The Old New Firm

THAT'S RIGHT, a few hundred miles away, the USA and Iran are locked in World Cup '98 battle. Hot Press, however, is in Waterstones bookshop on Dublin's Dawson Street, for an evening intriguingly billed as "Gerry Adams in Conversation with Eamon Dunphy."

Dunphy, who's built his reputation as the hardman in the centre of the Sunday Indo midfield, has undergone a radical transformation of late into a Today FM interviewer who is known for his cultured style of play and his educated right-wing boot. His image as the Vinny Jones of Irish journalism seems to have "gone away, you know." Tonight, his tone is one of pained understanding for the myriad difficulties Gerry has to contend with. His introduction refers to the Sinn Féin president as "one of the most remarkable Irishmen of this century . . . I have the greatest respect for him."

Adams returns Dunphy's tributes, before coming in with a crunching tackle: "First of all, I'm very pleased that you are here, Eamon. And I forgive you for all the things you wrote about me . . . on the basis that you have now admitted that you were wrong."

Dunphy keeps his shape, however, and concentrates on thoughtful probing of the opposition defence. He isn't helped by what some commentators have described as Gazza-like behaviour within his camp in the run-up to the game. The evening is ostensibly to discuss Adams in his literary incarnation, but it emerges quickly that Dunphy's pre-match preparations haven't been the best: somewhat abashed, he admits that he hasn't had time to read the books, owing to the pressures of having to write "world cup rubbish." 1-0 to Adams!

One might have expected Adams to continue to assert his authority in the face of the opposition's obvious discomfort. Instead, he seems to be finding it difficult to put his foot on the ball - he's obviously ill-at-ease now that the focus is on his life and literary influences, rather than the more familiar ground of republican politics. At one point he refers to the "arrogance" of writing a book and expecting people to pay for it - well, it never bothered Incey.

He is not settled either by his former opponent's tendency to take the odd speculative shot on goal. When Adams refers to his very early years, reading the likes of Enid Blyton, Dunphy wonders whether he also followed the exploits of Biggles, "that great RAF hero." 1-1!

As the match progresses, though, the Sinn Féin skipper at last begins to display some fancy footwork of his own. On the difficulty of getting Unionist negotiators to speak to him during the Stormont talks, he deadpans that "any of my conversations with them were in the 'Men's Room,' where they were a captive audience. I suppose they had their hands full." When asked, if he ever feels fear he replies, "Yes. In the car coming down from Bodenstown tonight. Eamonn [his driver] is going to write a book called My Drive For Irish Freedom." 2-1!

If Sinn Féin are the Brazil 1970 of political persuasiveness, Adams is their Pele. A real crowd-pleaser, he begins to win over the neutrals with some particularly deft touches. He rates Alice Walker's The Colour Purple as influential because "whatever I know about feminism was probably sparked off by that type of writing"; he regrets that he doesn't have more time to "daydream," something which he considers essential to the creative process. He also accepts that Mo Mowlam has an "imaginative" approach, but goes on to say that, "I think what is happening at the moment is that the system is trying to cripple her."

Remarkably, the first yellow card offences occur after half-time when there's a brief scuffle over the conflicting opinions held by the team captains of Roddy Doyle (Adams pro; Dunphy anti). When Gerry refers to 'On Raglan Road' as "one of the most wonderful love songs ever," a grinning Dunphy replies that "I'll sing it for you, if you're not good." 2-2!

Adams attempts to get his nose in front again, by saying that he doesn't expect that there are many Unionists in the room, before turning to Eamo with a mischievous "isn't that right?" But the shot whistles just wide of the target.

As the game progresses it becomes clear that we're seeing a more rounded picture of Gerry Adams than is usual. He talks of the way women and the working class were for a long period almost written out of "their own history"; of his shock as the truth about the Magdalene laundries emerged; and about the problems faced by inner-city communities, particularly in relation to drug addiction.

He also provides an interesting vignette which illustrates the resistance Sinn Féin still face from within the Northern Irish establishment: "We had a fairly heavy meeting where we were arguing for funding for an Irish language school. Which we got. But it was obvious that the civil servant in the room, who was a middle-aged, meek, nondescript man was not happy. When we were leaving he said to one of the board of governors of the school, 'Watch this space. We'll get you in the long grass'. I mean, that's corner boy stuff."

A red card offence, surely - but the referee didn't see it.

If such attitudes are as widespread as Adams believes, there is still a long way to go before his 'equality agenda' will come close to being implemented, Sinn Féin ministers or not.

The final ten minutes are reminiscent of Ireland's game against Holland in the World Cup in 1990 - all the bite has gone out of the exchanges as both sides are guaranteed to take their place in the next round. And so the proceedings end with the honours even.

It's a funny old game, Brian. n