If the French public are nursing fears that Friday night’s atrocity in Paris might keep visitors away from their country, the celebratory roar emanating from Dublin last night should reassure them. The Irish will go to the Republic next summer – with bells on.
“It was a moment that I never once dared to dream about: getting to France,” said an ecstatic Martin O’Neill as the party began in Dublin.
“Never once. Because of the group we were in. The night was special too. The Germany night was just wonderful but I thought it was eclipsed tonight. It is one of the nights you live for.”
It was that. Jon Walters’s precise 70th minute volley, to go with his icily delivered penalty in the first half, secured safe passage and capped an extraordinary campaign for the striker. Dublin has had its fair share of nerve-jangling nights; anxious crowd whistles harassing the referee to finish it.
But this? This was a festive, jubilant conclusion to a long and sometimes punishing campaign which in the end bore all the hallmarks of the kind of teams O’Neill has shaped throughout his managerial life.
When it mattered most, the Irish were ruthlessly organised and pulsing with collective spirit and, as teams have discovered over the past few months, horribly difficult to play against. Three-one on aggregate: it was emphatic.
"That moment when the referee blows the whistle and you are in France . . . it is very, very special. It is even more special because if means so much to so many people. I was speaking to Richard Keogh and it is just indescribable emotions. Great for lads who haven't made it . . . And some of the older players who are . . . probably the same age as myself. I am just pleased for everyone."
After sometimes seeming impatient and disheartened by the stop-start nature of the international game, he joins Jack Charlton, Mick McCarthy and Giovanni Trapattoni in guiding the Republic of Ireland towards a major summer football carnival. It has been a nerveless achievement by O'Neill.
It was O’Neill – and at times O’Neill alone – who refused to concede that qualification for France had slipped beyond Ireland’s grasp, particularly after a thorny 1-0 defeat on a cold night in Glasgow and a draw in Dublin.
“It is about the players. And I am absolutely delighted. I am thrilled for myself in a selfish way, if that is the case But I am thrilled for the players because they put their heart and soul into it.”
Heavy political significance
So here stands Ireland, joining Northern Ireland, England and Wales for a tournament that has acquired a heavy political significance. It was the kind of devolution Scotland could have done without.
Apart from a harum-scarum opening ten minutes and occasional inspired touches from Miralem Pjanic, the Bosnians were unable to truly bother Ireland. Their threat faded with the 23rd minute penalty, when Darryl Murphy's toiling up front was rewarded when his flick across brushed off Ervin Zukahanovic.
For a second, referee Bjorn Kuipers seemed set to ignore the outraged howl for handball but then pointed to the spot. Maybe in that second some physic score for that Thierry Henry's infamous handball six winters ago was settled in that moment. It was a tough, tough call on the Bosnians.
Walters looked stonily towards Asmir Begovic’s goal and then placed his right-footed penalty tidily into the right corner. The Aviva lit with the old, full blooded Lansdowne roar. If there were periods either side of half time when the Bosnian’s displayed their football craft and the prospect of penalties flitted uneasily about the place, all of that disappeared with Walter’s second goal.
Seconds earlier, he had been scythed down by Emir Spahic but dusted himself down and was perfectly placed when Robbie Brady's mean cross skipped off a defender. That was that.
O'Neill could even afford to bring off Glenn Whelan to give John O'Shea a few celebratory moments.
“No, it was tactical,” protested O’Neill, in mischievous mood after the whistle. “Glenn was absolutely wonderful but he takes the hump when he is taken off. And he shouldn’t. I took him off because he is generally the slowest getting off the pitch.”
As the stadium sang to Thin Lizzy's old reliable O'Neill and Roy Keane, that novel pairing, embraced on the sideline. Later, a beaming Keane would make joking reference to Saipan. The players partied like they had won the tournament.
“Unbelievable,” gasped Walters into the microphone. And it was too. Like old times.
