`Oops, ah, Cantona' as Eric keeps his peace

ONE of the more cryptic post match quotes from last Saturday's English FA Cup Final was Eric Cantona's comment that he felt "half English, half French, half Irish".

The mystery was not that this made him a man and a half a modest enough claim and at least half a man short of his manager's estimate but rather the precise nature of his hitherto unsuspected Hibernian qualities.

Could it be something to do with the number of times Roy Keane has jumped on him after a goal? Or did he perhaps have an Irish granny? Either way, yesterday's promotional appearance in Dublin was a chance to find out.

It was an unusual occasion. The hosts were Beamish and Crawford, so the room in Fitzwilliam Place was thick with Cork accents. But United's two Corkmen were not part of the group assembled, and most of those who were Eric, Giggsy, Sharpy, Butty, and Gary Pallister were temporarily closeted in a separate room. Instead, the handlers gave us Steve Bruce, who was here chiefly to host the first of a series of dinners to mark his testimonial year.

A few question's for Steve, the hosts invited. There was an awkward silence, given that the question everybody wanted to ask was "Where's Eric?" But we managed a few half hearted queries about Steve's hamstring before the organisers, mercifully, brought out the rest of the troupe.

And when they presented the Frenchman with a little piece of crystal in the shape of Ireland, it was the perfect opportunity for him to strut his Hibernian stuff. But our hopes were shattered, as Eric struggled perceptibly to work out which end of Ireland was which.

A helpful voice suggested, as we tried to cope with the disappointment. This at least was a cue for him to say something witty and reassuring, teeing him up as surely as David James deflected punch.

We held our breath, as he mentally adjusted his footing and prepared to unleash an aphorism that would set the net dancing. But he said nothing, and then he was gone. In a flash, the handlers had whisked their men out the door, into the throng outside, with Eric gamely attempting autographs even as he was bundled into the waiting limousine.

"Did ye get him, Miriam. Did ye get Eric?" an excited autograph hunter asked her friend as the scrum broke up. "This is all I got of him," sighed Miriam, holding up a card with a beautifully described are on it which might just have been the top half of a letter E.

It was all a bit like the cup final without the goal.