As I sit writing this report in a kitchen in Rathmines, tears streaming down my face, I keep thinking back to Seamus Coleman walking around the pitch in Budapest, tears streaming down his face. Seamus, surely by now one of the greats of Irish football, is one of the only remaining players from our last appearance in a major tournament still playing for the national team. This means he’s one of the only players from that team to have to endure the wilderness of the last decade in its entirety, which makes him even more relatable to the Irish fans, as we have had no choice to endure those years of austerity. Any show of emotion on a day such as today is well earned; the 3-2 result against Hungary is even sweeter for the 2 goals that set us behind, for the years we have been absent in international tournaments, and for the joy on the faces of the squad in the postmatch glow.
For large parts of the game, it looked as if the occasion would be too much for the team. Players showed their inexperience in matches such as this with stupid fouls that allowed the Hungarians to slow the game down. Hungary, like Portugal, looked there for the taking when Ireland applied pressure, but were allowed to have their own way with the ball far too often. That Szobozlai spent so much of the game dominating the midfield is more of a reflection on Cullen and Molumbey than it is on the Liverpool man; despite his obvious engine and excellent striking of the ball, his best showcase of his attributes come when he’s not marked appropriately. Similarly, Hungary’s goals owe to Ireland’s indecisiveness in defence, rather than any great quality in their own play.
So it seemed this game would go the way of so many of the qualifiers, with Ireland’s passiveness in play leading to their downfall. Yet, as has been so encouraging throughout the campaign, the quality of individual performances shone through when needed most. Kelleher was outstanding as usual, with crucial saves in either half; he’s so consistently good that the rest of the footballing world might have to cop onto him soon enough. Ryan Manning and Festy Obesele brought much needed verve in wide areas when brought on; even my mortal enemy Finn Aziz added to the tempo in midfield as the game progressed. Hallgrimson deserves praise for making positive substitutions and for developing this formation and panel across the qualifiers; even when doubts surrounding the security of his job were circling, he stuck with his ideas for the team that we now see coming to the fore in the performances.
Yet the night belongs to Troy Parrot. Five goals in two games is an exceptional return for any striker without the last name Haaland, yet the conditions in which he’s delivered these goals only elevate his stature. With Evan Ferguson absent, the hole in the Irish attack appeared gaping, and Parrot, shunted to the bench somewhat by Ferguson’s ascendancy, met the occasion with aplomb. Darragh Maloney repeated in the closing phases that most cliche of football phrases, ‘it only takes a minute to score a goal,’ and we’ve seen since Thursday that it only takes two games to write yourself folklore. It might be too early to start calling for a Ballon’dor nomination, but my professional urges tell me to vindicate a proposed Ferguson and Parrot strike force as the best since Alan Shearer and Michael Owen as common knowledge.
There remains yet a chance that this all be for naught when the play-off semi-finals come around. But any attempts to dilute the fervour of such a comeback must be dismissed. I predicted in my last piece that Parrot’s two goals would live in the pantheon of great sporting moments in this country, and almost impossibly his hat trick has knocked that down one spot in the ranks. Moments like this reduce the failures of the past and the fears of the future to background noise; the elation of this day will carry the lads into the final push for next summer’s World Cup, and hopefully into the tournament itself. Eyes will soon fall on this next round of games, for now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to ask ChatGPT to show me Troy kicking Victor Orban over the roof of the Puskas Stadium.