Dangerous Vision

I'd like you all to get comfortable first. Pull up your favourite chair, take the phone off the hook, make yourself a nice cup of tea or whatever beverage you prefer when in a mode of relaxation.

Take your clothes off if you like, the choice is entirely yours, and Doctor Declan is here merely to facilitate you.

Now, then, if you're feeling mellow enough for us to proceed, we will begin this important counselling session.

There can be only one subject, of course, on this fortnight's agenda, and that is the strategies which can best be employed to safeguard your increasingly precarious mental health, as the hour of destiny approaches, and the Republic prepares to join battle with the forces of Norn Iron at Windsor Park.

I will not bore you with some analogue shit about football being only a game, after all, twenty-two fellows kicking a spherical object around a field. (No sireeee - Ed).

For the more acute patients, this may provide a last, desperate fall-back, but I am addressing the generality of clients here, the broad mass of people who know of the suicidal implications inherent in this fixture, and who are trying to cope with them in a mature manner.

First of all, I will say that The Republic are not going to qualify for the World Cup. I want you to repeat after me: "The Republic are not going to qualify for the World Cup."

Say it out loud, let it resonate through the room until it becomes a mantra, a constant background to all our subsequent speculations.

Massive, almost irreparable psychological damage has been done by all of those frigging imbeciles who have been running around sorting out their bastard visas for the United States, these premature ejaculators who clearly know nought of the vagaries of football.

Perhaps the above mantra, embedded in the root of the brain, can counteract the ignorant fantasies which may be about to set us up for a journey into the abyss.

Only by beginning with a Worst Possible Scenario, and assessing its likelihood, can we hope to come out of this nightmare with our marbles intact.

For years, for decades even, those of us who have been following the Republic, have regarded the Worst Possible Scenario as the First Possible Scenario. It was ever thus the cult of Big Jack attracted the massed hordes of ignorami to the ranks, distorting the psychic fundamentals with their juvenile optimism.

If I mention the words "Eoin Hand", you will recall the imperative of the Worst Possible Scenario being the First Possible Scenario, as well as the second, third, fourth and fifth scenarios.

All of those disallowed goals, those swinish refereeing decisions, the bad karma which constantly beckoned, were relatively easy to accept during that benighted era, when we had the fundamentals right.

Now I will take you further and deeper into the dark labyrinth of the football soul.

The Republic failing to qualify is not, in fact, the Worst Possible Scenario. There are many ways in which they may fail to qualify, and some are infinitely worse than others.

Ideally, Norn Iron will win by three clear goals, the Republic will play like dogs, and we can accept that this team has gone over the hill for good. A clear execution is the best we can hope for.

Alternatively, the electric chair may malfunction, and this will not be a pretty sight at all. A rancid scoreless draw in Belfast may be grinding to its inevitable conclusion, but Spain will be leading Denmark 1-0 . . . until, with two minutes to go, the legend Spain 1, Denmark 1, flashes onto the bottom of the screen. If you are going to be fried, it is better that the procedure is not a lingering one.

Any scenario involving Norn Iron equalising with drastic consequences in the latter stage of the game would have an equally horrible impact.

Does this depress you? I sincerely hope that it does, because this is the purpose of our session today. I am attempting to lower your expectations to the very nadir, so that you will view the possibility of the Republic qualifying, in the same light as the chances of viewers' contributions to Arthur Murphy's Mailbag winning the Nobel Prize for Literature.

Then, and only then, can we begin to make some progress in this precarious project. As a realistic therapist, I know that in an idyllic corner of your mind, there are voices which insist that the Republic will be all right on the night.

Amateur pundits will be goading you into believing those voices, calling to you seductively, tempting you to abandon your ideal position of utter pessimism.

You must somehow resist these pernicious forces, or you will pay a terrible price in the aftermath.

As a responsible doctor of sports medicine, it is my duty to ensure that if cold turkey must be endured, it will be as painless as possible. I can only do this by steadily reducing your doses of optimism until you are close to zero coming up to kick-off time.

I had a dream the other night, and in this dream, the Republic were playing an important match, and Ray Houghton equalised with a few minutes remaining.

The laziness of the subconscious did not permit me to establish the significance of this equaliser, but I certainly recall it as an unpleasant dream.

This is preferable to having a bad dream when you are wide awake, and whatever way you cut it, Windsor Park on November 17 is going to be a bad dream.

I hope that I have managed to sedate you in some way for the rockier moments.

Now go forth and despair.