“Heyyyy!” roared Séamus Coleman at his teammates. “F**kin’ liven up!”
We were less than 15 minutes into the last international game any of these players ever wanted to play in and Coleman, as always, was behaving as if it was the last one he ever will. Which, as everyone in the ground already knew, it was highly likely to be.
He was standing ready to take a throw-in, whirring his right arm in a rage, essentially telling his team-mates to get over themselves. He wanted somebody to make a run, to show willing, to forget about Prague and the Czechs and the World Cup and to get on with playing for Ireland. The pitchside microphone picked it up, clear as a bell. The TV commentary chuckled in response.
Because how could you not? There was a slightly baleful irony here, in that Coleman’s Ireland career was winding down with him doing exactly what so many of these nights had called for in the 15 years since he made his debut. Here he was, 37 years old, refusing to accept the general torpor of a nothing game, getting on the case of team-mates who he felt could offer more.
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This was Coleman’s 79th cap, meaning only 15 players have ever made more appearances in a green shirt. He has played for Ireland alongside players born in 1976 (Shay Given) and 2004 (Evan Ferguson and James Abankwah, who replaced him here). He is Ireland’s oldest outfield player since Kevin Moran – in fact, the only non-goalies who have played for Ireland beyond Coleman’s age since the foundation of the state are Moran and John Giles.
All of which is to say – seriously lads, f**kin’ liven up! This looks very much like it is going to be Séamie Coleman’s last hurrah. He’s walked out on to the pitch holding the hands of his three kids – Lily (8), Ellie (6) and Blake (3). He’s teared up ever so slightly during the national anthem. And now he’s standing over a throw-in with only one Irish player within 30 yards. You’re not going to let him go out like this, surely to God?
Coleman’s instinct for tapping into the emotional pitch a game needs would survive a nuclear attack. The danger from the off was that this encounter would stew in its own misery but he wasn’t having any of that. His first intervention here was to play a snappy give-and-go with Chiedozie Ogbene to get Ireland moving. Soon after, they combined for another one to force Ireland’s first corner.
But as he has found so often during his international career, there’s only so much one player can do. However willing, however rousing, however belligerent – the story of Coleman’s time with Ireland has been mostly one of frustration. There was more of it here. Ireland were the better team, they made the best chances, they didn’t take any of them. Ho-hum.
He kept at it for the hour he was on the pitch. He and Ogbene were constantly Ireland’s most reliable pipeline to the attacking third, chipping and chiselling away to try and get in behind the North Macedonian cover. One electric succession of one-touch passing in the first half went from Finn Azaz to Coleman and back to Azaz with a perfectly disguised pass, leaving the Southampton schemer in space to find Troy Parrott on the penalty spot. Parrott turned and whipped his shot against the post. Coleman trudged back to his position.
The crowd were willing him to get something out of it. He has always been the last man back when Ireland go up for a corner or a free-kick and his covering gives the others a security blanket. He whistled up a lovely dummy here, facing back towards Caoimhín Kelleher’s goal after one of them and throwing the Macedonian breakaway attacker for a loop. The 39,000 crowd cheered him to the rafters.
When the end came, there was small a hint of farce about it. By rights, Coleman deserved the whole trumpets and fireworks job, left alone on the pitch to make his walk to the bench being hailed by all around. As it was, he became part of a 16-player mass substitution event, the kind of thing you normally see at a preseason friendly in Doha or some such.
The poor, put-upon fourth official almost had Repetitive Strain Injury overseeing the whole thing, whipping boards up and down for a good four minutes. He didn’t even manage to give Coleman the nod of being the last one called – Mark Travers came on for Kelleher after him. Coleman sprinted off the pitch, egoless to the end.
The crowd weren’t going to let him off that easy though. They didn’t know, any more than the rest of us, if this was indeed it. But they gave him his send-off anyway, singing ‘There’s only one Seamus Coleman ...”
That there is. Whatever happens from here, we’ve been blessed to have him.
