An Irishman's Diary

With A final round of handshakes and a wave to the crowd, he was gone. "Ladies and gentlemen, for the last time, Paul McGrath," said the Lansdowne Road PA man. As if watching the event wasn't hard enough, we had to hear it as well. Half an hour later the great man, looking as elegant off the pitch in a black designer suit as he had always done on it, was attempting to explain his own extraordinary popularity. A journalist had just asked him a most unfair question: "Paul, you're the most popular player ever to play for Ireland. Why do you think that is?". Shy, self-effacing man that he is, he might have been expected to dodge that one, but he tackled it as he would an Italian striker bearing down on goal. "I think a lot of people see in me some of the flaws they have in themselves. I keep getting forgiven for some of the things I do, possibly too often, in fact."

Fans forgive anything

Self-assessments don't come more honest or more accurate. As fans we would have forgiven Paul McGrath anything, and occasionally we did. I hope he would forgive me too, if he knew that I was once, briefly, among the posse of journalists chasing him around town after he went AWOL before a major international in Dublin.

I was having an after-work drink with two colleagues, one a news reporter like myself and the other a soccer writer. "Oooh Aaah Paul McGrath" had become "Ou est Paul McGrath?" in that morning's tabloid headlines, and we had little else on our minds but that question.

A possible answer suddenly appeared when my soccer colleague's editor phoned him and said he had just heard that McGrath had been spotted in Walsh's pub in Stoneybatter. Could he check it out? We headed for Stoneybatter. I didn't know Walsh's then but I know it now; it's a welcoming, unspoilt sort of place but that night it seemed like every head at the bar slowly turned in our direction and fixed a stare on us, as if we had just walked into a wild west saloon.

My soccer writing friend felt too intimidated to ask anyone if, by any chance, they'd been having a pint in the last half an hour with Ireland's most wanted man. There was no sign of McGrath himself but there was a black man sitting alone at the bar. He didn't look at all like McGrath but his presence gave my colleague an out. He phoned his office and, almost speaking in code as it seemed everyone in the bar was trying to figure out our business, informed his editor: "Ah, false alarm. Another gentleman. Mistaken identity."

We remained until closing time and we were about to leave when my fellow news reporter finally ventured to ask the barman: "I believe this is Paul McGrath's local, is that right?" "No," said the barman curtly, wiping the counter and not looking up. He continued for a few seconds before adding: "He was in here tonight, though".

We had missed out on a major exclusive but in truth we were relieved. What on earth would we have said if we had found him? "No worries, Paul, we never saw you," likely as not.

His weakness

In an official booklet published to mark his testimonial, McGrath is astonishingly frank about how much trouble he caused himself by his weakness for drink. He describes how, after a sheltered upbringing in a "necklace of institutions", he took his first drink at 17 on the way home from a trip to Germany with his club, Dalkey United.

"All of the other lads had bought duty free and one of them opened a bottle of port. I decided I'd have a drink just to see what it was like and I remember just feeling wonderful with it. I thought "Jesus, I can do anything here'!". He also recalls how Jack Charlton welcomed him back into the fold when he thought his international career was over after he missed a World Cup qualifier in Albania.

"A week on the booze had left me in a depressed haze in Israel of all places when I should have been fighting Ireland's cause in Tirana. To make matters worse, I had got Caroline (later to become my wife) to phone and say my knee was sore. Jack would have known the truth immediately."

It wasn't his drinking, however, which made him a hero with the public. We loved him for his so-called character flaws, but Paul McGrath was admired and respected because, more than anything else, he was a great player.

He had a magnetic quality which made the ball seem to fall wherever he happened to be. The great German player, Franz Beckenbauer once said of himself that it was true he would lose to most players in a race from A to B. "However I don't usually start from A," he added. In races from A to B, Paul McGrath usually started from B.

Lansdowne Road was full to see McGrath off in his testimonial match, but not nearly as full as Dalymount Park for his international debut in 1985. No one knows how many people were in the compact Phibsborough stadium that night to see us play the then world champions, Italy, but it was at least one and a half time's Dalymount's proper capacity.

It would be nice to claim we had all turned up to see Paul McGrath and not the Italian World Cup-winning side which provided the opposition that night. It was a bit like going to see The Clancys in concert and realising years later that Bob Dylan was also on the bill.

Demanded to see him

Paul McGrath was on the bill for the last time at Lansdowne Road on Sunday, and only for nine minutes at the end of his testimonial match. He was clearly in no condition to play and only did so "out of respect" for the supporters who demanded to see him.

His contribution consisted of nothing more than a few tenyard passes, but every one was greeted with a cheer worthy of a World Cup final-winning goal. He was even cheered when he gave the ball away in front of the penalty area, a historic moment in itself, and a mistake which - even in the generous atmosphere which prevailed caused him no end of anguish.

Afterwards, reflecting on the match at an informal press conference which concluded with the rare sight of every journalist present asking for his autograph, he lamented the fact that those nine minutes had to happen and said he would prefer to be remembered "for the good times".

No worries, Paul. The good times were so good, and your contribution to them so great, we couldn't forget them if we tried.