On June 15, 1988, shortly before eight o’clock, Ireland’s second-ever football match at a major tournament seemed to be meandering nowhere. It was nearly half-time in the game against the USSR when my father decided that he would head out to the local garda station to get passport forms signed because two of his sons were heading to Germany two days later for Ireland’s final group game against Holland. We had only decided to go to Germany three days earlier after Ireland had beaten England, so there had been a rush to get everything in order. With the game going…

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