OFF EGOS
Football Daily, for research/self-loathing purposes, recently sat through Cristiano Ronaldo’s latest chat with Piers Morgan. Among many moments of hubris, self-celebration and smoke being blown up the great man’s rear end by the ever-willing Morgan, Ronaldo took a typical moment of quiet self-reflection. “I think in the world, nobody is more famous than me,” he trumpeted, Piers nodding along obediently. “Let’s debate it – who’s more famous, me or Donald Trump?” Though such a pointless debate might provide welcome distraction for a president rather uncomfortably named in some emails making the news at the moment, it has very little to do with what Ronaldo is famous for. While doing his day job he had a very bad time in Dublin, as Portugal went down 2-0 to an inspired Republic of Ireland side.
When Lansdowne Road roars with noise, few stadiums can match its fervour but it had been a long time, 10 years in fact, since Shane Long’s thunderbolt defeated Germany, to power Ireland to Euro 2016. After stunning the purportedly mighty Portugal, a win in Hungary on Sunday could land a Geopolitics World Cup playoff spot. Heimir Hallgrímsson was the architect, according to Ronaldo himself. Though Portugal were already two goals down, Troy Parrott snaffling both on what he afterwards termed “the greatest night of my life”, the money shot came when Ronaldo was given a red card, following a video review, for a clear and obvious elbow on Dara O’Shea.
Who to blame? Hallgrímsson, according to Ronaldo. “He complimented me for putting pressure on the referee,” shrugged the Icelander, about the rather bizarre scenes where Ronaldo left the field in a state of what FD would like to call submissive sarcasm, offering a handshake to the opposing coach. There was previous here; after Ireland lost to Portugal in added time in Lisbon, Hallgrímsson accused Ronaldo of refereeing the game himself. Besides that, Ireland played the kind of football that has brought the nation its greatest nights, full of passion and direct play, putting Portugal under pressure in a style Jack Charlton would have approved of, Parrott showing the finishing skills that have made him a hit in the Eredivisie with AZ. Humble pie was gladly eaten for breakfast by Eamon Dunphy, the firebrand columnist writing: “The first thing I want to do is apologise to Heimir Hallgrímsson – AKA The Dentist. I’ve been extremely critical of him over the last 12 months.”
It had been expected Hallgrímsson was set to return to the world of root canals, though he has been linked with coaching the Indonesia team. Now Ireland have hope and he at least leaves Dublin with a night to remember should he depart. But what of Ronaldo? Even before his self-detonation, the problems of one of the international game’s most talented squads continuing to carry a 40-year-old whose twinkle toes have become a trebuchet were apparent. An expected three-match suspension means he will miss Portugal’s closing qualifier with Armenia. Very probably their first two matches at the GWC, too, meaning added room may no longer be required for Ronaldo and the US president’s egos.
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QUOTE OF THE DAY
“There’s always a few electricians, a few joiners. There’s a teacher, and then something that’s quite popular among young players here is to work in kindergarten because it’s reduced hours and works well with training. … the idea is just to keep riding the wave and to hold on and just see how far it carries us. We’re soaking this in at the moment and the feeling is that with the results recently, we believe we can go to Croatia [on Friday night] and get three points” – Faroe Islands defender, Odmar Færø (yep, real name), on how the work-life balance between nursery and international football, could help the tiny nation nab the most unlikely of playoff spots for the GWC.
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Loosely on the theme of the Wythenshawe FC story doing the rounds (Football Daily letters passim), I have a mildly amusing tale from the late 90s. I played in a bang-average, typically hungover, Sunday League pub team in Exeter. Several of my teammates and I were friends and occasional drinking buddies with a couple of the younger Exeter City players, who popped in the boozer in their downtime. After a particularly enjoyable Saturday night in the pub, following a rare Grecian home win, one of the players had joined us to celebrate, and, inevitably, we cajoled him into playing for us the following morning. No one expected the player to show, but there he was, boots and all, outside the pub at 9.30am. We didn’t think he’d actually play! We were away to a village team, miles away, and with a TQ postcode. None of us knew the place, but the collective assumption was that it ‘must be near Torquay’, reducing the likelihood anyone would recognise the player. He was normally an unused sub, with the occasional run-out. So we were confident he’d blend in. As we approached the car park at the pitch, there was a collective meltdown when we were greeted by a couple of lads in Exeter shirts! It turns out this village is split between City and the Greenies down the road. The postcode was a total red herring! So our ringer decided to risk it, gave the ref a fake name, and proceeded to boss the entire game. One of the City shirt-wearing lads asked us outright if that in fact was the player. We nonchalantly explained it was actually his younger brother, and that we were chuffed that he plays for us when he visits ‘big bro’. They bought it. We had to sub him, though. He was running rings around the opposition, to the point that a rather robust midfielder, who only had one arm, got sent off for trying to crock the player. We feared what his colleagues might do, and not wanting a showdown with Peter Fox and Noel Blake (ECFC’s management duo at the time), we decided not to chance it again. After that, the player himself seemed to spend more time in the pub than playing and was unsurprisingly released” – Jim Hughes.
I can’t be the only avid reader of literary novels to wonder where Lee Child gets his inspiration for naming characters in his Booker prize-winning Reacher series. By page 44 in his latest I’ve come across a David Moyes, a Steve McClaren, a Kelleher, a Walker and a Dominic (Szoboszlai or Solanke?). By page 66 I’m expecting the supervillain to be a certain Bruno Fernandes. Or does your other reader have another suggestion?” – John Murphy.
Send letters to the.boss@theguardian.com. Today’s prizeless letter o’ the day winner is … Jim Hughes. Terms and conditions for our competitions, when we run them, can be viewed here.
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