When you’re Irish of a certain age you like to imagine ‘Olé, Olé, Olé’ was conceived of here to celebrate our exploits in world football between 1988 and 1994. Late last Saturday night, well after the final whistle, the resort hotel I was staying at in Agadir was invaded by groups of Moroccan fans waving flags, chanting, singing and dancing. Women in hijabs, youngsters in the national jersey and overweight, half-pissed, tourists all linked arms and started an impromptu party. Even some hotel staff abandoned their posts to embrace the jubilation that peaked with, a little sadly I thought, a…

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