral courage and playing the game on its merits are the most prized assets in the Gilesy household, we know well that tactics are the most reviled. Well, not entirely, because in Gilesy’s view, tactics simply don’t exist.

Yet, these were Jose Mourinho’s words in the aftermath of the game:

“We didn’t want the ball because when Barcelona press and win the ball back, we lose our position.

I never want to lose position on the pitch so I didn’t want us to have the ball, we gave it away.”

Tactics John? Superb player as you were and magnificent judge of a footballer as you are, will you ever acknowledge that tactics are a fundamental part of every top-level football match?

Barcelona’s defending

The panel showed several clips of Inter’s defending last night and insisted it was a template Pep Guardiola should heed. In each of the clips, Inter had 7, 8 or possibly 9 players camped outside their own penalty area.

On other occasions, Barcelona have been praised for pressing high up the pitch, not letting opponents play their way out of trouble and effectively employing a “full court press” in the opponents’ half. A tactic in itself surely! It worked particularly well in the Emirates leg of their Arsenal tie – even if the pressure didn’t lead directly to goals.

However, one knock-on effect of a high-tempo pressing game surely must involve your back four, in turn, pressing on behind their midfield. Otherwise huge gaps materialise which good sides will inevitably exploit.
So an inevitably high defensive line becomes “crazy defending” when it’s occasionally breached.

How, then, should a “great side” manage to achieve both sides of this positional equation?

Messi’s position

Eamon wanted Messi wide, but Inter Milan had essentially conceded the flanks to Barcelona. They were happy to allow space out there, funnel the attackers down the line or back in front of their back four and force them to aim hopeful crosses, which they easily cleared time after time.

Good as Messi is, any tricky player needs someone to engage him before he can go past them. Out wide, Inter’s defenders would simply shepherd him down the line, refuse to dive in so he couldn’t beat them and force him to cross like everyone else.

Surely Barca needed Xavi and Messi close together to produce the two or three “bits of magic” – as Johnny likes to say – that would win the game?

And between the pair, they did create the chances for Pique and Bojan, only one of which, unfortunately for Pep, was converted.

As of 2pm today, the footballers of Cork City FC, a club that finished third in the League of Ireland last season, will be unemployed. After a disastrous catalogue of spiralling debts and broken promises, the club is being wound up in the High Court.

With it go the contracts of its players – and the outstanding payments they are owed. Along with the city’s place in the top division of Irish football.

Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, Major League Soccer is on the brink of meltdown. With the season due to resume in less than five weeks, players and league officials are locked in labour negotiations – and strike talk is everywhere.

Player rep Jimmy Conrad of the Kansas City Wizards told ESPN yesterday that he can’t see the season kicking off as scheduled.

“We feel like we’ve made a huge effort to be reasonable, to propose things that are within the confines of the single-entity structure. At this point they’re not even humoring us with something tangible. If things stay where they are, then it’s inevitable that a work stoppage is going to happen.”

The “they” in Jimmy’s beef is the MLS itself. Like most labour wrangles, the players’ dispute has many tentacles. But the nub of the MLS Players Union’s frustrations generally boils down to one factor – the players are owned and contracted by the league itself – and doled out to its various clubs.

The irony of the USA being the great socialists of world sport never goes away. While the best our own football can produce to deliver a level playing field is the occasional bumpy pitch; salary caps, player drafts and central ownership are just some of the egalitarian measures that feature throughout American sport.

And no sport is more socialist than soccer. While the major franchises in the three sports that remain closest to American hearts manage various commercial manoeuvres to cast aside the tiresome shackles of fairness, Major League Soccer would seem, on the face of it at least, to be a competition immersed in equality.

Since the league’s inception in 1996, there have been eight different winners of the MLS Trophy, with only four-time champs DC United making any fist of assembling a dynasty.

The league itself owns at least 51 per cent of all its clubs and holds all broadcasting rights – as well as intellectual property rights and lots of other small print. It also owns all the players, recruiting them, negotiating all salaries and controlling pay levels.

MLS contracts operators to run each club – awarding the management companies a share of gate receipts and other revenues. It’s a model that has proven quite popular with investors, who know from the outset just what they are getting into.

League president Mark Abbott recently announced that operators have committed to inject $60 million into their clubs over five years.

MLS investment is essentially a low-risk roll of the dice. Costs are pretty fixed. Owners don’t have to listen to fans’ demands for wild spending in pursuit of glory and with the league gradually expanding and bedding down a following, there are genuine hopes of a return on investment down the line.

Try selling that line to a potential investor in Cork City.

Of course there are downsides to central contracts and ludicrous examples of players locked in unworkable situations that echo the state of players’ rights in the English league in the early seventies.

The trade system has left several players locked to clubs who no longer really want them. When US international goalkeeper Kevin Hartman couldn’t agree an extended contract with the league and his club Kansas City, the club recruited another goalkeeper to replace him.

However, because clubs hold rights to a player for two years after his contract has expired, even if they aren’t going to resign him, Hartman is in limbo. He cannot sign for another MLS side unless that team trades with Kansas for his services.

How this peculiar brand of slavery isn’t a breach of some kind of labour law beggars belief. Of course the 1995 European Court of Justice “Bosman Ruling” prohibits this type of situation happening in European football.

So the MLSPU certainly appears to have some right on its side. Free agency for out-of-contract players would appear to be a reasonable demand. It’s also true that MLS players aren’t particularly highly-paid.

Taking the Beckhams and Donovans out of the equation, a typical wage for an average MLS player is around $80,000 per season, but many players earn $30,000 or less.

Yet the MLSPU are asking for more than just better conditions, they want to open up the way the league is run and hand clubs – and ultimately players – control of their own financial destinies.

MLSPU Executive Director Bob Foose recently remarked: “MLS has made tremendous strides in its first 14 seasons. We believe it’s now time to take the training wheels off and give MLS clubs the freedom to truly compete against each other and other clubs outside of the league in a manner that is consistent with what occurs everywhere else in the world.”

In other words, give capitalism its chance!

But in a fledging league where clubs still don’t break even despite all the central support, it seems dangerously early to invite sugar daddies to the party unsupervised.

Sure, players might be better off in the short term. Salaries would undoubtedly go up. But in this country, where there are no training wheels and the main wheels are buckled anyway, we’ve seen where mindless spending in search of glory eventually leads.

They might be about to find out across the water as well, if Portsmouth don’t wriggle out of their current difficulties.

Cork City manager Roddy Collins was a little harsh last week when he attempted to cast his players as central villains in the pantomime surrounding the club.

“You don’t take blood out of a stone. To hand out the salaries that were handed out at this club was an absolute disgrace. It was a massive abuse of finances and the players are laughing their way to the bank. Loyalty is paramount to any success, whether it’s a marriage, a family or a football club.”

Blaming players for accepting money offered to them is unfair. But if Cork City went bust as an MLS club, the league would simply replace the franchise and assign the players to the new club.

Perhaps the MLSPU should be careful what they wish for.

I don’t believe in God. I don’t believe in luck. I believe in football.

Words swimming in the head of Brian Howard Clough on the 44th day of his 44-day tenure as manager of Leeds United in 1974. At least words put there by David Peace in The Damned Utd, the book that sent Johnny Giles to the courts in protest at invented conversations between him and Clough.

To Clough, Johnny might have been the dirty Irishman from dirty Leeds, but in the grander scheme of things, there was little to divide the pair. We don’t know what Gilesy makes of God. Maybe he worries about God’s inferiority complex around him. But we know what he makes of football.

Until Saturday night. At half-time in Croke Park, Gilesy tried to set his stall out again. “I don’t believe in luck,” he started off and all seemed in place in the universe. For the first time in a long time however, Gilesy had cause to question his beliefs.

Here was an Irish team observing just one, at best, of Gilesy’s ten footballing commandments. We’ll give them honesty of effort but where was the bread and butter passing, the playing the game on its merits, the speculating to accumulate, the having the courage of your convictions, the tempo? Who was going to put his foot on the ball, dictate the pace of the game and bring people into the game? And where, let’s not forget, was the moral courage?

But they were getting away with it and Gilesy was stumped. “I’m baffled by it. Here we are, one-nil ahead, playing like we’ve played in all the matches, poorly.”

As Gilesy sank back perplexed in his pew, you could almost see him wondering if a lifetime’s work hadn’t been for naught. All those times he showed for the ball from Big Jack when maybe, just maybe, Jack might as well have knocked it long up to Sniffer. Or maybe just knocked it to nobody in particular. Which is probably what he wanted to do anyway.

Thankfully, Eamo took time out from reciting the new Litany of the Saints – Bernard Dunne is in for Tiger Woods – to reassure Johnny that giving the ball away wasn’t the brave new paradigm football had been waiting for.

“Very lucky. It’s a very poor performance. Bulgaria have had the ball 60 per cent of the time.  As the away team, it’s almost unprecedented in football.”

Even Sky rowed in to help out. Ray Houghton ducked under the cheerleading pompoms of a particularly orange Jeff Stelling to thank our stars. “We haven’t played at all. From box to box, Bulgaria have been in total control.”

In the end – and not for the first time – it took George Hamilton’s intervention to put things right.

In fairness to him, George has been a lot more careful with his chicken counting of late and it’s been a long time since… “I might be tempting fate but I can’t see the Poles scoring… oh noooo, they just have!” But you knew there was danger here the moment he started rummaging in the coop for Sunday’s roast.

“A win’s a win’s a win. And it you want to win you need the goal… Italy are only one-nil up in Podgorica. This is Kishichev, Petrov… oh noooo.”

Afterwards, you could see Gilesy took no pleasure in it, but you could have allowed him a moment’s relief at a belief system restored. “If you don’t do things right, ultimately you pay the price and that’s what happened tonight.”

Earlier Eamo had described Giovanni Trapattoni’s decision to bring in Anthony Stokes ahead of Andy Reid as “an insult to the culture of soccer.”

“His belief is that it’s his system that counts more than anything. I believe it’s footballers that count and the system is a backup.”

At least the colour was back in Gilesy’s cheeks. You could almost see it returning to his hair as well and picture the dirty Irishman spreading moral courage throughout the midfields of the old First Division.

“In football, you get what you deserve.”

Cloughie, even on the 44th day, would doubtless have agreed.

This article first appeared in the Irish Examiner.