So, how has it turned out? You know, I don’t. The new civil war, and one that’s just as bitter as the old one. Keane and McCarthy. Pro-treaty or anti? Ah yes, this is Ireland.

It’s how we do it. Sooner or later, just as we think we are on the point of something, we have a split. And we can’t remember how to back off, how to let it go, how to compromise in the interests of the team. So, when someone offers to bury the hatchet, look out.

In football, we got away with a lot for a long time. For a start, there was the Charlton era. But he was British. It was a bit like... unity within the empire. He was like a rough tough dad. Any dissent or deviation was dealt with, though he cosseted Paul McGrath and minded him through some difficult times. As a dad will.

But time caught up on all that. So, we went for... a member of the diaspora. Mick McCarthy, uncle. It worked, but it was always fraught with the possibility that it would go sour. That’s how it is with uncles.

And of course, to make it all so much more complicated, Roy Keane developed into one of the greatest footballers of his generation at the same time. McCarthy could have done without that.

They represent the hero and the chief. These are archetypal figures in the Irish imagination. They are often in conflict. Think of Cuchulainn and Conor McNessa, Fionn MacCumhail and Diarmaid na mBan...

The hero represents truth, purity and singlemindedness. He is prone to melancholy, anger, moods. The chief is pragmatic, compromised and human. He is both strong and weak. He is likely to be devious, suspicious and jealous of the hero.

Their wrangling and contesting is invariably tragic. It is often accompanied by the keening and grotesqueries of the scribes, the filÌ and the druids. They are now known as the media.

In the resolution of their terrible conflict is pain and loss. You could mount a fine Shakespearean performance based on the coming and goings in Saipan. And King Lear has nothing on the national-level grief that has suffused the Irish since this terrible and unseemly conflict broke loose. This is the stuff of myth and legend. Icelanders created an entire national literature out of less.

It is a contest between greatness and goodness, between doing your best and being magnificent, between supping with the great and good and supping with the gods. There is a difference between celebrity and immortality. Mick McCarthy courts one, Roy Keane the other.

Some are bemused. There is talk of long histories. There is chatter.

A great athlete has a hard streak of ruthlessness. A good manager has too. And between these protagonists, there seems to be personal hatred. And both long and short memories. The rocks shudder.

Some things are getting clearer. There is the long history between the two men. There is also the pressure that was put on Keane’s wife and for which he seems to have received little comfort or support from McCarthy.

But in all honesty, the most telling thing in all this sorry saga has been McCarthy’s inability or unwillingness to see far enough ahead, and to allow for possible troubles. As Paul McGrath and others have pointed out, when the shit hit the fan, he had little choice but to call time on Keane. But a great manager would never have allowed things to degenerate to that point. And for this failure, McCarthy will always be damned.

It just isn’t good enough to wash your hands of it. If McCarthy wants to be seen in the same kind of terms as Alex Ferguson as a manager, he has to be able to handle this kind of thing.

I suppose that most people also cannot fathom how it can’t be patched up. I mean, people can shake hands and work together in Northern Ireland despite thousands of deaths and murders. So, why not this small pampered elite? And yes, I mean McCarthy too.

As all the turmoil overtook and probably fatally damaged our World Cup hopes, India and Pakistan squared up to each other, threatening nuclear strikes. Now, that’s what I call really high stakes. One analyst suggested that India could afford to lose 18 million people and Pakistan much the same. Let’s face it. In comparison, the Irish soccer team is small beer.

The Hog