An Irishman's Diary

IN THE win-or-bust mentality of US sport, draws are non-events. They satisfy neither players nor supporters and so occur rarely. Commenting on the excitement levels of a “tie” his team had just secured, an American football coach once likened the result to “kissing your sister”.

It’s different this side of the Atlantic. Especially in soccer, sister-kissing – or at least drawing with your opponents – is a highly-valued activity. And yet only last week, experts were speculating that European football might be going the same way as US sport. The cause was an unusual run of results that had forced bookmaking companies to consider posting profit warnings. Part of the problem was too many well-backed horses winning. But the main issue was soccer. Of the new English Premiership season’s first 66 games, only four had ended in draws: the bookies’ favourite result.

The expected number would be 15 or 16, and the question was whether this was a statistical blip, or a permanent culture-change. Liverpool’s experience last season, when they lost only two matches but finished nowhere because they drew 11, was cited as a possible influence. So was the influx of US money into the Premiership.

Then, just as punters were closing in to take scalps, the cavalry rode over the hill, with four more draws last weekend alone. Surprise surprise: the bookies’ fears appear to have been unfounded. And now, as if to underline the point, the coming weekend sees an international match between Ireland and Italy.

In that US football coach’s metaphor, the Republic of Ireland soccer team has a devotion to its sister that would have embarrassed William Wordsworth. So prone are we to drawing big matches that supporters have even created a special chant for such occasions. “You’ll Never Beat the Irish,” we sing, implicitly admitting that the Irish won’t beat you either.

Remember the heady days of 1990 when Jack Charlton’s heroes reached the World Cup’s last eight? A thrilling 1-1 defeat of England; a 0-0 thrashing of Egypt; another narrow victory (1-1 again) against Holland; then that nail-biting scoreless triumph over Romania. For a time it looked like we could draw our way to the final, until a statistical blip called “Schillaci” spoiled everything.

While Danny Blanchflower used to urge his Northern Ireland team to equalise before the opposition scored, sister-kissing etiquette is different south of the Border. The Republic generally prefers to let the other team score first, preferably early, and then storm back for a moral victory, preferably late.

This is not confined to soccer, incidentally. There are similar patterns in, for example, politics. Consider the Lisbon referendum series, and the earlier Nice one, both of which resulted in a 1-1 triumph for the Yes side, courtesy of dramatic last-gasp equalisers.

But the classic soccer version was the 2002 World Cup match against Germany, when Robbie Keane struck at the death to complete a one-all rout of Germany. That tournament also saw us come from behind for draws with Cameroon and Spain. Again, only a single result (3-0 against Saudi Arabia) spoiled a perfect record.

Of course, as you’ll recall, the Republic also qualified for the 1994 tournament in the US. On that occasion, we were briefly infected by decadent American ways: actually beating Italy 1-0 and then losing to Mexico 2-1. So, back in Ireland, but caught up in the craziness that was happening over there, I took a gamble.

A no-frills US airline was offering very cheap transatlantic fares at the time. And calculating that the newly reckless Irish would win their last group game against Norway, thereby topping the table and securing a round-of-16 match against Bulgaria on July 5th in New Jersey, I booked a flight to New York on July 4th: just in time for the knock-outs.

Whereupon, treacherously, Ireland reverted to type, playing out a chaste scoreless draw against Norway that left us second in the group. Rather than Bulgaria in New Jersey on July 5th, we met Holland in Orlando on July 4th: a debacle that occurred while I was 30,000 feet over Newfoundland.

The whole point of the 1994 World Cup, by the way, was to woo Americans with the romance of soccer. A cause that was seemingly furthered when Brazil and Italy – the Romeo and Juliet of international football – qualified for the final. At which stage, unfortunately for Fifa, the US was treated to the spectacle of both teams kissing their sisters, in slow motion, for two excruciating hours; while baseball and gridiron heaved sighs of relief.

Fifteen years on, unsurprisingly, the US still hasn’t succumbed. And the other thing that hasn’t changed about soccer is the Republic of Ireland’s unshakeable commitment to drawing games where possible: including a whopping 50 per cent of our 2010 World Cup qualifiers so far. For a time this year, Trapattoni’s men were mirroring – in their own warped way – the heroics of Irish wonder-horse Sea the Stars as it rampaged though Europe, winning a big race a month. In March, Ireland thumped Bulgaria 1-1. In April, we edged out Italy by the same scoreline. May saw us hammer Nigeria in a friendly in London, again 1-1. And in June, we emphasised our superiority over the Bulgarians with yet another 1-1 score, in Sofia.

Tomorrow, we meet the Italians in the home leg, with both sides apparently in adventurous mood. Marcello Lippi insists his side will not settle for a point. Trapattoni, who taught Lippi everything he knows, says Ireland will attack “fearlessly”. There can only be one result.