If we needed something to distract ourselves from seedy goings-on in the body politic, the rise of idiot-celebrity culture and the imminent collapse of the planet’s ecosystem, there was always sport.

Sure, it’s a form of escapism, and completely trivial compared to the plight of rain forests and Third World disabled lesbian whales. Sure, there was something faintly disturbing about the way the entire nation (and its media) roused itself into a fury of indignation at the injustice of Thierry Henry’s handball while the same people shrugged their shoulders about war in the Middle East, starvation and genocide in Africa, child labour in Asia and the fact that vast swathes of Planet Earth look likely to become uninhabitable within our children’s lifetime.
But sport is always there for us, always capable of diverting attention from life’s harsher realities, always capable of transporting us into a world of limitless drama, excitement, colour and even beauty. Which is why it will always be a more valid and wholesome form of escapism than gawping at a parade of vacuous half-wits wailing tunelessly on the The X Factor. Plus, you can always make a few quid from it if you study the form carefully enough. Or even have fun losing a few quid.
Two soap-opera sagas dominated the decade, both involving the Irish national football team. There was the Civil War that ensued as a result of Roy Keane’s walkout/expulsion from the tropical island paradise of Saipan in the run-up to 2002’s World Cup – a war which pitted brother against brother, generated ferocious passions on either side of the debate, and still (seven-and-a-half years on) retains the potential to provoke venomous arguments in pubs and sitting-rooms from Malin to Mizen.
And, more recently, there was the so called ‘Hand Of Frog’ which denied Ireland its righteous place in the 2010 Finals – a slice of injustice which may not quite rank alongside Bloody Sunday or the Great Famine in terms of its human cost, but still an incident which re-awakened the nation’s sense of how it feels to suffer loss, injustice and oppression at the hands of a cruel and callous superpower (in this case, football’s world governing body FIFA).
Both of these events were traumatic and unpleasant, and there’s no evading the fact that – for all the magnificence of Shay Given, the magic of Damien Duff, the desperate passion of Robbie Keane and Richard Dunne and, yes, the tireless endeavour of Kevin Kilbane – the Noughties will go down as a deeply disappointing decade for Irish soccer, especially when set against the glories of the one which preceded it.
But we fell in love with rugby. Ireland had spent the late ‘80s and the entire ‘90s as whipping boys. 1999 closed with elimination from the World Cup at the first-round stage thanks to a witless display against Argentina, and 2000 opened with a crushing humiliation at Twickenham at the hands of England. Neither of these setbacks came as any surprise. It was just the way things were. We would live to get murdered another day. The team ploughed on, as bad as (but no worse than) it had always been. No-one could have had any inkling at that stage of what was to come – of 80,000 full houses at Croke Park, Grand Slam triumphs, the Heineken Cup taking up semi-permanent residence on these shores, and (shock horror) the sport broadening its appeal beyond its affluent base of fee-paying Southside schools. Brian O'Driscoll emerged as one of the sporting heroes of the decade.
It was also something of a vintage decade for Gaelic games, which have proved phenomenally successful at withstanding the modernisation of Ireland unscathed, even as other symbols of The Way We Were (most notably, the Catholic Church) shrivelled into ignominy. The games have thoroughly discarded their ‘Bogball’ and ‘Stickfighting’ stigmas, and are now brilliantly marketed, well-presented, subject to first-rate television coverage and quality newspaper analysis — and eagerly consumed by a vast army of devout followers, urban and rural, male and female, young and old.
And – for what died the sons of Roisin? – we even acquired a taste for cricket. For a few glorious weeks in the spring of 2007, the heroics of the other Boys in Green were front and back-page news, as Ireland announced its arrival as (well, sort of) a genuine power on the world stage. We needn’t dramatise this: the national team is still routinely beaten by English county sides, and it would be inaccurate to suggest that the nation’s kids run home from school every day, munch their dinner and rattle through their homework at double-speed so they can take to the fields and whack the leather orb with the willow stick. But we needed no prompting to become immersed in the World Cup, and Ireland’s victory over Pakistan genuinely ranks as one of the all-time David-and-Goliath moments of world sport. Australia might have won the tournament, but it belonged to us.
Golf-wise, we also acquired a national icon. By far the greatest golfer ever to emerge from these shores, Padraig Harrington finally delivered on years of promise with victories in three Majors towards the tail-end of the decade. And as 2009 roars out, he looks sure to be eclipsed in due course by a 20-year-old from County Down who has already entered the top 10 in the world rankings, and will almost certainly start winning majors sooner rather than later. Not wishing to pile too much pressure on the lad, there’s no reason why he can’t eventually eclipse Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods in the accumulation of silverware. But let’s not look too far ahead. Let us enjoy Rory McIlroy in his first youthful flush of brilliance.
Our boxing fortunes improved as the decade wore on – a world title for Bernard Dunne (since relinquished) and an utterly magnificent 2008 Olympic campaign, with Billy Walsh’s expert tutelage bringing the best out of a talented gang of bruisers, of whom Kenny Egan and Darren Sutherland (RIP) were the most successful. Paddy Barnes, John Joe Joyce and John Joe Nevin also flew the flag with distinction. And there was Katie Taylor, imperiously dismissing all comers and amassing a spell-binding record of 60 wins from 61 bouts.
Horse of the decade, without doubt, was the majestic Sea The Stars, whose roll-call of achievements (too lengthy to list here) leaves no room for doubt about his status as the greatest Flat racehorse of all time. He’s now happily retired (at the age of 3, the lucky bastard) and gone to stud (at this point, the envy begins to deepen still further). His union with Zarkava, a four-year-old French filly, surely out-stripped Lost in Translation as the sweetest romance of the decade.
We also tip the HP cap to Ken Doherty – whose preposterous string of comebacks en route to the 2003 World Snooker final surely deserved to be crowned with ultimate victory – Derval O’Rourke, Paul Hession, Olive Loughnane, Alastair Cragg and David Gillick.
The beauty of sport is that there’s never a shortage of engrossing dramatic stories to engage, exasperate, thrill and tantalise. And we’re looking forward to the next decade already.

Best Sporting Moments of the Decade.
• 1 Ronan O’Gara’s drop-goal to seal the 2009 Grand Slam with just over a minute left on the clock. Like Kenneth Wolstenholme in 1966, the oft-maligned Ryle Nugent rose to the occasion and found the words to fit the moment (‘IT MUST BE... IT IS!!!!’)
• 2 After spending 82 minutes furiously flinging the kitchen sink at Spain in a bid to retrieve a 1-0 deficit in the World Cup 2002 second round, Niall Quinn is pulled in the box in injury-time and the ref points to the spot. Robbie Keane steps up and blasts the ball into the Spanish net.
• 3 Padraig Harrington comes very, very close to squandering the opportunity of a lifetime on Carnoustie’s notoriously treacherous 18th hole on the final day of the 2007 British Open. He holds his nerve to secure a play-off against Sergio Garcia, and finishes the job with a combination of inspired approach play and steel-balled putting.
• 4 Bernard Dunne survives the mother of all poundings from Ricardo Cordoba in the early rounds of their 2009 world title fight, hangs in there, comes through the fire and seals the deal in the 11th round of one of the most dramatic fights you’ll ever witness.
• 5 A packed Croke Park listens in respectful silence as the mellifluous strains of ‘God Save The Queen’ echo around Dublin 3. In case anyone mistook this display of good manners for servility, Ireland then tear into a petrified England like ravenous animals, and dismantle them 43-13. Send her victorious, happy and glorious, long to reign over us? Think again.

Worst Sporting Moments of the Decade.
• 1 Thierry Henry controls the ball with a deft flick of the left hand, then palms it onto William Gallas’ head, whereupon the ball enters our net. Shay Given and his back four frantically plead with ref Martin Hansson. The Swede is not for turning, awards the goal, and points to the centre-circle.
• 2 With World Cup fever engulfing the nation and a week to go before the big kick-off, the nation awakens to news bulletins informing us that Ireland’s best player, Roy Keane, has erupted into a seismic hissy-fit and walked out on the team. It sounds like a particularly cruel April Fool’s joke, but transpires to be tragically true.
• 3 Steve Staunton and the boys travel to Cyprus for a Euro qualifier, and take an early lead. The final scoreline reads Cyprus 5 Ireland 2. It flatters Ireland considerably, since the Cypriots could quite easily have hit eight or nine.
• 4 The entire Rugby World Cup 2007. A horrendous stain on an otherwise-wondrous decade.
• 5 Ireland ‘fans’ – or at least, the ‘Roy Is Always Right’ brigade, an embodiment of all that was wrong with Celtic Tiger Ireland – boo Mick McCarthy at Lansdowne Road after his first and only competitive home defeat in seven years of managing the team, chanting ‘KEANO’ in case anyone misses the point. (By 2009, there isn’t even a debate about which man is the better manager.)