A LITTLE RAY OF HOPE

By Frank Greaney

Life is full of momentous days that we will always remember. We can all recall where we were the day that Princess Diana died for example.

Those who lived through JFK’s short lived presidency can pinpoint exactly where they were when news filtered out that he had been assassinated. The grainy black and white still of him slumped on his wife Jackie’s lap in their open Cadillac is burned in the mind of even those that were not alive at the time. Another shooting in Dallas – albeit the fictional one of a certain soap opera cowboy – also registers as one of those iconic moments that we will never forget.

Ireland was a divided country in 1988. A bleak economic outlook and no end in sight to the troubles in the North left very little to hope for.

But on one Sunday afternoon on the twelfth of June on a land not too far from our shores, one man gave us all a little ray of hope.

SWEET STUTTGART MEMORIES

That day will also be remembered by this Irish generation as one to be savoured and never to be forgotten. We all remember where we were when Ray Houghton put the ball in the English net in euro 88. I was five years old.

I didn’t know it then but twenty years later I was to find myself sitting in the reception area of sports department of RTE waiting to meet the Irish football legend. I sat there for what seemed like hours playing and replaying the moment over and over in my mind.

George Hamilton provides the commentary:

“Moran to take the free kick … Samson fails to clear it and the ball balloons into Aldridge’s path … Aldridge heads it towards Houghton … RAY HOUGHTON … GOOOOAAAALLL …”

I still remember the stillness of the crowd after that goal. Little Ray Houghton had somehow calmed the wild sea of travelling Irish fans in the Stuttgart arena. The camera man mistakes Aldridge for the goal scorer. Charlton rubs his head. We all remember. We will never forget.

MEETING THE MAN

My phone rings. George Hamilton interrupts his own commentary.

Hamilton is just after finishing work and is meeting me to take me to Ray Houghton as I prepare to take a trip down memory lane with the former Irish international turned TV pundit for the purposes of a radio documentary.

Houghton is in Dublin to offer his opinions as a panellist on RTE’s Premiership show. The household familiarity of Hamilton’s voice leads me through a maze of security checks and a labyrinth of narrow corridors at RTE. We are busy discussing a controversial refereeing decision in the afternoon clash between Manchester United and Chelsea when I spot Houghton up ahead facing a wall of television screens as he prepares for the show.

As I approach the green room I can’t help but feel more nervous than Mick McCarthy was as he led his team out in Stuttgart all those years ago.

As I am introduced to the star of my theatre of dreams I am overwhelmed with a burning desire to kiss the feet of the man that once had the world at their mercy. I resist the temptation however in the interests of professionalism and our interview kicks off.

The familiar mop of jet black strands has been tamed over the years. A few grey blades even show their heads. He is smaller than I recall. The image of a giant in a green and white shirt dwarfing the pews of Irish followers in Germany is replaced by the 5”8 man behind the picture that stands before me. It is hard to ignore his smiling eyes as he plucks ‘that’ goal from the wide net of football memories that he has developed over a glittering career.

Before opening his account of how it felt to score that goal once more he takes a moment to compose himself. A wandering shirt tail is tucked into the back of his slick Diesel’s. I suspect he wants to look his best as he presents the goal that united a nation to my outstretched microphone.

His thick Scottish drawl is intoxicating and I hang on his every word. No stone is left unturned on this leisurely stroll down memory lane.