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Stories

Green Is The Colour

305GreenistheColour The story of Irish football
by Peter Byrne & Matthew Murray
Carlton Books, £14.99
Reviewed by Ciaran McCauley
From WSC 305 July 2012

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It is hardly surprising given the island’s turbulent history, but football in Ireland has never been a simple matter. Just take the eligibility issue, which has dominated relations between football authorities north and south in the past few years. James McClean’s selection for the Republic’s Euro 2012 squad, and a few brainless morons issuing death threats on Twitter, made headline news once again and stirred up the usual hornets’ nest.

The Irish who-can-play-for-who furore illustrates two key points. Firstly, relations between the Irish Football Association (IFA) and Football Association of Ireland (FAI) rarely appear anything other than frosty.

Secondly, what the hell happened for things to get this way? In a country where every other sport is happily played on an all-Ireland basis, why does football suffer the indignity of such tension?
Into this knowledge breach steps Peter Byrne’s Green Is The Colour, perhaps the first authoritative overview of the history of the two associations.

Taking the origins of football in Ireland as its starting point, the book outlines the formation of the IFA in Belfast – the world’s fourth oldest football association – and its running of the game in Ireland before the disgruntled Leinster Football Association broke away to form the FAI just days after the partition of Ireland in 1921.

Neatly illustrating the symmetry between Ireland’s political strife and the football power struggle, Green Is The Colour goes on to outline nimbly decades of squabbling between the two associations over everything from who could pick what players (eligibility again) and even who had the right to call themselves Ireland in international games.

These early decades make up a large portion of the book, with Byrne’s scrupulous research offering invaluable insight into the power plays at work between two associations fighting desperately for control of the game.

The writer clearly appreciates the difficulties in overseeing the growing sport in a country struck by sectarian divisions and never lets his academic eye for detail get in the way of a good anecdote – for instance, his eye-opening account of the Irish Free State taking on Germany in 1939, the Nazi state’s final football match before the war.

If anything, the book is too ambitious. Despite being packed with information, it feels light in some areas and Byrne largely skips over the more well-known modern days. But he spends large chunks looking at the FAI’s struggles, notably in taking on the fiercely nationalist Gaelic Athletic Association which was against “British” games. This is excellent material but it leaves this ostensible history of the game on both sides of the border with a distinct slant to the South.

Nonetheless, Green Is The Colour remains a fascinating account of how football related to one of the 20th century’s most enduring local conflicts. A must-read for all Irish supporters and highly recommended for anyone with an interest in the tantalising contradictions of how football, the great unifier, has always been divided on the island.

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Letters, WSC 297

Dear WSC
In answer to Jamie Sellers’ enquiry (Letters, WSC 296), no, David Needham and I are not related, although I pretended he was for a while at junior school. Also, when I went to Forest games and the Trent End chanted “Needham! Needham! Needham!” during corners (he was renowned for nodding them in), I would step forward, raise a hand, shout “Thank you, fans!” and then do that breathing-on-the-fingernails-and-buffing-them-on-the-lumber-jacket thing that boastful kids were wont to do in the late 1970s.
Al Needham, Nottingham

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Letters, WSC 296

Dear WSC
Although I thoroughly enjoyed the article on footballing statues (Striking a pose, WSC 294) it did miss out one rather infamous example – the Ted Bates horror show of a few years back. This short-lived “tribute” to the former Saints player, manager, director and president was astonishingly inept, with legs roughly half the length they should have been. To add to the indignity, more than once a resemblance to dignity-phobic Portsmouth owner/asset-stripper Milan Mandaric was pointed out. The overall effect was of a top-heavy, inebriated and besuited dwarf waving at passers-by. Not really the ideal summing up a lifetime’s service to a club.
Keith Wright, Cheltenham

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Crusaders 1 Fulham 3

It’s a big day for the home team as they unveil ground improvements against Premier League opposition. The Londoners face a stern test but everyone goes home smiling. Robbie Meredith reports

The last time I went to a Fulham game was on a dull and cold night in Hamburg last year, when a late extra-time goal from Diego Forlán denied them an unlikely European trophy. Watching the team at Seaview, the compact home of Irish League part-timers Crusaders, I wonder if any of the players involved against Atlético Madrid allow themselves to think that tonight’s game could be an early step to a similar occasion next May. Do they, in the words of their supporters’ song, still believe?

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Leon Knight

Alex Gulrajani tells the bizarre tale of how Leon Knight found himself unable to play in the English league

Leon Knight has nearly seen it all. Since making his debut for Chelsea as a youngster ten years ago, he has played for 14 other teams, the latest being Coleraine of the Irish League. But while club fallouts have marred his career, nothing could compare with what happened at Rushden & Diamonds – which brought the 28-year-old to the north coast of Northern Ireland. “Peter Taylor came in at Wycombe. A month in, he was overlooking me and bringing in his own players so we had a few words and I decided to leave. I was on my way to Scotland when the call from Rushden came.”

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