Daylight Robbery

The visiting team was robbed, I remember it clearly. My first trip to Richmond Park, and there was a controversy that is still spoken of in certain circles by uncertain squares. St Pats, then putting together a league-winning squad, won 4-1 without really breaking a sweat. The robbery’s effect on the result was nebulous. Actually, even that lowly assessment may be overstating it, for the robbery took place not on the field, but in the dressing room.

The date was 13th May 1989, the occasion was Eamonn Gregg’s Testimonial. The nine-times capped international full-back was a work-mate of my Dad’s in the ESB. To my eternal gratitude he offered me the chance to lead out the League of Ireland XI which would provide the opposition to Brian Kerr’s side.

The League of Ireland side was - looking now at the match programme - to have been managed by Billy Young. I have no recollection of Young being present. Ray Treacy was running the show. They wore a green strip, and I was given an Ireland-ish tracksuit to take in to the away dressing room with me to sport while leading the team out. This was not what you would call an official Ireland tracksuit, it was more the kind of garb you might spot in O’Carrolls or Dublin Airport duty free tantalising tourists to get another fix of merch to go with their shamrock bodhrán and shillelagh.

And so in to the dressing room. This was superstar stuff in my eyes. I was among real footballers in a real dressing room. Ray Treacy welcomed me in and gave me a spot to get changed in among the players. The language of the men was excitingly choice. My Ma would have had me out of there in a flash if she knew I’d be hearing the same kind of vulgarity that I could hear at home.

One of the more vivid memories I have of the dressing room experience was my astonishment at the huge flopping members that were being unveiled across the changing area. I was a boy of 10 years. There was much I had not yet seen in this world. Men did not get changed down to their barest when I went to watch my Da’s team play in the park. The difference between League of Ireland footballers and park players was never clearer to me before or since.

Ray Treacy began to address his men, presumably laying out the loosest of formations for what they perhaps regarded as a playful afternoon kick-about preceding a serious evening of socialising. The manager suddenly found himself without that most fundamental of 80’s management tools - a pen. “A pen. Has anyone got a pen?”, he asked the partially-dressed motley soon to take the field as the league’s elite. When the “I’ve no pen, but I’ve plenty of lead in me pencil” cracks and its ripples of banter dissipated, I shuffled towards Ray.

In the absurdly oversized faux-Eire tracksuit, the studs on my football boots were trampling the leggings about 4 inches up from the hem. I handed Ray the biro I had brought to take autographs with. Sap that I am, I may even have asked him for his autograph as I handed him the pen, like it was some kind of quid pro quo.

We took to the field with me leading the team out as planned. I could hear my Dad and my Uncle cheering me as I took the team down towards the shed end for the kickabout. I shuffled nervously around the six yard box hoping someone would give me a pass of one of the balls that were whizzing like cannonballs over my head. Dundalk keeper Alan O’Neill was between the posts and after he had impressively pulled a cross from the sky he smilingly rolled the ball out to me and invited me to take a shot.

This was my moment. If I could rocket this ball past the best goalkeeper in the League of Ireland someone would be bound to notice and it wouldn’t be long before word got to Brian Kerr and my football career would be fast-tracked from the ignominious lull it was enduring as 14th man for Priorswood U11s in the Brenfer League 11D.

In hindsight I acknowledge that I did not factor in the Size-5-ness of the ball. I was used to kicking a £1.99 ‘Cup Champion’ ball in the park, and a Size 4 along the touchline with my fellow subs for Priorswood. Kicking a Size 5 was like booting the ornamental concrete orbs on the pillars of the posher driveways in housing estates. To be honest I think I recoiled further than the ball moved forward. I went from hoping everyone saw me to hoping nobody saw me. I had also managed to hurt my ankle in this pathetic attempt to make Richmond Park swoon at my potential. I swallowed the pain like a toddler forcing the last sickening mouthful of vegetables down to qualify for dessert privileges.

The ref summoned the captains and mascots. Hands were shook, backs patted, photos taken, and I left the pitch. I went back to the dressing room and stepped out of the tracksuit. I put my own clothes back on and went out to watch Pats play the League of Ireland side off the park.

The next day my Dad got a phone call  from Eamonn asking could we arrange to get the Ireland  tracksuit back to him. “That’s no sweat Eamonn, I’ll box that off,” my Dad replied in characteristic manner.

He put the handset back on the receiver - it was the 80’s remember - and quizzed me as to the whereabouts of the Ireland tracksuit. I told him I took it off and left it in the dressing room.   

Well, there was phonecall upon phonecall, the same questions answered many times over; the same account given of going to the dressing room, taking off the tracksuit  - LEAVING IT THERE - and putting on my own clothes before returning to the stand for the match. Weeks of this stuff.

Sometimes I’d be asleep in my cell and the screws would come in and shine 1000 watt lights in my pupils, call me a lying paddy bastard and make me explain again what happened that afternoon. That I had as much use for a tracksuit that sagged inches beyond my arms as Paul Doolin has for Wash cut & blow dry discount vouchers never seemed to occur to anyone else. 

The tracksuit - to my knowldege - was never found.  But no matter how clearly and frequently I gave my account, I could never escape the stigma of being prime suspect in the Eamonn Gregg Testimonial Faux Eire Tracksuit Robbery.  


The Pats Squad: Dave Henderson, Eamonn Gregg, Pat Kelch, John McDonnell, Mick Moody, John Treacy, Pat Fenlon, Maurice O'Driscoll, Robbie Gaffney, Paul Byrne, Mark Ennis, Paul Campbell, Derek Gaugh, Damien Byrne, Conor Best

League of Ireland: Alan O'Neill, Dermot O'Neill, Harry Kenny, Kevin Brady, Martin Lawlor, Mick Neville, Paul Whelan, Brian Carey, Paul Doolin, Jim Donnelly, Eugene Lawless, Martin Murray, Derek Murray, Joe Hanrahan, Derek Swan, Dessie Gorman