We are delighted to present the latest in a new series of Courtenay’s Columns, exclusive to Radiowaves.fm. Almost twenty years since the very first article, Pat is back with more musings, ponderings (and any other synonyms you can think of) along with memories from his radio past.
Pat currently presents ‘Afternoon Drive’ on Dublin’s Radio Nova, having returned to our shores in 2010.
In this article, as the Qatar 2022 World Cup continues, Pat brings us more memories from Italia 90 with 98FM…
Go Directly To Jail
Italia 90. Cagliari on the island of Sardinia. A thirsty place with an excellent local beer called Ichnusa, which our English adversaries were not officially allowed to sample. There was a blanket ban on all football fans in bars, hence the usefulness of the phrase, Giornalisto Irlandesi along with a pleasant attitude. So, where were they getting the gargle? Loads of it, judging by the red, bloated, some dribbling faces that were lurching about the piazza by the harbour one hot afternoon, wearing their England jerseys and slurring their England songs. The central point was a little monument where the less adventurous ones had conceded defeat and sat down.
There are always throngs of people in the city, most of them well turned-out. Scattered through the crowd were some gentlemen, immaculately dressed in summer-weight suits, stylish haircuts and expensive-looking shoes. As the group of English supporters made their presence increasingly unpleasant, I noticed the elegant gentlemen moving towards the monument. Without any kind of warning, the suit jackets opened and out came the riot batons.
You don’t argue with the Carabinieri, especially if you haven’t been given the chance to engage in conversation. Damage was done, and in a clearly coordinated swoop, the vehicles appeared and anyone who wasn’t immediately well-behaved was hooshed away.
Now, I don’t know how much “due process” was followed but I do know that one chap missed the game altogether and spent his whole trip in a jail cell before being driven directly to the airport. I was shown the jail. It wasn’t pretty. There must have been more modern facilities but the one to which this guy was committed was like something out of the Inquisition. Through the rusting bars I could see water seeping down one of the stone walls. It was actually cold in there in spite of the Springtime heat. The only things missing were the chains hanging out of the wall and the rack in the corner (although the bed bore a passing resemblance.)
Of course, the English supporters were not all bad by any means, but our own were (typically) far and away the darlings amongst the locals. My group and I didn’t have tickets for the game so I was able to watch from the hotel balcony with a beer after the 1-1 draw. When the locals had finished watching the television coverage, they piled into cars and streamed out onto the road to the stadium. Anyone who was clearly an Ireland supporter was exuberantly handed a large bottle of “lemonade.” It was a hot night, even though it had rained (an event for which Fr. Michael Cleary later claimed the credit) so the welcome liquids were swigged back. Vodka and grappa are invisible in 7-Up.
Ole, ole, ole!
Next time, the quarter-final.
© Pat Courtenay/Radiowaves.fm.
First published December 4th 2022