Italia 90 – 30th June
1990 – Italy v Republic of Ireland in the quarter Finals of the
World Cup
25 year later, a recollection
Background
After
missing out on Euro '88 and Joxer due to college and lack of funds, I
was determined to get to a tournament in the future. When Ireland
qualified for Italia 90, my prayers were answered. I thought yes, now
I have the opportunity. I made plans for my own arrangements to be at
this tournament, to see Ireland take part in their first ever World
Cup Finals. The only flaw in my plan was my university exams. For
some strange, bizarre reason the exam dates were moved later in the
calendar year than normal. This was disastrous for me as they fell
right in the middle of the finals. I was devastated to say the least.
I had to resign myself to missing another competition.
So,
like many million other ,I was to see the World Cup Finals on the
telly .Now the craic was brilliant and the elevated feeling of the
good feel factor, emotions etc. was great. Throughout the group
stage, I was always wondering what it would be like to be out there.
I was dreaming of being there, especially when you saw all the
televised coverage of Irish fans and the numbers of them. The soccer
was not of a memorable level but was it ever really only about the
actual games and how they were played. Was it? No. It was about
Ireland and the explosion onto the world stage at a major global
sporting event. It was about us moving forward and really changing a
nation.
Well
back to the event. The group stage ended with England winning the
group and a stalemate with Holland and Ireland, tied on points and
goals. Nothing to separate them. Both had to draw lots to see who
they would play in the next round. Our luck was in, sort of, Ireland
was selected and would play Romania. The legendary Holland had to
play West Germany. Now we took on Romania and the mighty Hagi. That
day, in the Stadio Luigi Ferraris, Genoa, watching the sea of Irish
fans and the green white and orange around the stadium, it was
amazing. I was sitting in a bar with many other fixed to the game
with a continuous flow of beer. The game does not stick in the memory
as a master class of soccer but it was Ireland and we had managed to
get to penalties. Shoot outs we saw many times before, but never,
with the Irish team involved. So this experience was all new. Now we
knew what those commentators use to always talk about. A nerve
jangling affair. All of us in the bar were on the edge. When Packie
saved we went bananas. When O'Leary scored we went apesh?t. Everyone
simultaneously leapt into the air knocking chairs, tables, drinks,
you name it. The collective feeling shifted Ireland that day.
Arguably the tiger was born.
A
quarter final against Italy, the host nation, in Rome. Wow. At this
stage I had now completed my exams and had not really expected
Ireland to get so far. The quarter final was scheduled, the date was
the 30th June 1990 and the venue was the Stadio Olimpico in Rome
Planning
I
was living in London at the time and working as well as going to
University. So, unlike when Euro 88 was on, I at least, was earning
some money this time, not a lot, but at least I had a source of
income. I was working on a project with two others, my boss was a
Roscommon man and he was about 5 feet 4 inches, the other was a
travelling Kiwi about 6 feet 4inches. I am 5 feet 11 inches; our
heights come up again later. On the Thursday before the quarter
final I was chatting to them about the upcoming game and how I envied
all those that would be going to it, how difficult it would be for
anyone to get tickets for a QF against the host nation. As the
discussions progressed I began to really start thinking about what
would it be like to be there on the Saturday. So I raised the
question with the lads. I suggested why don't we check out how much
it might actually cost to get there and is it still possible. Now,
remember this was the days before computers being on every ones work
desk and mobile phones and internet. It was the good ould landline
and travel agents. So, as you do, whilst at work you start ringing
around. In fact all three of us started to ring around. Then one of
the travel agents got back to us on the Thursday afternoon and
confirmed he could get us flights direct to Rome on Saturday morning
for £150.00 return. We thought, yeh, go for it. So he reserved the
seats and we could sort out payment the next day. I could not
believe it, we were going to Rome. Flying out Saturday morning and
back Sunday. Yes, it was a flying visit. Although we had not match
tickets of accommodation, but did we care? No.
The
Twist
That
evening when I got into the flat my flatmates, older brother and a
good fiend where there and I told them I had booked a flight to
Italy, thought they would kill me with envy! Well excited I had
little sleep that night, wanting to get to work to get the tickets
booked and start seeking tickets for the game. I was fist into the
office and not long after arriving the phone rang. It was me boss
Tom. His call when something like this:' ah jaysus Paul you won't
believe it, I got home last night, I was getting me passport out only
to find out it was out of date, I am now on the way to the Irish
embassy to get a new one, I know someone there that hopefully can
help and get it sorted, can yah check on the flight to see how long
yer man can hold the ones to Rome'. There was most likely a few fcuk
thrown in there a well. I couldn’t believe it. Boom, smack in the
face, a jolt to reality. I did not know whether to laugh or cry. I
got onto the travel agents and he said he could hold the ticket till
noon. Now, remember no mobiles so I had to keep waiting for Tom call
me from a phone box. By this time the third partner in crime, the
Kiwi lad known as Fordy had turned in and I brought him up to speed.
Knowing Tom, he could not stop laughing but also knew what it might
mean. So we both started checking options for flights in case Tom got
sorted later. However, we did think he was in trouble with getting a
renewed passport. Tom did update throughout the morning, but we
missed the noon slot by about half an hour. When I rang the travel
agent at about 1230 he told they were gone, me heart sank along with
the prospects of getting to Rome. Then I said to him, just look for
any flights at all to Italy or even a neighbouring country. At this
stage now we were determined to get to Italy. Later that afternoon he
got back to us and confirmed that he could get us flights to Napoli.
So we just grabbed it and booked it straight away. This was about
4pm ,so that was it for work , we left had a beer and said we would
meet up at Luton airport the next morning for the 8am flight,
returning on the Sunday from Napoli in the afternoon sometime. So we
had our flight, but no accommodation and no match ticket, but it was
one step at a time, I was on my way to Italy.
The
flight out to Napoli
On
Saturday morning we caught the flight, I was proudly wearing my away
Irish jersey in white and the Opel sponsor. On flight we discussed
the day ahead, about how to get to Rome, what we do when we get
there, how to try and get tickets, where will all the Irish be based
and so on. One thing we did decide on was that as Fordy and I had not
been to Rome before and that Tom would be the driver of the rental
car we had to get in Napoli. Tom told us he went to Rome on his
honeymoon and so Fordy and I thought that was a good enough reason to
nominate Tom as the driver.
Now
England we due to play in Napoli on the Sunday evening against
Cameroon and so the police presence in Napoli airport was high and
there was a lot of English fans travelling. When we were going
through passport control we noticed that the officers were stopping
all English passport holders and asking them to wait on one side.
When I got to passport control officer I showed him my passport and
he said' Irlandese, welcome, we will beat you tonight, ha ha, but
enjoy’ and he waved me through. Tom followed me and he was let
through also. However, Fordy was travelling on a Kiwi passport, once
the passport officer saw the crest on the cover; he assumed it was
English so he sent him over with the English fans in the corner. He
tried in vain to explain where he was from but the officer was not
interested. So we told Fordy we would see him outside. One and half
hours later he came through to where we were waiting. What a start to
the venture. Nevertheless we had sorted out a hire car in the
meantime. The only car type they could give us was a fiat Uno. This
was tiny, so, hence the reference to our heights earlier. The only
person who the car really suited was Tom.
Napoli
to Rome
Without
further ado we headed off towards Rome. I recall it was a very hot
day. It was about 129 miles to travel so it would take about 3 to 4
hours to get into Rome. The motorway was fairly uneventful but I did
have my first taste of real espresso coffee in a little café we
stopped off at on route. I was use to just the normal instant coffee,
such as Nescafe with milk and sugar. So this espresso stuff rattled
me cage and knocked me socks off, but I liked it. Once on the road
again, we chatted with excitement and anticipation, otherwise the
driving was unremarkable until as we were coming into Rome it all
changed. The driving was crazy, cars crossing red lights, hooting,
and shouting, cutting across you, speeding, the works. We even had a
police vehicle stop beside and tell us to move on a red light.
Nevertheless, it seemed we were making good time and we would get
parked up in a reasonable time to try and suss out where the Irish
might be and check out any slim hopes of getting match tickets. If
there was none we would not be too upset for at least we got to Rome
to be part of it. As I had never been in Rome before, the drive
around was spectacular and crazy, seeing ancient ruins and in
particular actually passing by the coliseum. I was thrilled to see
it. However, it soon became of symbol of despair. You see Tom was
now lost driving around the city. He kept saying , ' oh yeh a I
remember that , we should go this way' When we heard this similar
comment several times and seeing the Coliseum for the eight time, we
had enough and said to Tom, just get this car parked up and we'll
get sorted. Somehow he managed to park up inside the old city walls.
As we were getting out of the car I notices a few Irish fans outside
a bar lapping up the sun and the pints. I went over to see what the
craic was, where they going to the game tonight? They were, so I
asked about tickets, they had none to spare but they said they heard
that the FAI was
selling
tickets in a hotel out near the airport. So we said lets chance it.
Only this time we told Tom we would get a taxi, he was not driving
any further in Rome.
The
match
When
we got to the hotel, there was a chap in reception, who, on seeing us
arrive in Irish gear, said, you here for tickets. to which I snapped
a yes back at him, mainly cause I could hardly believe what he said.
We followed his directions, up the stairs to the floor level and to
the room number he gave. Low and behold there was the door open to
the room and a table at the door with tickets for sale. I nearly
dropped. £40 a TICKET. For the quarter final. We purchased three
and turned on our heels. Our luck was in. So we decided to grab a
quick drink at the bar. For some bizarre reason Tom ordered three
freshly squeezed orange juices without any alcohol, don't ask me why.
But I just remember the price £20, half the price of the match
ticket, so it served him right. So that was it we made our way to
the Stadio Olimpico and what a scene it was on route, fans everywhere
, green waves one after the other, there seemed to be Irish
everywhere. The walk up to the stadium was amazing, with the tree
lined backdrop. I had goose bumps all over. I will never forget
walking up the steps into the arena and the noise, the sights; I
stood riveted to the spot in disbelief that I was actually there. I
had to pinch myself. It was one of those moments in one’s life that
you will never forget. There was Irish all over the stadium and we
could sing the place down, sometimes it felt like it was a home game.
The atmosphere was electric; sure you could power a small country on
it. The memory of the bodhrán beating away, the sustained clapping,
the Ole Ole. It was brilliant. It was right close to kick off but we
got the anthems. The game got under way and the crowd never stopped.
Then Schillaci struck the parry from Bonner straight into Schillaci
path and bang. We tried to play back into the game but it was not to
be. I did think we deserved a draw in normal time that night. Quinn’s
header was nearly there. I really thought that Ireland matched the
Italians and a draw would have been fair, that was my view on it. On
the final whistle, the Italian fans started to leave. However, there
was no sign of Irish fans leaving. In fact the singing and the volume
of the singing intensified. So much so, some Italians beside us
starting asking, 'hey who won the game’, in their wonderful Italian
accented English. Many did stay on to watch what was unfolding.
End
of the match
Most
of the stadium had now emptied and you could now see in clarity all
the pockets of Irish fans around the stadium. Then what happened
next will live for ever in my memory, it was super. All the fans
started to move toward the end of the stadium we were in. it was a
sight to see. Eventually we were all gathered in one area. What craic
it was, what chanting, singing, dancing and everything else. We must
have been there about ¾ to one hour and then the team came back out
along with Charlton and co and they all came over to us. It was
magic, never seen anything like it and doubt I will ever see anything
like it again. They joined in with us all for a while. Eventually we
all started leaving the stadium. There was about 15000- 20000 Irish
fans that night. . Outside a group of lads continue to play music,
there was bodhrán, tin whistles, pipes, and they led a march of
thousands of paddies back into central Rome. It was class. Did we
party that night. To be honest, have no idea where we ended up
drinking. At one point I recall on the edge of a square there Irish
lads with an enormous flag stretched across the road. The cars had to
pass under it. Most were good humoured about it but one person got
irate, he noticed a bus full of the very friendly Carabinieri nearby
and went to get them to sort it out. However, they just laughed and
enjoyed the craic with the Irish fans, as there was no harm being
done. The driver was well pissed off on gave the lads some good
Italian verbal.
Rome
to Napoli
We
had no accommodation that night so we continued long into the early
hours. We thought, as we need to head back to Napoli in the morning (
hah that was a joke , back in the morning!) we would crash in the
car, or we must have as do not really remember much just that I woke
up in the car. All I remember is at some stage I heard this shout
/scream. It was Fordy. He fell asleep on the ground beside the car.
So when someone got into their car adjacent to us, they decided to
rev the fcuk out of it and put the heebie-jeebies up Fordy. This in
turn startled me and I went to get up only find me head jammed. I was
in the back on the fiat Uno with me head stuck under the reclined
driver seat that Tom was nicely sleeping on with his short frame. How
I ended up like that I will never know. It was around 8am, must have
crashed out only for an hour. Anyhow we found a cafe, had several of
those wonderful Roman espressos’. Then we got ourselves together
and headed back towards Napoli. Now that was some tough drive, we
decided to keep off the motorway and take the coastal road. At one
stage along a rural area coming to a crossroads, there was a real
Italian type situation. On a road that was generally single lane
traffic, there was a line of cars three across and maybe 10 rows
long. There were no visible signs of an accident, all vehicles going
same direction, and most people out of their cars shouting at each
other. It was so bizarre, we drove past slowly staring at them and
thinking what the Fcuk are all these on?
Napoli
We
arrive back into Napoli in good time for our flight departure so we
decided to walk around the city a little. Unfortunately, as the
English were in town for the game that night we could not get any
alcohol. It was a dry city. I really could have done with a cure but
had to wait till we got to the airport. The water front in town was
nice and quiet but there were some less desirable areas that the
unwary could very easily walk into. It was clear that Napoli was
definitely not the calibre of the northern cities. It was nice to be
there though and look around. Napoli is etched in my memory because
it was were Maradona played and won many cups for them, often single
handily. Through channel 4 this is how I started watching Italian
soccer. To me, Maradona was and still remains the best footballer in
the world ever. This is just my opinion.
We eventually got to the airport and we more than happy to get into
the departure lounge so we could have some beers. So, how
disappointed and Pi??ed off were we to be told there was still no
alcohol to be served. Those English fans carried some reputation and
the Italians did not take any chances even when you were leaving
their country. At this stage, I was in dire need or a pick me up.
Flight
back
We
boarded our flight and settled in; I sat quietly for a bit with eyes
closed thinking back on the events of the last 24 hours or so. It was
fantastic, it felt more like two or three days. In flight services
started and we finally got a beer and, boy, did it taste good, at
that time it was the best beer I ever had. In the words of Paul
Hogan, that Australian comedian, Crocodile Dundee, ‘it was like an
angel crying on your tongue’. Then the pilot came over the system,
it was not his normal chat, he was getting information on how England
was doing against Cameroon. England was losing. Spontaneously, the
majority of the flight starting singing ‘; Cameroon, Cameroon,
Cameroon etc. etc. You see there was quite a few of us Irish on board
along with multiple other nations. However, this seemed to break the
ice and there was signing and craic all the way back on the flight.
One of best flights I have ever taken.
We
landed back into Luton and the three of us headed our separate ways.
Ireland got knocked out of their first World Cup Finals by Italy but
did this really matter to me or thousands others? Maybe or maybe not.
Ireland had reached a major global sporting event. We may have not
done much too how the game is played but we certainly did heaps for
how you should enjoy an event like this. How you can support your
team, thousands of ambassadors for the country. It also changed
Ireland. It changed me. I was hooked on the whole thing. Although we
did not make the next Euros, I did go to USA94, spent a month there.
Ah sure as yah say, sin sceal eile.
