Buses, as the proverbial saying goes, come in pairs. Azerbaijan was the first – your bog-standard Ulsterbus. England, well that was the Open-Top Special very few expected to come along. Four days before, the pressure was on us to perform, to get the home win, to ditch that monkey before it was old enough to start school, but with the Azeri duly defeated, players and fans alike were relaxed.
6:45pm and the fans began to sing. An hour later, the boys in green took to the pitch alongside their English counterparts for Windsor Park’s glamour tie. Was this even about football? Did any of us really care or was doing the bouncy more important?
In the early stages, England kept possession with the odd 40-yard spectacular pass from Beckham chucked in for good measure. SWP appeared the main output, with his passes deceiving Capaldi on one or two occasions. But despite a few darts into the box, SWP’s dribbling was as effective as his Da’s impression of a TV presenter.
On the other flank, Shrek was geared up and ready for war smoke appearing to bellow from the fat f*cks ears. First Gillespie got a wee elbow to the head then Sir David got the ball kicked at him and even Becks got a swift “Fuck off” when he attempted to prise the rattle from his hand. That’s it Rooney, clap your hands. We did.
Baird, meanwhile, was fantastic. He and Craigan played it simple. Cool, calm, collected, no nonsense defending – both playing miles above their station and both undoubtedly having their best game to date in a green shirt.
Beckham was standing out for the Englanders and nearly had them in front when one of his trademark free kicks hit the corner of post and bar. England threatened again with an overhead kick from Michael Owen, but Big Maik had it covered.
Half time, 0-0. Too good to be true as thoughts of Old Trafford returned but somehow it felt slightly different this time. This was our Groundhog Day, our patch, and our chance to show we could fare better than the 4-0, fifteen minute hammering that embarrassed many of us back in March.
The second half began with Norn Iron attacking the Kop, just the way we like it. England pressed further but seemed to be getting nowhere through a wall of green shirts. Suddenly, Lampard hit a swerving drive from just outside the box that looked in all the way until Taylor superbly tipped the ball round the post. The ref gave a goal kick in the end, but we all knew our Mr Reliable got a touch.
From that moment on England seemed lost for ideas. Joe Cole, who had already come on for SWP, threw the odd ball into the box that Owen was never going to head. Could it be that wee Norn Iron could hold out for 0-0?
The GAWA themselves had been playing a blinder as twelfth man. Even the North Stand battalion were on their feet. “Green and White Army, Green and White Army.” Could England be rattled? They certainly appeared out of ideas with their restrictive 4-5-1 formation. James Quinn – who seemed like he was playing both his England games at once following his suspension from the previous encounter – was throwing himself about like Dowie in his heyday. Eriksson predicted “long balls to Quinn” but did Rio? The man who demanded £120,000 a week to match the best defenders in the world was struggling to come to terms with the tallest, thinnest man in Peterborough – and how we loved it. Like Baird and Craigan, I don’t recall ever seeing the big man have a more outstanding performance in a Northern Ireland jersey. He was a real credit to our wee country that night.
“1-0, we’re gonna win 1-0” sang the GAWA, clearly sensing an opportunity to pressure the bemused England team. Did the army sense something? Not long after, in the 74th minute of the game, Steve Davis picked up a loose ball from Frank Lampard and lofted a delightful ball into the path of David Healy who controlled the ball having cleverly curved his run across the English defensive line. With Rio standing still, hand aloft, only Ashley Cole could catch him, but to no avail. Healy rifled the ball across Robinson and into the far corner of the net and to use the words of Alan Green “ Windsor Park absolutely erupts.” The fans went mad, many of them cheering like they’d never cheered before, hugging their fellow supporters and raising their arms aloft in sheer joy. 1-0 to Norn Iron. Could the impossible become reality?
West Stand, North Stand, South Stand, Railway Stand. All on their feet by now. All cheering, chanting and singing like never before. One complete green and white army. I bet even Jackie Fullerton was standing by now.
The anonymous, erm, Gerrard (that’s his name) was replaced by the equally ineffective Jermain Defoe. England were panicking. Sven, not renowned for making game-breaking substitutions, then sent on Owen Hargreaves as England’s game-saver. Oh how we trembled. We knew that Goliath was now there for the taking. Beckham’s classy passing stopped and with supposedly two of the best central midfielders in the world substituted, England adopted a more direct approach to salvage something from the game. After all, under Eriksson, England had never lost a qualifying fixture and only Brazil, France and Portugal had defeated them competitively – Portugal beating them on penalties 15 months earlier at Euro 2004.
Having duly completed a successful night’s work, James Quinn left the pitch to rapturous applause, accompanied, of course, with the loudest version of “He’s tall, he’s thin” Windsor had ever witnessed. If ever there was a case to answer that those squad members born outside of the province do not give their all, we should take a look at Quinny’s performance against England and think again. On in his place came the increasingly popular Warren Feeney. Having scored his first international goal from the penalty spot against Azerbaijan just four days earlier, Feeney was ready for more and nearly made it 2-0 with a last minute shot that flashed across Robinson’s goal.
The fourth official held his board aloft. There would be 4 minutes of added time. Where did that come from? This was it. This was bound to be the point when we got cold feet and threw it away. This was England’s Great Escape of 2005. Or was it? Four minutes. That’s merely an advert break on the telly, a toilet break at work, a night of passion with the missus. The whistles from the GAWA were now deafening. Just how long was four minutes? Then Swiss referee Massimo Busacca held his arms aloft and blew for full-time. We had done it. 1-0. The mighty England had come to Belfast and been beaten. Every man, woman and child in Windsor will no doubt have had a night they’ll remember for the rest of their lives. For the younger fans, this was their Spain ’82. For the older fans, the feel good factor of the old World Cup days were back, even if it was just for tonight. Northern Ireland had shown the world what they could do and, quite deservedly in the end, reclaimed our right to call ourselves British Champions once more.
Final Score: 1-0
HD Men of the Match: Everyone at Windsor Park
Nial Coulter
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