The World Cup qualifying play-off first leg game between the Republic of Ireland and France at Croke Park in Dublin on Saturday Nov 14, 2009.
There has been much talk of conspiracy in Dublin, of the large oppressing the small, the mighty the weak, ever since Sepp Blatter and Fifa shifted the goalposts to hand Europe’s blue-bloods as easy as possible a ride to the World Cup.
Perhaps the Republic of Ireland could have coped with that. But just when they needed it most, though, luck conspired against them too, handing Nicolas Anelka a winning goal and France a precious advantage in the race to South Africa.
The Chelsea striker, at his brooding and moody worst, had heard his every touch jeered, his every moan heckled, when his hopeful shot squirmed off
Sean St Ledger’s boot and beyond the stranded Shay Given. Such good fortune will hardly have helped foster a cordiality between these two nations which the French, ever since they touched down late on Friday night, have seemed eager to dismantle.
The 74,103 crammed into Croke Park may have merrily bounced their way through Les Marseillaise and flown the tricolor on O’Connell Bridge to welcome their guests, but the French have hardly reciprocated the goodwill.
Raymond Domenech and his captain, Thierry Henry smirked their way through a cursory press conference as though they had been tasked with maintaining
Gallic stereotypes, while the Barcelona striker and Anelka, after all these years still an *enfant terrible*, swaggered around the pitch as though their destiny was pre-ordained.
Their performance scarcely warranted it. A glance down the respective team-sheets showed the immensity of the task facing the motley crew of
Premier League squad men at Trapattoni’s disposal, but if ever there was a lesson as to the role played by a manager, this was it.
What the Italian could do with the resources available to Domenech, both in terms of facilities and personnel, is anyone’s guess. What Domenech has done, on the other hand, is painfully obvious.
He has created a side which is a shadow of the country’s golden generation, one of bountiful technical ability but bereft of impetus, of direction, of identity.
The languid style which made Henry such a star has been aped by his team-mates, with the result that France’s attacks are tectonic in their pace. Nicolas Anelka, employed as a right-winger, is not a right-winger.
Countless moves stalled at their feet, countless jeers greeted his every touch, his every moan.
It took them 25 minutes to muster a shot at goal, so unsettled were they by Ireland’s harrying, and even then Andre-Pierre Gignac could only roll the ball gently into Shay Given’s arms. Four minutes later, he shot wide on the turn. “Who are you?” demanded Croke Park. This France are not equipped to answer.
Ireland, on the other hand, under the guidance of Trapattoni, know exactly who, and what, they are. They are greater than the sum of their parts, doughty and resilient, and possessed of a ferocious work ethic.
Once they had shed their early caution - Damien Duff and Liam Lawrence too often turning back instead of driving on - their approach almost brought its rewards. Duff, playing the percentages, lofted a free kick into the box,
Kevin Doyle made a nuisance of himself, Keane collected the ball and fired at Hugo Lloris, who parried straight at Lawrence, six yards out. The Stoke midfielder, somehow, shot wide, his blushes spared only by the sight of the linesman’s flag for a foul in the build-up.
It took France until after the break to wake, briefly, from their torpor.
For five minutes, they offered a glimpse of what they seem, on paper, capable of doing for 90. Anelka’s cleverly lifted cross found Gignac, who saw his chip tipped over by Given. Lassana Diarra almost commemorated his hard-earned control of the midfield with a thunderous 30-yard shot which whistled wide.
By the time the French did take the lead, that momentum had subsided. They had created little more of note when Anelka received Gignac’s pass on the edge of the penalty area, looked up, chanced his arm and saw his shot deflect off the helpless Sean St Ledger, and the post, on its way into the net.
It was the stroke of luck Ireland’s performance, rather than that of their visitors, had warranted. Had Gignac, presented with an open goal minutes later, doubled France’s ill-gotten lead, it may have been too much to take.
Still, there was no way back for Ireland. Aiden McGeady and Andrews sent hopeful shots wide, but it was to Whelan that his nation’s shot at salvation fell, after Leon Best and Keane worked the ball into his path.
Lloris, at point blank range, smothered it, by instinct rather than instruction. Such was Ireland’s luck, and France’s too.
