Sideline Cut: Saturday night in Moscow. A dense smog has descended upon the city and the streets are deserted. The Irish team are returning from a 2-2 draw and are in celebratory mood thanks to a last-gasp equaliser from Robbie Keane, writes Keith Duggan

But the journey back to the hotel is taking its toll. New traffic signs have confused the surly Russian coach driver, Vladimir. It is after midnight.

Mick: Bloody hell, lads. A've not seen smog like this since Baaan-sley. A'll tell ya what, it's a bloody diz-graze. They've let me down.

Ghost of Roy: They've let you down? Who are they? You should have taken care of it, Mick. Like, there was never any smog in Rockmount, boy.

Packie: Och, it's fierce, right enough. Like Gweedore. Like a mist.

Duffer: Like a red mist wha'? [General laughter]

Mick: Steady Duffer, steady. How's the lad Robbie? How's his barnet? A've told him before the game.

A've taken him aside and A've said, Keano, it's a risk. A've told him not to be turning bloody tumbles in the smog. E'll get some stick for this.

Robbie [bandaged and moaning gently]: Jaysus, Gaffer. Me noggin's done. It was me second tumble. Landed perfect and there was the bleedin' post, straight into me Brendan Grace.

Trigger [standing up]: At the end of the day, it was a rush a blood to the head, Keano. Get it lads? Moscow, rush-a."

Mick: Don't be daft, Trig.

Kenny Cunningham [studiously pouring over a map of Moscow]: I think we need to be making a left soon, gov. I reckon we are near enough to Lenin's Tomb now."

Trigger: Brill. Top lad, him. [Begins to sing] "There's nothin' you can say that can't be sung. Nothin' you can do that can't be done."

Ghost of Quinny: "It's Ea-sy, Ba-ba-ba-, ba-ba-ba." Chorus: "All You Need is Love. Bah-bah-bah-bah."

Ghost of Roy [murmuring to himself]: Relax, Roy, relax.

Mick Byrne: Jaysus lads, this is great. Just like old times.

Kenny Cunningham: No lads, I mean Lenin the communist.

Voice from the back: What's a communist, gaffer?

Mick [scratching his head]: Bloody hell. I could do with a pint. Eh, Communist places have crap food and crap wages. They have no flash cars and crap boozers. Everywhere is closed, lads.

Clinton Morrison: Is Birmingham communist, gov?

Packie: Och, it was worse than that here, lads. The communists were called Reds. They had fierce tempers on them and wanted to be the best in the world. They'd give ye a wild bad time of it. They were never up for the craic, the commies."

Dunner: So, was Roy a commie, gaffer?

Mick \: You tell me, lads. You tell me. You never knew with Roy. It's a sad situation. It's got nought to do with me.

Dunner \: I miss Roy.

Trigger: Fail to prepare. Prepare to fail.

Kenny Cunningham: Gaffer, where are we going?

Mick \: A've said we are going to try and qualify for Portugal. A've gone on the record to say that.

Roy's not 'ere, but that's not my doin' and I can't do anything about it.

Kenny Cunningham: I mean now boss, where are we going now? Tonight?

Mick: Oh. A've not thought about it. A'm tryin to write the last chapter of this bloody book and you lot are doin' my head in.

Mick looks at Vladimir, who is unshaven and smoking heavily. He nudges Packie, who leans forward.

Packie: Eh, How's the form, eh Vlad. Suppose you're mad for a wee Smirnoff at this stage. Wadka, we call it up in Donegal. Aye, a wee wadka. Listen, the lads are fierce tired after that bit of a match and we were wondering if we are anywhere near home?

Vladimir \: Where is the leader?

Packie \: Bertie? Och, he couldn't get over, but he has to present The Premiership. It's a few poun'. Look it, he's fierce annoyed.

Kenny Cunningham \: Look, lads. The Kremlin.

Robbie: Jaysus Mick, let's just book in there. I'm mad for kip.

Chorus: Me too.

Trigger: What goes with the flow? Dead fish.

Packie [whispering to Mick]: I'd be worried about this lad Vlad. He's not well.

Mick: [standing up] If you've got a problem with me, Vladimir, say it out loud.

Vladimir [rolling up sleeve to reveal tattoo of Roy on his bicep. Begins to shout]: I very upset.

All my life, I wait to see Roy. Now, you come heere to my city but you not bring heem.

Mick [raising his voice]: Bloody hell. A've talked about this til I'm blue in the face. Roy's gone.

Vladimir [eyes welling up]: What about the poor cheeldren of Russia? You must take heeem back.

Ghost of Roy: Take me back? What do you mean 'take me back'?

Ghost of Quinny: I'm staring at the ceiling. I'm thinking, 'is there nothing we can do here'?

Mick \: Listen, lad. You're upset. It's upset us all. But we'll move on now. Bring us home.

Vladimir: It is too late? Roy has left us? We will not see heeem in the green?

Mick \: It's an unfortunate fact of life that it's not going to happen.

Vladimir: Then I have had enough. Sod thees. I am going home.

Ghost of Roy: Eh?

Chorus: Eh?

Mick: What will I tell the lads?

Vladimir: Tell them personal problems.

He stops the coach, removes the keys, opens the door and disappears through the smog. There is silence on the bus.

Kenny Cunningham: He was a great driver, but we'll just have to get there by ourselves, lads. I'd say we have only another few miles to go.

They leave the bus and stand together in the smog. The ground is treacherous and mucky.

Duffer: We trained on worse lads, wha? Which way anyhow?

Mick: Due north.

Kenny: South, I reckon gov.

Packie [looking up]: Where is the north star?

Robbie: It's down near Busarus.

Trigger: We're lost, lads.

Ghost of Roy: Nobody wanted this. Nobody wanted this.