Praca trenera jest jak molo – kiedyś się kończy.

So, tomorrow night, the Republic of Ireland takes on Poland in a European Championships qualifier. 

For as long as I can remember I have actually cared about the fortunes of the Irish international football team.  

Childhood is to blame, obviously.

I remember lying in bed looking at a photographs of Liam Brady in the O’Neill’s Ireland strip shielding the ball in an encounter with a lesser, foreign mortal.

A German; not a Pole, but mutatis mutandis the point is the same: 

Brady was one of the most gifted players in  the world at the time – who’s to say he wasn’t the greatest – all I know is that he was always the best player on the pitch.

I mean he singlehandedly won the 1979 FA Cup Final:

Tomorrow night, when ‘we’ (probably) lose against Poland it will restate the painfully obvious – these days, Ireland doesn't have a player like Brady. Brady was the Lionel Messi of his day. The closest thing to Messi on the pitch tomorrow night will be wearing a white shirt:

My interest in the match tomorrow is based on two extremely tenuous links: firstly, there is the one I've been describing connecting me to Liam Brady’s shirt in that match against the Germans. 

When I started this blog I was thinking about imports and exports. Football has always been exported from Ireland. I’m talking about football here – not Gaelic football – and I refuse to use the ‘S’ word for the game.  

Brady’s shirt tells me that I’m Irish. I guess that’s it (with the exception of Kilkenny hurling). I am Irish to the extent that I deeply, deeply want the Irish football team to do well and Brady’s shirt is the symbol of the only version of Irish nationalism that I am comfortable with.

Brady was a world class genius towering above his peers. He played for Arsenal (scoring this incredible goal):

He played for Juventus becoming one of the greatest ‘foreign’ players in what was then the most skillful league in the world. 

Most importantly, he stood up to the church, the GAA and his teachers and chose to play football instead of Gaelic football even though it meant that he was expelled from his Secondary school.

The fact that Brady had no place in the Jack Charlton era of moronic kick and rush makes me love him even more.

My Hero.

Of course, Liam Brady is the father that I never had. I guess he’d tell me that losing to Poland would be a nightmare.

The truth is, my love for the Irish International football team has faded a bit.  The connection, initially tenuous (Liam Brady’s shirt) and later, all – devouring, has weakened.

The other connection?

Well there are 150, 000 Polish people living in Ireland now. Polish is the second most spoken language on this island.

I meet a lot of them and they're usually friendly.

When (if) Poland wins tomorrow I won’t really care. In fact, there is no other country that I would rather lose to.

There's obviously some kind of connection between the Irish and the Poles. What is it? Countess Markievicz?

I doubt it. It’s probably due to Catholicism.

This is really strange given that I am no more Catholic than my dog. Add to that my admiration for Brady's Gallieo - like two fingers to the church and I'm left wondering still. 

I don't get it.

To dziwna gra!