Stoke City Tactics Vindicated In Light of Ireland's Exploits at Italia 90

Part of the reason for the ugliness of adults, in a child’s eyes, is that the child is usually looking upwards, and few faces are at their best when seen from below.

- George Orwell, ‘Such, Such were the joys’

On a wet and windy evening, two old adversaries went at each other, tooth and nail, in the romantic backdrop of Cagliari.

Packie Bonner (whom I met recently) punts the ball down field with familiar gusto, his arms flailing involuntarily as he goes to ground: a ritual resembling something halfway between a swallow dive and a convulsion.

A slightly perturbed Bobby Robson looks on disdainfully from his dugout, rooted to his seat. Big Jack looms increasingly obstreperous on the touchline, sensing a comeback.

The ball: aimed towards the human tower that is Tony Cascarino, and not for the first time, is met by Butcher, but it drops to Sheedy, who never really gets hold of it and it runs on to second half substitute McMahon.

Macca CAN’T control as Sheedy seizes on his hesitance and fires an unstoppable trademark left foot shot past an aging Peter Shilton.

Jack’s intuition was right, Bobby’s hunch fully warranted. The Irish were back in it, and everyone, including my father, went wild.

Look at the Irish. They sing and none of them know the words. Jack sings, and all he knows is "Blaydon Races" and "Cushy Butterfield". But look at the pride they have in those green shirts.

-Lawrie McMenemy

It was blatantly obvious how much it meant to everyone connected with the Irish national team, and against England it showed. Both England and Ireland would go on to taste unprecedented success during Italia 90: the Irish reaching the quarters (their best ever performance in a World Cup), England coming within a whisker of the final.

It was deemed the most negative, cynical tournaments of them all (due to its lowest ever goal tally and most games decided on the unjustly penalty shoot-out); yet, both nations captured the hearts and imaginations of millions across the globe. The joy and happiness which emanated from their performances and merits was immeasurable, the exploits of both teams in Italy, who at the time were highly criticized in the press, will never be forgotten.

In light of recent events at Stoke City, and antipathy they’ve been faced with, I took a retrospective glance at football, to gain some much-needed perspective on the whole "winning ugly" versus "attractive football" debate. 

In so many ways, Stoke remind me of Big Jack’s Republic of Ireland during Italia 90, whose much-scrutinized long ball tactics brought them unfathomable successes, exulting Jack Charlton to national treasure status here in Ireland.

If stories are to be believed, his popularity is such, he has the freedom of this beauteous country; fishing, golfing, and drinking for nowt, in some of the finest spots it has to offer (What was Paul Jewell thinking?).

Allegedly, since taking the Irish job, the canny Northumberlander has yet to meet the price of a pint, as publicans nationwide wouldn’t hear of charging the great man. The endless yarns of how Jack endeared himself to the Irish you never tire of hearing, the stories have now become stuff of legend.

It is widely perceived, at the height of his fame, Jackie would offer to buy the whole pub a round of drinks, insisting he paid by cheque, knowing full well it would never be cashed, and that it would be framed and hung on the wall; where it still hangs to this day.  

There is no doubt Charlton was and is a man of extraordinary character, and his idiosyncrasies sat well with the Irish public. But what Jack Charlton did for Irish football, in terms of achievement, cannot be underestimated, as he took football from the dark depths and relative obscurity of the back pages, and shoved it firmly into the forefront of the nation’s psyche.

Pulis and Stoke City (better known for their participation in petty lower league football violence in recent years) are going about achieving something similar. And I have to say, despite my grievances in the past, as long as we are competitive in the top division, I couldn’t give a monkeys whether we play pretty football or not.

Even if it means no chances in an away trip to Wigan, and subsequently, we get shown last each week on Match of the Day 2; a result, as Steve McLaren so eloquently pointed out recently, certainly is a result (well done for enlightening us all Steve).

In the current financial climate, needs must, and what is best for this club and its people indubitably takes precedence over anything else. Yes, Stoke City are bringing out the utilitarian in me, just as Big Jack did in so many of us, all those years ago. If Delap’s throw is to be judged by the happiness generated by its outcome, then there is no question of its value to the modern world of football.

As a writer from the Daily Express expertly put it, he did not enjoy seeing the kind of football Stoke are currently producing, nevertheless, he wishes they stay in this division for years to come, and be able to buy the kind of players capable of producing some quality and innovative attacking football.

I think his sentiments are echoed by most of us. But we can only play with what is in our armoury; and a decent goalkeeper, four dogged centre-halves (camped on the edge of our own penalty box), four strong defensive and combative central midfielders (sitting just in front of our defenders), a big strong defensive-minded attacker (playing anywhere other than attack), and Ricardo Fuller (though not now due to his shoulder injury), is, unfortunately, what we’ve got. 

Throw Delap into the mix and the impressive starts new signings Etherington and Beattie have made, and so far, this impenetrable approach, seems to be working.

It is well documented that Big Jack’s Ireland relied heavily on their physical weaponry, yet—Dunphy aside—they received nothing but praise and admiration. They put the balls into the channels, passes were never made in field (in case of interception and vulnerability to the counter-attack), and he infamously favored great lumps of men both in defense and in attack. 

Fancy football mattered little to Jackie, and to say he liked his players getting stuck in is litotes at its finest (listening to Aldridge describe how he went all out to cripple Romanian genius Hagi for "the lads", knowing an injury had cut short his own involvement, is shamelessly hilarious).

If fouling was for the good of the team, then Jack saw nothing wrong with it.

Not only was Jack Charlton a man of immense personality, but he was also a born winner, both as a player and as a manager. But as a manager, like Pulis, he was a pragmatist and his teams rarely gave away soft goals. In fact, he claims, when his first choice centre-back pairing of Mick McCarthy and Kevin Moran played together, his side never conceded from a set piece or header.

Ireland only scored one more goal from open play after that thunderbolt from Sheedy, and Quinny’s goal (Watch This) versus the Dutch couldn’t possibly have been more route-one. Yet, their run in the tournament did more for the popularity of soccer in Ireland than anything before or since, and elevated Charlton and his players to iconic status in football.

Pulis and his troops should be vaunted likewise.

My point is this: if you are successful, nobody cares how you go about it. Furthermore, nobody remembers teams who play great football and win nothing. Crewe have always played good football, so does every team in Holland (apart from FC Twente, despite McLaren’s best efforts to acclimatize—Watch This) and of course there’s Wenger’s latest crop at Arsenal, whom in spite of playing some sumptuous football at times, will be regular nobodies if they don’t win something.

The great Argentine footballer and philosopher, Jorge Valdano, suggests football is a metaphor for the time and place you are playing in. He who does not agree with the evolution of football does not believe in the evolution of the world.

Many see the way Stoke play as counter-productive and stagnant, but for me, they reflect an increasingly cautious society now in consolidation. We are not all as fortunate as the Arsenals of this world and we have to play with the tools we’ve been given.

In the words of Aristotle: The best choice for each individual is the highest it is possible for him to achieve. Stoke are doing just that, and in the process, they are restoring pride and harmony to the much-suffered place they call the Potteries.

The happiness Italia 90 aroused in me cannot be articulated. The effervescent memories it evokes are incomparable. If Stoke come within an iota of stirring up such intangible emotion, bringing happiness into the lives of thousands, even if they do play route-one football, then who is to be begrudging of that?

If Pulis, and Stoke fans alike, need ridding of such compunction, seek assurances that this teams' tactics are justified, then, they needn’t look further than "Big Jack" and his Republic.

And if anyone locates him, in the serenity of his Irish retreat; eating freshly caught trout on the banks of a scenic lough, supping on a creamy, ultimately free, pint of Guinness, then I think they will have found their answer.

This Article also features on The English Football Post