Wanting our children to have their Italia ’90

If you had told me six months ago that I would genuinely be heartbroken by Ireland missing out on the World Cup, I would have laughed at you.

And not just because the chances of it happening were so slim at the time.

My interest levels in the Irish soccer team and in the sport in general have drifted hugely in the past decade or so.

But you can get great energy from your own children’s interest and our eldest two really latched onto the Irish team for the first time in their lives.

Our daughter is nine and our eldest son is seven, and both have always been more into the fortunes of the Mayo Gaelic football team than the Irish soccer team. Perhaps that’s on account of being brought to games with their Dad. Our five-year-old has yet to catch the bug.

As far as soccer went, it never went further than the universal playground debate – Messi or Ronaldo? I’ve learned it is impossible to make an argument for both being really good footballers. To the child, it is a binary question. Frankie, our nine-year-old, is all in on Messi while Éamon was drawn to Ronaldo.

I worked that to my advantage too. Éamon was leaning towards supporting Liverpool like many of his friends but once I casually mentioned that Ronaldo once played for Manchester United (my boyhood team), a seed was planted and a few days later he volunteered that he wanted to support United because Ronaldo used to play for them.

In time, he might resent me for that given United’s recent struggles.

Even those efforts to steer him towards United were half-hearted. My own allegiances had faded badly by then. Football had become more commercial, Gaelic football filled the space, and the time once given to club soccer had long since gone.

But then it all started to change that wonderful evening in November when Ireland beat Portugal in the Aviva. Our kids wanted to stay up to watch it. Éamon was particularly keen to see Ronaldo against Ireland.

I wasn’t hopeful and knew a defeat would be hard to endure so I told them they could watch the first 15 minutes and we’d have to see from there. Suddenly, Ireland looked transformed and we committed to staying up until half-time. Incredibly, Ireland were 2-0 up at the break and sure how could you put them to bed then? I prepared for a nervous second-half but Ronaldo’s sending off made everything easier. The fact that Éamon was delighted about his hero going off showed he was all in too!

So up we all stayed and it was a lovely, communal experience enjoying a great Irish soccer moment with your kids. Hungary a few days later topped even that – watching in a local pub after a children’s circus event, with the sense that something unexpected might be building.

Suddenly, Troy Parrott took over Ronaldo and Messi in our house and with good reason.

It brought me back to my own childhood and the glory of 1990. I was just turned eight and it was a wonderful part of my childhood. I was all-in on that World Cup.

I faithfully put my pocket money aside to go into the old John Hanley’s newsagents on the Mall in Castlebar every Saturday morning to buy the latest Orbis sticker album and pages and there wasn’t a single detail in that folder I didn’t know.

The games are indelibly planted in my mind. I actually missed Kevin Sheedy’s goal against England. Little eight-year-old me didn’t take Gary Lineker’s opener for England too well and so I was out kicking a ball against the garage door in frustration when Sheedy equalised. The shouts inside gave it away.

The Romania game will forever stay in the soul of anyone lucky enough to watch it. I was sitting on a stool two feet to the side of the tele. I don’t know how many times I have seen it since but it has never lost its lustre. One of the strongest, finest childhood memories.

In 1994, I was 12 and watched every game possible. We had a bed and breakfast and I willingly gave up my room so I could stay on the couch and watch the late games.

I had a wall chart which I studiously filled out after every game and I found it at home a few months ago.

I often felt that our generation were unlucky to be so young for 1990 (and 1994 to a lesser extent) and not able to have the party of our lives in the pubs like those a decade or more older than us. We experienced that stage in 2002 but it was not a patch on 1990.

But with the passing of time, I am more and more aware how lucky we were to experience it at all.

Its impact has sometimes been overstated – it was credited with spawning the Celtic Tiger for instance. But it did change us and how we viewed our place in the world. It was far more than just a sporting occasion.

As we sat down to watch the Czechia game last week, I hoped and dreamed our kids would be able to experience the childish joy of cheering your country in a World Cup this summer.

Éamon has started collecting MatchAtax player cards and loves looking through my 1994 wall chart.

Unfortunately the Orbis 1990 folder didn’t survive and the person to blame has never been fully forgiven!

I hoped this could be their time, their summer. And it would be great fun guiding them along the way. I was fully back on the bandwagon – the ultimate fair weather supporter.

It looked like it was definitely going to happen at 2-0 up. A silly penalty conceded brought a bit of foreboding but the longer the second half wore on, the more it looked like we would hold on.

The kids were on tenterhooks. The late equaliser was soul-destroying and it felt like there was only one outcome from there, even in the lottery of penalties.

The heartbreak on the last penalty from your kids is hard to endure.

So too is the thought of being so close but missing out.

But this team have given the nation a massive lift and hopefully we will see them back in a major tournament in a few years.

Those of my generation can still be grateful for Jack Charlton, Packie Bonner and David O’Leary – and hopeful our own children will yet get their summer too.