Northern Ireland v Hungary (29/03/2022)

However, high up in my pantheon of memorable moments stands a match against Hungary. It’s September 2015. Northern Ireland and Hungary are disputing the qualification places for the Euro 2016 finals. Defeat for the Mag yars and the chance of direct qualification is all but gone. You will remember the game. The National Stadium is under renovation. Teams are accommodated in portacabins in the North East corner. No fans in the West Stand as it had been compromised earlier in the year and the stump of the stand only stood empty. That was the match in which Hungary scored and Chris Baird received two yellow cards in quick succession, leaving us with only 10 players. The miracle came in the 95th minute. A Steven Davis corner, a Niall McGinn shot parried by the bagg y training pants-wearing keeper but only to the in-form Kyle Lafferty and oh the relief, oh the noise, as his shot hit the back of the net . Cue pandemonium. Grown men danced with other grown men, stranger embraced stranger. It is for such moments that we all love this game. You move from despair to ecstasy, from depression to delirium in the kick of a ball , the parry of a goalkeeper, the beep of a referee’s whistle. Like a Belfast summer’s day which can reflect all of the seasons in an hour, a football match can plumb the depths and hit the heights in an instance. To complete my perfect match all we need is an article in the match programme by the peerless Malcolm Brodie drooling over the great Hungary side of the 1950s led by Ferenc Puskas. Now there was a player… and a writer. We are the poorer for their demise but joyful

One of them is the beach at Downhill as the Atlantic waves crash in, looking up at the mysterious wonder that is the Mussenden Temple perched precariously at the edge of the cliff. What wonderful , frenetic or complicated mind thought that that was a perfect place for the library? Inspired. Or at the top of the Cavehill , on Napoleon’s Nose, where Henry Joy McCracken trod, looking down over the city of Belfast , across the lough, into the heart of County Down to the spectre of the shadow of the Mournes in the distance, the single finger of Scrabo Tower pointing heavenward. Then there’s the simple pleasures of a slice of Veda, toasted and drowned in real butter, or lying in your bed, eyes closed and the opening notes of Van Morrison’s ‘Moondance’ or ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ starting up, just taking a deep breath and enjoying the experience. I have always believed that football provides similar cathartic experiences. I think of the mercurial George Best , all long hair and shirt out of the shorts, challenging the great Gordon Banks, having the skill , technique and audacity to clip the ball out of the air when Banks had thrown it up to kick, following it up to head into the Railway End goal , only to be foiled by a scared and bewildered Scottish referee. In all my years of following the wee team in green it is as if the words of Dickens have come true – they have indeed been the ‘best of times and the worst of times’. There are places I visit from time to time that I believe provide an insight into the soul and spirit of Northern Ireland.

they can be remembered and enjoyed. Remember: one deep breath and let the excitement begin!

IRISHFA.COM

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