So the moment of truth beckons. Have Ireland ever looked quite as potent as they do right now? Dare we dream of conquering the planet? Indeed, who on earth can stop us? You may already have gathered that I’m referring to our almighty rugby warriors rather than Giovanni Trapattoni’s ragbag rabble of journeymen, who are about to embark on two assignments which will either send the nation into raptures or shatter our dreams into smithereens.

When the draw was made, these two fixtures (Andorra away and Armenia at home) appeared to be the gentlest hurdles one could possibly wish for to see out the campaign. The Armenians’ frighteningly dramatic improvement over the course of the last year or so has transformed the landscape, to the point where we must now approach this one with extreme trepidation.
This Ireland team has long since passed the point where home fixtures have become a far more terrifying prospect than away ones, and the waters are muddied still further by the generally chaotic nature of Group B and the fact that a Slovakian win over Russia would either hand us first place or — if, as I suspect, Armenia hold us to a draw — send us crashing out altogether.
In truth, I would be very much in favour of banishing all thought and mention of the Armenia game until we’ve cleared the obstacle posed by teeny Andorra. Their record of zero points from their last 32 games ought to offer us some encouragement, but when one begins to examine the small print, it becomes apparent that they have made an art form out of losing respectably. Their average losing margin is about two goals, and with the exception of a 4-0 reverse in Yerevan, nobody has murdered them over the course of this campaign.
Defensively, the Andorrans’ record is borderline respectable. A tally of one goal scored from their eight group games would appear to suggest that they are a little lacking in firepower, but you might recall that said goal was scored against - yes, you’ve guessed it, Ireland – at the Aviva, on a night where we looked extremely laboured for vast stretches en route to a wholly unimpressive 3-1 win.
Our recent visit to Moscow, where we were absolutely eviscerated from start to finish and somehow escaped with an almost obscene 0-0 draw, encapsulated both the best and worst of the Ireland team in its current incarnation. We are creatively almost bankrupt, find it desperately difficult to break down even limited opposition, and look to have long since forgotten how it feels to string together three or four passes in a forward direction.
On the other side of the coin, we can be heroically bloody-minded, dogged and difficult to dispatch. Trap’s record in competitive qualifiers now stands at two defeats in 20 matches, an extraordinarily impressive figure after the agonies of the Staunton era. But those stats begin to lose their sparkle when you realise that only 8 of the other 18 ties have been won, leaving a ridiculous tally of 10 draws.
What this all tells you is that we can make life hard for anybody, and tend to thrive away from home against nominally far better teams (visits to Italy, France and Russia have all been survived unscathed). But the reverse also applies: we are capable of making heavy weather of any game, against anybody, and cannot take victory for granted even against football’s pygmy nations.
In light of this, the sense of wariness about the Andorra challenge stems from more than just the usual ‘no easy games in international football’ lip-service: the fact is that we’re very much the sort of team they are entitled to fancy their chances of holding to a draw. If I mention the words ‘Liechtenstein’ and ‘San Marino’ you will recall that we have made nightmarishly hard work of these sort of assignments in the past. Nor would the heavyweights unduly fear a trip to Fortress Aviva at present: of the ten key matches of Trap’s tenure (against Italy, Bulgaria, France, Russia and Slovakia) not a single victory has been registered, unless you stop the counting after 90 minutes of the Paris match. Taking all these factors into consideration, I would bite your hand off at this point in time for a 1-0 win in the Pyrenean mountain-top.
As for Armenia a few days later, I would fancy us all day long if it turns out that all we need is a draw, but would despair of what lies in store in the event that we need a win to progress. Trapattoni’s footballing philosophy was formed long before the introduction of the three-points-for-a-win rule, which was introduced at Jimmy Hill’s instigation in 1981 and adopted as worldwide standard practise by FIFA in 1995, and it often seems that he’s yet to fully get to grips with the ramifications.
We all tend to get more stubborn as we get older, and like a lovable elderly relative, Trap is deeply, rigidly set in his ways, to the point where any possibility of a sudden outbreak of attacking glasnost can be completely discouted. A 73-year-old Italian who has won more trophies than most managers have ever seen will not be persuaded to change his ways by a few scathing newspaper comment pieces. Yes, a blind five-year-old can see that we’re crying out for more engine-room creativity than Glenn Whelan and Keith Andrews will ever be able to provide, that Leon Best is infinitely more likely to deliver goals than the likes of Andy Keogh, that endless hoofed balls in the general direction of the front pairing begin to lose the element of surprise if they’re repeated every two or three minutes – but we are what we are, and there isn’t a whole lot we can do about it other than strap ourselves in for the ride and pour a stiff whiskey.
Predictions? I suspect that we’ll eke out a pig-ugly win in the Pyrenees, that Slovakia won’t have it in them to dispatch the Russkies, that we’ll stutter and stumble our way to a nerve-shredding 0-0 or 1-1 draw against the Armenians, and that all this will leave us yet again staring down the barrel of a play-off. Here goes...
With apologies to our rugby team, whose clinical 36-6 demolition of the Italians bordered on perfection, Foul Play’s Team of the Week award has to go to Limavady United, in honour of their magnificently cheeky offer to take Carlos Tevez on loan on condition that Man City continued to cover his wages during his stint at Chimney Corner.
I hate to brag, but you may recall that I prophesied that Tonga would beat France in the rugby World Cup, a prospect dismissed by the bookies as a 22/1 shot and laughed out of court by everybody I mentioned it to. Tragically, I never quite got around to popping into the bookies the day beforehand, was caught cold by the unholy 6 o’clock kick-off time, and missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime. Still, I trust that you all enjoyed pulling off this bank job, and you can of course feel free to send me a cut of the swag as the man who provided the inside-info. Cash or cheques to Foul Play at 13 Trinity Street, please. The pleasure could have been all mine.