THE LAST STRAW: There were surprises all round on Wednesday when the Leaving Cert kicked off against the background of the Ireland/ Germany match.
The English paper was "cruel", according to one teacher, with Elizabeth Bishop coming up for the second year running, when many students were expecting Emily Dickinson. But if that was cruel, it was nothing to the fate of the German footballers, who sat their Irish exam having long prepared for Roy Keane, only to find that Robbie Keane came up instead.
Ireland's success in Japan, such as it is, has raised a number of 100-mark questions with which even the brightest student might struggle. For example, a puzzled London Times asked during the week why Irish supporters celebrate by singing The Fields of Athenry, a song about a man transported during the famine for stealing food. This is a reasonable question. I've often wondered myself how low-lying pastureland in east Galway ever acquired poetic quality in a country that has always promoted its rugged coastal scenery while suppressing the midlands like a dirty secret.
But as to the song's main theme, I can only say to the Times that the cruelty of the English was a favourite subject here long before the Leaving Cert. That said, the key to the song's popularity may be its compatibility with the limited vocal register of the male football supporter, lacking as it does the high note of You'll Never Walk Alone, which is getting worse treatment in Japan than Damien Duff's ankles. This theory would also explain why Swing Low, Sweet Chariot is so popular with English rugby supporters. Maybe the Times could tell us why else some of the most intensely white people on earth celebrate success at a middle-class game by singing a Negro spiritual about death.
Another good question concerning Ireland was posed after Wednesday's match by the Berlin tabloid, B.Z. "Since when is a draw celebrated like a win?" it asked in wonderment. This is an all-the-more pertinent query since we have now drawn seven of our 11 games in World Cup finals, and most of the draws have inspired celebrations on a scale that in Berlin is reserved for special occasions, such as the collapse of East Germany.
Indeed, our World Cup record has forced fans to devise one of the subtlest slogans in world soccer, "You'll never beat the Irish", which tacitly acknowledges that the Irish will never beat you either.
We only seem to be comfortable when salvaging a 1-1 draw. Another German tabloid summarised Irish history to the effect that centuries of English occupation had turned us into a "wild and angry people". And while this may have been to draw too many conclusions from the German appearances of the Wolfe Tones, there is some truth in it. Given the deep feelings stirred by draws, it's possible we are not yet ready to deal with the emotions that might be unleashed by a World Cup victory. True, there was the famous win in 1994, when we got our equaliser early and the Italians embarrassed us by failing to score. But that was a freak result and, as you'll recall, the government fell soon afterwards.
A MORE fundamental question is posed by Waterford reader Ann Fetton, who wrote before the tournament asking me to estimate the chances of Irish success.
"I can tolerate us getting to the second round," she writes. "But I'm in trouble if we make the quarter-finals." She explains that a quarter-final could clash with an important upcoming event in her life, and that she fears arriving in a deserted maternity hospital.
"That's assuming I can bypass the blocked streets of Cappoquin as the resident motorists, not known for compliance with the traffic bye-laws, abandon their cars within 50 yards of the nearest pub." This is certainly an unfortunate fixture clash, and one which will be appreciated by Fine Gael, which was presented on Wednesday with a bouncing new leader, and found the happy cries of "it's a boy!" drowned out by a nation shouting "it's a goal!"
Anyway, her letter concludes: "Put me out of my misery and tell me - how slim are the nation's chances?"
Well, Ann, all I can say is, there's still hope. (Which, as Emily Dickinson said, is "the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words" - as opposed to the Irish football supporter, which is the thing with the inflatable hammer that perches on parked cars and sings the words without the tune.) But further progress depends only on us beating Saudi Arabia by two goals, beyond which we could win the tournament outright by drawing every game. In short, I'd get the epidural now, if I were you.
fmcnally@irish-times.ie