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Youghal Never Beat The Irish

 I was in a pub in Cork City the day before the 2006 World Cup Final. I was down there on a stag do. Apparently Cork is famous or infamous for its weekend night time door policy - if you look like you've even a few pints on you, you'll not get in anywhere. Hence the almost empty city centre bar on a Saturday afternoon. On the wall, there was a framed Celtic shirt signed by one of the Rebel County's greatest sons and the Saipan debate reignited among our party. Roy Keane famously fell out with manager Mick McCarthy on the eve of the 2002 World Cup when differences in opinion about the Republic of Irelands preparation and in particular the facilities at the Pacific Island paradise, led to Keane being sent home, seemingly putting an end to the Republics chances of getting out of the group. It was interesting that the only Keane shirt on the wall in his home city was a Celtic one and there was no sign of the two teams he represented most famously but fell out with so publicly. In the pub, there were Liverpool, United and Celtic fans but we were all Ireland fans to some degree. The United fans said Keane was right, others said McCarthy was right, the midfielder from Mayfield was even described as a traitorous bastard by one. If you want to know how big a deal this was at the time, there was a prime time news special on RTE where Keane gave his side and said he would return to the squad if it could be arranged. An Taoiseach and Man Utd fan, Bertie Ahern tried but failed to broker Keanes return. 

As a Liverpool fan, I've always had a strange relationship with Roy Keane. Captain of an all conquering United but Irish superstar and later of captain of Ireland. When he broke through at Forest and signed for Man Utd, there was talk in my wider family that we were related to him. Our grandfather, who none of us had ever met, was a Cork man called Keane. My view on the 2002 World Cup was that ironically it was the biggest missed opportunity in the history of Irish football. Ironic because Keane always bemoaned the lack of professionalism meant Ireland could never match what Keane achieved at United. Without their star player, Ireland qualified from the group having drawn with Germany. They went out on penalties to Spain in the last 16, the Spaniards lost to hosts South Korea on penalties in the quarter finals who went on to only lose 1 nil to Germany in the semi finals and set up a final with Brazil. It's not too much of a leap of faith to think that an Ireland with Roy Keane in the form he showed against Holland that clinched qualification, could have led Ireland all the way to a final against Brazil.


As the debate got more and more heated in the bar, a man sat in the corner like The Bull McCabe was asked for his opinion on Keane. He got up out of his seat with the help of a stick, gathered up his things and came towards us "Tis my son you are talking about" he said hoarsely. My friends were stunned to silence. I stood up "Are you related to a Willy Keane, married a woman from Co. Armagh, moved to the north and then over to England?". He looked at me dismissively "There's loads of Keanes in Cork" and left. The barman confirmed that this was indeed Mossy Keane, father of Roy whose career and personality we had been loudly and drunkenly passing judgement on for some time that afternoon. Suffice to say the day time drinking put an end to our night time plans and we ended up in our hotel lobby all night. Worse was to follow when our driver, who is not unlike Roy Keane in personality and temperament, took the head staggers and drove home in the middle night leaving us to get trains home the length of the country the next day.  There was some satisfaction when we heard he'd safely made the 4 hour drive home through the night only to crash into the gatepost of his driveway, waking the whole street. I got home much later that day in time to see Zidane just about score a Panenka in the biggest game in football then head butt Marco Materazzi in the chest, get sent off and cost his country another World Cup victory. Some things never change. Turns out my grandfather was from Youghal in Co. Cork, home of the jockey, Davy Russell. He's not related to me either.



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