Dublin's football fiasco: a roman rumble and a missing heart
A botched trip to Rome revealed a chaotic tableau of misplaced Irish football fans and a baffling absence of the Great Daniel O’Connell’s heart – a story more surreal than any penalty shootout.
Lost in translation, found in confusion
Landing in Rome on the night of Ireland’s World Cup qualifier against the Czech Republic, my immediate need was for a proper Irish pub. By the time my travel companion and I exited the airport bus, just ten minutes remained in Prague, with Ireland clinging to a 2-1 lead. A tactical misstep, born of a previous visit to the Eternal City, led us to Flann O’Brien, a pub a taxi ride away. But instead of the roar of Irish supporters, we found ourselves surrounded by Italians, glued to multiple screens – none showing our game.
An italian affair, a northern irish mishap
Trying to explain the anomaly to a bewildered barman, compounded the confusion when Italy were playing Northern Ireland. “That’s the wrong Ireland,” I pointed out, met with a bemused stare. The scene conjured Oscar Wilde, a poignant reminder of fate’s cruel joke of Ireland entangled in two World Cup bids simultaneously.
The heart of the matter
The Czechs equalized, granting the barman an extra half hour to scour through ‘about a thousand’ channels – a truly staggering number – in search of our signal. The pub emptied as Italy secured victory. We finally found RTÉ, stumbling upon a Welsh qualifier featuring teams sporting the familiar red and white stripes, adding another layer of delightful bewilderment. We were left as the sole witnesses to the spectacle.
A roman detour: o’connell and the steps to salvation
Regrettably, I’d forgotten about The Fiddler’s Elbow, a genuinely authentic Irish pub tucked away nearby – a missed opportunity. The irony wasn't lost on me, considering I’d frequented it years prior during a Flann O’Brien conference. I’d willingly have climbed the Scala Sancta, that extraordinary Roman stairway believed to have originated in Jerusalem, its worn steps echoing with penitents and pilgrims throughout the centuries. Even Martin Luther, with his doubts, had paused upon its ascent. Dickens, however, found it “ridiculous, and so unpleasant.” Perhaps a knee-climb would have shifted the odds, though I suspect not.
A pragmatic dismissal
Ultimately, I’m not convinced a pilgrimage to those steps altered Ireland’s late-game collapse in Prague, nor did my navigational error impact the Czechs’ penalty shootout. Yet, a certain degree of culpability, as with any captivated television viewer, feels undeniably present. I’ll concede, perhaps, that the overpriced, overblown spectacle of the US World Cup simply wasn’t for me. It lacked the visceral thrill, the authentic heart – a sentiment mirroring O’Connell’s bequest and the lingering mystery surrounding his missing heart in Rome. Let’s just say, I’ll stick to a pint and a football, preferably in a pub that actually shows the game.