Come on, you boys in green: for Ireland, its fans, and our man on the Emerald Isle, the World Cup journey was as important as the destination

Soccer Digest, August-Sept, 2002 by Aaron Zwas

ON MAY 30TH, I BEGAN MY World Cup journey by boarding an Aer Lingus flight for Dublin. Why Dublin? Because although soccer continues to gain popularity in America, the nation doesn't immerse itself in the World Cup the way most others do.

I got on that Aer Lingus flight hoping for a unique World Cup experience, in which an entire nation supports its team, and I wasn't disappointed. The country was beautiful, the beer was fantastic, the fans were great fun, and the campaign waged by "Jackie's Army" was hugely successful and entertaining. Most importantly, the grace and gratitude demonstrated by the team and its fans was a touching reminder that in World Cup soccer, for most of the world's nations success does not have to be an absolute or a prerequisite to national pride.

MAY 31, DUBLIN

ROY KEANE IS SENT HOME

Only days before I arrive in Ireland, Roy Keane--the Ireland captain and its only world-class player--is kicked off of the team by coach Mick McCarthy for undisclosed disciplinary problems. There is a tangible sense of unease in Dublin. Nearly everyone I speak with feels that Ireland will now not advance out of Group E (which also includes three-time world champion Germany, highly ranked Cameroon, and Saudi Arabia) without Keane's enthusiasm, doggedness, and vision.

JUNE 1, DUBLIN

IRELAND VS. CAMEROON

It's 6:30 a.m. I arrive a full hour before Ireland's first (and earliest) World Cup match, and the line outside of Frazer's Pub on O'Connell Street is already about 100 people long. It's so early that I'm barely conscious, but the crowd is animated and giddy. Everyone wears green and white, and more than a few have tied a flag to themselves in one manner or another. Once inside the pub, I meet two young fans who nicely sum up both sides of the only argument in Ireland at the moment: The Roy Keane Affair.

"Everyone expected a good run until Keane disgraced his country and the sport," says Micheal McHuah, a 20-year-old native Dubliner.

Micheal's mate, Ruairi Campbell, disagrees. "Without Keane, team spirit will be better and Ireland will get one or two wins," says the friend.

I leave the two friends, pints in hand, as they voice their personal views in increasingly louder and more callous tones and speak with several other people in the bar.

The demographics at the pub are across the spectrum. I meet high-schoolers, retirees, professionals, laborers, and college students. About a third of the supporters are women, and they are no less knowledgeable of or vigorous in the support of their team. Remarkably, all of these people are in one bar, having the same sort of fun. The older folks downstairs don't appear to be any less liberal with their pints of beer as the college students up above. Everyone shakes my hand and takes the time to talk with me.

The match begins, and I am sad to see Ireland begin its World Cup campaign playing scared and reactively against fast, enthusiastic Cameroon. Ireland re-gains its composure toward the end of the first half, but Cameroon has a 1-0 lead.

Despite the team being down at the haft, the crowd at the bar happily sings Ireland's 1990 World Cup theme song. The song is a mixture of techno rhythms and keyboard riffs, the "ole-ole" chant, and lyrics about going to Italy as part of Jackie's Army. (This is a reference to the great Jackie Charlton, a former Manchester United star and the coach of that 1990 team, a quarterfinalist in Ireland's first World Cup finals appearance.) There is a new song for this World Cup, but I guess everyone likes the old one better; I will hear it about 100 more times during my two-week stay.

About 10 minutes into the second half, Matt Holland drives a low zip of a shot from outside the 18-yard box into the net. Ireland--both nation and team--is set alight. The bar explodes into pandemonium and cheers. Everyone jumps into the air at the same moment, and I feel the floor bend when we all land. Blur's "Song 2" with its arena-ready "Woo-Hoo" chorus blares from the sound system. The party atmosphere goes up a notch or two.

Dan and Lisa--a young married couple who were reluctant to speak with me only moments before--grab me by the neck. I have an arm around each of them, and Dan looks like he's about to weep. We are jumping--everyone is jumping!

Order is eventually restored in the bar, and Ireland completely dominates the remainder of the match. Cameroon is left reeling, and most people (including myself) feel that the African champion was lucky to come away with the draw. Besides being happy with the one point, the Irish realize that they can compete without Roy Keane.

When the match ends, I head downstairs to get my full Irish breakfast (which is included with my $10 entry fee). It steadies me nicely after the three beers I drank by 9:30 a.m. Outside, I see patches of celebration all along O'Connell Street. One in every two people are wearing some type of Ireland attire, and Irish flags hang from the windows of most stores.

JUNE 3, DUBLIN

At Mulligan's Pub, I meet Noreen, a 29-year-old IT project manager, and her boyfriend, Ryan. Noreen tells me that her boss has just had a baby, and that the woman next to her in the maternity ward named her baby girl "Keane" because she was born on the day that Roy Keane returned home. Maybe it's just me, but I have yet to meet someone in America who has named her daughter Jeter or Sosa.