Out of the dustbin of shattered illusions spring vindicated dreams
Analysis of the Ireland-Spain game.
We are once more blundering towards exterior darkness. Against Spain we snatched a draw from the jaws of victory and, thereby, stumbled a little further away from the limelight. We will simply have to stop congratulating ourselves on having assembled our best ever squad, and get down to extracting the maximum from our limited ability and, so far, untapped potential.
Spain were dreadful; a far worse team than the Iceland we handled comfortably enough. Yet we surrendered a goal lead, and contrived, through sheer wilful invocation of the national death wish, to go two down. We are beset by a variety of individual weaknesses and peccadilloes, which in aggregate constitute a fundamental qualitative handicap. And we lack three of the basic general requirements for international football - defenders, tactical nous and flexibility, and composure.
Our meandering about the strength of our squad is fatuous while we possess only one defender - Kevin Moran - who would be in the running for a place in any of Europe's top four or five teams. Devine is naive and imprecise. Against Spain he was caught out of position inexcusably often in consequence of impetuosity, absence of vision, and execrable ballplay. His tackling is courageous and, to the recipient, usually memorable, but vehemence is no substitute for lucidity.
Martin's day is past. He had an appalling game, and the fact that he was not - or could not be - substituted emphasises our lack of defensive ability.
Lawrenson was never more than adequate. He seemed, understandably, to suffer difficulties of adjustment, and the antics of his neighbours did not help. Whatever his personal preference may be, there is little doubt that if given a chance to settle at midfield with Brady and Grealish he would make his best contribution there. However, with little prospect of our defensive disarray being remedied in his absence, he is likely to remain at the back. His lack of success at right full against Holland and the memory of some of his fine games in partnership with O'Leary may prompt Eoin Hand to play this pairing in the centre and Moran on a flank. It may very well be the best arrangement, though O'Leary's form, too, is in something of a recession. There were times when he seemed to be positively lumbering against Holland, and his club form also is said to be in decline.
Hughton, in common with all our full backs, is haphazard, and can, though the smoothness of his movement might seem to belie it, be caught for pace.
And these individual problems are compounded by collective ones. Our defenders seldom or never manifest any notable percipience or accuracy in their passing out of defence, again excepting Moran and O'Leary at his best. This increases the burden of the mid fielders, and often brings the opposition straight back within range of our goal. And, at least against Spain, each one of them seemed to be hearing a different drum - the notions of coordination on display were redolent of nothing so much as Galtieri's forward planning.
We have splendid midfielders, but some malign gremlin ordains that they - or even a sufficiency of them - will never be fit at the same time. And it is here at midfield that our tactical tardiness is proving costly. We had Spain in tatters for more than half an hour, yet we created only three really clear-cut chances in that time. O'Callaghan was given too few openings to do what he did so spectacularly later on, and, for all our possession, Stapleton and Robinson were left outnumbered unconscionably often. Grealish's non-combatant status didn't help, but our insensitivity towards the possibility of outflanking the opposition was a greater drawback than his injury.
Our period of dominance in the second half did not show forth any greater tactical acuity. Passion, not percipience, was its guiding quality; the bludgeon, not the scalpel, its chosen instrument. There are very few sounds more pathetic than an Irish crowd baying for Garryowens. McDonagh's compliance was, no doubt, commendably democratic; but modern football matches, even against Spain, are not won by the buck root.
We have in Brady and O'Callaghan two players who can dribble. They are precious, for their kind has been largely supplanted by a hybrid who 'runs at people'. And we, in our profligacy, are simply not giving them room to play.
We have, however, a special problem with Brady - or rather with the rules of the game. There is no point in howling at the referee every time some Mafioso assails our best player. The ref is doing his best: the rules allow the assaults, since the only sanction they provide is a finger wagging or yellow card for a first offence, and - in theory - dismissal for a second. All of which merely means, of course, that your Mafioso, being a man of some sense and not at all anxious to miss out on his fee for the next game, will make sure that he does enough damage at first clogging, and if unsuccessful will delegate the project to his pals. Until the day when penalty kicks are awarded for dirty and/or professional (i.e. cheating) fouls, irrespective of where they are committed, stylish 'pure' footballers like Brady will be profaned by mercenary hallions.
We might be well advised to leave Whelan out of our calculations. Liverpool F.C. has an inside track with the fates which preside over English foot· ball, and all Whelan's injuries are pre· destined to coincide with our international engagements.
Grimes did not play well against Spain. He seemed, at times, unsure about his role in the scheme of things. But there is room for him. We should, if we deploy our men prudently, be able to contrive, against any opposition, one or two chances of the type that produced that fulminating goal. And Grimes will do his share of the donkey work; which is more than can be said for Daly, who should be allowed to indulge his predilection for brooding - in the stands. Waddock is a useful warhorse but, for the present at any rate, Grimes is the better player.
It is a holy and a wholesome day when we can say that Ireland's forwards are doing us proud. The finishing of Stapleton has been splendid, and Robinson wears the look of a man who might get a brace per game for years to come if only that very first one would go in. We have not seen enough of Galvin, but if he can complement Stapleton and Robinson we will not fail for want of fire power.
We are, in consequence of the loss of a point to Spain, now outsiders to qualify for the finals. And yet four points from the return games against Holland and Spain would have us crowing pretty stridently again. And those four points are eminently obtainable. We have proven ourselves a match for Holland, who will not come to Dublin in any spirit of festivity, and who have not realised . that when they are grimmest they are usually beaten.
As for Spain, they are an atrocious and repulsive team, and we should embark for their shores with a song in our hearts and steel in our toecaps: the sundered brethren have shown the way. We will get two points from this match unless Spain's little ways with referees prove potent yet again. That forecast is based upon confidence that our injury list, and therefore our defence, can never be as bad again. And that Brady and O'Callaghan will be encouraged and facilitated to do what they were born to do. Which is making a gudgeon out of the other fellow and going on to present a chance to one of our own. And, in order to do all that, we must keep out of each others way.
We have another fault to overcome: we are horrifically flappable. Spain's first goal was suckerish indeed: but the plague of palsy it spread amongst our fellows would have allowed a churnful of goals before half-time to any team other than the wretched Spaniards. That the disorder was not cured at the interval is additionally worrying.
As the man said, out of the dustbin of shattered illusions spring vindicated teams. We have the fortitude and a sprinkling of the flair. A goodly increment of steadiness and cunning might yet see us not so down and out in Paris come 1984.