Big Jack

Even poorly run shambolic organisations can sometimes get it stunningly right.

For the avoidance of doubt, I have just described the Football Association of Ireland (FAI).

Appointing Big Jack Charlton as manager in 1986 was utterly inspired.

Like most of the important things in life, timing is crucial.

The mid-1980s was a very dark time on this island.

It was war without end in the Six Counties, and the economy of the Republic could only offer emigration as a viable option to many of our young people.

Yet sport can inspire dreams and divert us from the bleak reality.

Ray Houghton stuck the ball in the England net in Stuttgart only three months after the awful events of Gibraltar and Milltown.

Ireland was a land that desperately needed something joyous to cheer about.

The magnificent triviality of a football match allowed us to think that there could be better times ahead.

The peerless Christy Moore created the soundtrack for that decade in Ireland, and he captured that moment wonderfully.

The victory over England in Euro 88 was the start of something although we didn’t know it at the time.

In the darkest of times, Jack’s lads gave us moments to cherish.

Sport can do that for people.

Like all effective leaders, Charlton set standards from Day One.

The previous manager Eoin Hand was a thoroughly decent guy, but his writ didn’t run through all of the squad.

The first thing that Jack did was to make sure that everyone in the group was on the same page and pulling in the one direction.

The homes based players were no longer allowed to go to their families, and everyone had to stay at the team hotel.

Charlton wanted to build a unit that was battle-ready.

Quite simply, it was his way or no way, and Jack’s way was  Route One!

This means that players who had to adapt.

His major managerial issue was what to do with the hugely gifted Liam Brady.

Jack requited him to we wide left midfield in a rigid 4-4-2.

Brady’s job was not to be a floating Number 10 as he had been for Juventus and Sampdoria.

Instead, Jack wanted the Dubliner to pressurise their right back.

In Jackland, the unit was greater than the individual.

This was in keeping with his roots in the mining community where he grew up.

Throughout his playing career, the pragmatic had been emphasised over the aesthetic.

It was function, not flair and under Don Revie, at Leeds and  Alf Ramsey at England, the lanky centre half had embraced the simplicity of the game.

It was this rudimentary philosophy that he brought to management.

Two years after Stuttgart Jack’s Army followed the lads to Italy.

It was historic.

There isn’t a single Irish person over the age of forty who doesn’t remember that moment when the big man from Donegal guessed correctly and saved Daniel Timofte’s penalty.

When Dave O’Leary stepped up, the global Irish community held its breath.

Into the Quarter Finals of the World Cup, the big man from the North of England had been utterly vindicated.

Some senior players and their friends in the media had been excoriating about Charlton’s tactical approach to the beautiful game.

However, it worked, and we, the supporters, didn’t care.

He gave us reasons to cheer when we needed it most.

The homecoming for Jack and his boys was tumultuous.

Some social scientists reckon that it was the emotional kick start of the Celtic Tiger years.

The team itself was a statement of who we are as a diaspora nation.

Some British commentators sneered that FAI meant “Find Another Irishman”.

In reality, Charlton and his backroom team were merely utilising the FIFA rules.

Moreover, everyone who turned out in the green of Ireland wanted to be there.

I do recall the negative comments in Fair Caledonia about players who were not Irish born.

Of course, there was no reference made to Gough or Goram turning out for Scotland as they had Herrenvolk immunity.

If you’re not Second Generation Irish (2GI), then it is hard to convey what that diaspora squad said to us back then.

The great times started with Ray Houghton, a Glaswegian heading the ball into the England net and they reached their zenith when he looped it over Gianluca Pagliuca.

The global Gaeltacht went crazy.

Millions of us screamed in unison: “PUT HIM UNDER!”

The lads harried and harassed the gifted Italians to defend our slender lead.

Tommy Coyne ran himself beyond the point of exhaustion and Paul McGrath had the game of his life.

Jack was not one to lavish praise on individual players.

However, he confidently asserted after that match that McGrath was “the best central defender in the world”.

The big Dubliner had played as a defensive midfielder in Stuttgart, but he was now marshalling the backline wonderfully.

When the final whistle went, it was revenge for Rome and I hope that Salvatore Schillaci felt that.

I was in a pub in Belmullet that night, and I can’t do it justice.

Jaysus…

It was a little part of a nation that is spread all over the planet.

We were as one, and that was down to this big decent Englishman.

As the Irish all over the planet celebrated a historic victory in  New York dark beasts closed in on the innocents of Loughinisland.

It was an awful reminder of what we were seeking refuge from when we watched our boys in green.

The truth of that atrocity is still to be fully unearthed.

Many times, at the old Lansdowne Road we chanted “you’ll never beat the Irish”.

It had an important double meaning.

Jack had fashions a team that was very difficult to play against, and we could neutralise better sides.

As a people, we Irish had come through some tough times.

Many of us through the generations had to leave, but we loved our island and still do.

Charlton didn’t just travel into Ireland to take squad training and then leave.

He loved this place too and his fishing vacations were legendary, and he had a particular grá for Mayo.

Wise man.

Out on a boat in a quiet lake in the Wesht with a couple of fishing buddies was his idea of bliss.

I get that.

He gave us wonderful times when we needed them most.

Thanks, Jack, you’re one of our own.