World Cup Venues:

Useful Links:

Japan Rail Passes

FIFA World Cup

World Cup Jerseys

Avaliable at:

www.soccercentral.ie

DAY 1: Sunderland, Monday, May 13

(In conversation with Paul Kimmage)

The adventure begins

I STEP from the taxi into the lobby of the team hotel and take a deep breath. 'I've made it. The World Cup starts here.'

I have been looking forward to this day for weeks. On Saturday, in our last game of the season against Derby, I took my foot off the gas for the last 20 minutes when I knew we were safe from relegation. All I could think about was not getting injured. It would have been devastating to have missed out like Steven Gerrard or Kieron Dyer. But I made it. I'm here. And I can't wait to meet the lads.

They are upstairs in the dining room trying on shoes when I arrive. Hartey (Ian Harte) has done a deal with Oliver Sweeney, the shoe company, and our first freebie of the trip is a pair of hand-made leather shoes with a nifty Irish crest to wear with the suit we will pick up on Wednesday. Okay, so it's not exactly the #10,000 worth of electronic gadgets that each member of the England squad received before flying out to Dubai but hopefully there'll be plenty more where that came from when we arrive in Dublin.

I complete a tour of the room shaking hands and getting hugs. Everyone seems in great form until I am reminded of the supply of free Japanese mobile phones that I had promised to secure before the friendly against Denmark. It's as if they were expecting me to bowl into the hotel with a sack full of free mobiles. "Sorry lads," I announce. "The deal fell through." But they're not amused and a few minutes after being greeted so warmly I am being treated like a villain.

I drop my bag down to my room. It's been a long day. This morning I woke-up with Babbsy (Phil Babb) in Portugal. Well, not with Babbsy but in his house. Although I must admit there have been plenty of occasions when I've woken-up with him in the past. His missus gave me the spare room but left the friggin radiator on. It was like sleeping in a sauna. I woke up half dead. My head was pumping. My mouth was like the inside of a bus driver's glove. I needed water and some Anedin extra. Carlsberg don't do hangovers but if they did ...

I had caught the first flight to Lisbon on Sunday morning expecting to see Phil complete the double for his club Sporting Lisbon in the Portuguese Cup final. Peter Schmeichel had also made the trip. He and Phil used to be neighbours when Peter was at Sporting but we arrived to the news that after playing in almost every league game of the season, Phil had been dropped. I was gutted for him.

Babbsy has been my closest friend in football since 1994. We're godfather to each other's children. We speak almost every other day on the phone. He can appear very calm and cool and doesn't often show emotion but I could tell after the game that it was really cutting him up. We went out for dinner with Peter and his family and at the end of the night there was just the two of us at the bar. We did a lot of talking. It must have been half past four when he got back to the house.

At lunchtime he dropped me to the airport and wished me all the best. As I was waiting in the departures lounge, another familiar voice called me on my mobile phone. "What temperature would you like your bathwater?" he asked. "Hot? Lukewarm? Or cold?" It was Sparkey (Mark Kennedy), my room-mate for the next month. He was on his way to Sunderland and sounded in good form.

DAY 2: Sunderland, Tuesday, May 14

I'm not sure if I should say this!

MICK BYRNE knocks on the door at the ridiculous hour of ten minutes to nine. I'm shattered from all the travelling and could easily sleep until ten but we're training this morning so I have to shift my arse. Sparkey reaches for the phone and orders breakfast in bed. He always has breakfast in bed and it always does my head in because we always get charged for it and I always end up with the bill.

Gary Breen, Dave Connolly and Mick (McCarthy) are at breakfast. I sit down beside Mick, pour myself a cereal and Quinny (Niall Quinn) walks in. He hasn't been the same these last three weeks. You're standing there, talking to him and you know his mind is on the game tonight and what needs to be done. The other morning I asked him three times: "What boots are you wearing at the World Cup?"

"Yeah," he twice replied.

We'll see a different Niall Quinn tomorrow morning. He'll be flying around the place like a kid again. His back will be just fine when all that weight he has been carrying around is removed from his shoulders.

Training went well. The thing I love about training at times like this is that once you get out on the training field there are no balls to be signed or no interviews to give and no one can get at you. You relax and think differently. There was nothing too strenuous, just a warm-up and a ten-a-side but it was good.

We went back to the hotel and I changed and had dinner quickly because I had promised to do a Radio Five Live interview with Simon Mayo about Niall. It lasted about an hour. Mick was in the studio as well and it got quite funny when they placed a call to Jack and asked how he used to deploy Niall. "He was very, very effective when he played for me," Jack insisted. "And he was very, very effective when he played for Middlesbrough." And we just looked at each other and smiled.

I slept for an hour before the game and we left quite early for the ground. A reporter asked me if Roy had arrived. "I don't expect we'll see him before the first of June," I smiled. He thought I was joking. I was running around like a blue-arsed fly organising tickets and talking to the Sunderland boys when we got to the dressing room. I had left my boots in the ground on Saturday after the Derby game but they had been nicked so I had to wear an old pair.

I was itching to play on my home ground for Ireland but started on the bench. It was a great occasion but the game was a non-event.

"You have it, we'll have it. You keep it, we'll keep it."

... and you could tell after 20 minutes that the crowd were bored shitless. But it was always going to be a big test for Sparkey.

When he scored early in the game it was a great boost but I watched him closely afterwards for about 15 minutes and could tell he was struggling with his groin injury. There was one key moment in the first half, we had just won a corner and Mark was supposed to take it but left it for Stan (Steve Staunton) when Stan ran across. Mick went mad and ordered Mark to take it. Mark put a decent ball into the box but the signs were there that it was hurting him.

Mick had a go at him at half-time: I'm not sure what exactly was said as I stayed out on the field to warm up but I could tell from Sparkey's body language that he had the hump. He seemed very down in the dressing room when the game was over but I had my family upstairs and didn't really get a chance to talk to him until we were back at the hotel.

Apart from the occasions when he neglects to pay for his breakfast I have always enjoyed rooming with Sparkey. He's a character. We ordered a sandwich from room service and I could tell there was something troubling him. "I'm going to tell Mick now that I'm going home," he said. And I probably shouldn't say this but I told him he was mad.

I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to go to the World Cup. I wanted him to experience what I had experienced in '94. "You'll regret it," I said. "Just play it down and say nothing and make sure you catch the plane."

"I'm not sure I'll be able to train tomorrow," he said. "And I definitely won't be able to play." He left the room and went looking for Mick. His World Cup was run.

DAY 3

Dublin, Wednesday, May 15

It's Roy! Hallelujah!

TODAY was one of those days when to stand still for half a second was to have a microphone thrust in your mouth, or 50 balls to sign, or 300 demands for an autograph. You could feel the buzz in the city the moment our flight touched down from Newcastle this afternoon. Forget what I said on Monday: the World Cup starts here.

We were given our suits for tomorrow's 'official' photo shoot as soon we arrived at the hotel. Mine fits. There shall be no further comment. And then we had dinner earlier than usual because of the visit of the President, Mary McAleese. Or 'The lovely Mary' as I prefer to call her, because she is.

Roy arrived in the dining room just as we had started to eat and I was overcome by a sudden urge I should have controlled. Maybe it was a reaction to what had been written. Maybe, deep down, I was genuinely relieved to see him. I jumped up instinctively, bowed in homage and shouted 'HALLELLUJAH'. And he just looked at me with one of those world famous smirks that seemed to say: 'Trigger, just shut your noise or I'll kick your f***ing head-in.' So I did and just let him get on with it.

Roy works best when you let him get on with it. He took a lot of stick from the papers today for skipping Niall's game but a lot of it was harsh. There's a side to Roy the newspapers never see. It has long been a tradition on the day before games in Dublin for the players to slip into Grafton Street for a bit of shopping. Roy never shops but often slips out the side door of the hotel to visit sick kids in hospitals.

I know this to be true because I was asked to join him once but refused because it really upsets me to see children suffer and I find it hard anytime, never mind on the day before a game. Roy does it regularly and never makes a fuss. He doesn't want it reported in any of the papers. He just does it and gets on with it. He's different.

And it bugs me sometimes when people seize upon these idiosyncrasies to drive a wedge between the team. A few weeks ago I was on the Late Late Show and Pat Kenny said I had been quoted somewhere as saying that Roy Keane was miserable and he wanted me to elaborate. I laughed it off. I blamed Gary Kelly. But what I really should have said was: 'Pat you soft shite. The squad is one week away from joining up for the World Cup finals. What a twat of a question to ask.'

I have great respect for Roy Keane. Our relationship wasn't great at the start but it's got better over the years. I know yesterday night was for a very good cause but it was Niall's night, not Roy's. And maybe he should have been there for Niall but we have an understanding within the squad about Roy and we respect the way he wants to be. If he wants to room on his own, we respect that. If he doesn't want to talk to anybody, we respect that.

Okay, so it could be argued that it was important he was in Sunderland yesterday but it was more important for the team, and for what we've got going here, that he was somewhere else. And that doesn't mean for one moment that we don't give him stick because we do. We hammer him. But we also respect the fact that he is different and let him get on with it. And I think the papers should do the same.

Apart from the arrival of Roy and our meeting with the lovely Mary, the moment we had all (secretly) been waiting for arrived this evening. The 'Goodie' bag. The sports bag from Umbro, heaving with our kit for the month and, hopefully, the latest laptop computer and portable DVD. The thing is, you can pay a professional footballer thirty grand a week but nothing excites him as much as a good freebie.

Take yesterday morning when we got back from training and the panic that followed Joe Walsh's (our kit man) announcement that "the Nikey fellow had come and had left a load of boots". There are seven 'Nike' players on the squad: Robbie Keane, Hartey, Quinny, Kevin Kilbane, Breeny, myself and Gary Kelly. And, well, you should have seen the scrum.

So we sprint into the room and there are ten boxes of football boots waiting for Niall Quinn! Ten boxes! He couldn't get a stud when he was starting out and it's 20 full shoes now that he has almost finished! And there are eight pairs of trainers, flip-flops and boots for Gary Breen, Gary Kelly, Ian Harte and Kevin Kilbane. And Robbie Keane needs a bleedin' forklift to lift his load. And just one poxy pair for Jason McAteer!

And I follow Niall back to his room and he's shoving them everywhere and it's really doing my head in. I'm thinking, 'why can't I have ten pair?' And it's completely ridiculous because I don't need ten pairs of boots. I don't have space in my bag for ten pairs of boots. I won't use ten pairs of boots in my career! And yet, if the Nikey man was offering them now, I'd be ripping his arm off. And the logic? There is none. It's just one of those things. Everybody loves something for nothing. The lads just love getting "out for nout" (something for nothing).

I remember when I was at Bolton and earning #150 a week, Andy Walker was the 'Golden Boy' and was scoring goals for fun. The fans loved him. And I remember seeing him in the dressing room once and someone had lent him a car and he had new tracksuits and new shoes and new trainers. I thought, 'Here I am graftin' my arse off for half-nothing and no one will give me a tap and he's on thousands and getting everything for nothing! The bastard!'

And now I'm the guy getting all of the free stuff and you just take it because of the buzz. There is nothing like getting free stuff. It's absolutely fantastic. Not, mind you, that the Umbro bag particularly set us alight. The contents were as follows:

3 editions of Penthouse

1 tube of KY jelly

... had you going there for a moment, didn't I? Only joking, they weren't in the bag at all. I'll have to buy those at the airport.

No, seriously, the contents were as follows:1 Posh sports bag

3 Umbro tracksuits (lovely and thick just what you need for the weather in Japan)

1 pair flip-flops

1 gym sack (for boots)

3 pairs of shorts

5 round-neck T-shirts

5 Polo shirts

9 pairs of socks

2 hats

1 Umbro computer case

There's no laptop or DVD or even a humble Gameboy! Just the case! But it's the thought that counts. And, to be fair, it's probably England's.

DAY 4:

Dublin, Thursday May 17

NIKE OR NIGERIA? DECISIONS, DECISIONS

SPARKEY'S decision to withdraw from the panel has left me searching for a new room-mate but when I went through the list yesterday evening almost everybody was paired up. My first choice was Carso (Lee Carsely), who has always been good for me, but he's rooming with Clinton Morrison who doesn't want to switch.

Steven Reid is another option but we've never roomed together before and I don't want to take the risk at the World Cup finals that we're not going to get on. And then there's Roy, but I don't think he'd let me into his room. So in the end I've opted for Stan which means the least I am guaranteed on this trip to get plenty of sleep.

I love Stan. The only think that annoys me about him is that he gets up at half seven every morning for breakfast (he blames having kids) and never stops talking about the game. I haven't seen too much of him so far but then I'm always in somebody else's room, which is probably what he enjoys most about sharing with me.

Today was a match day but it didn't feel like one until we got to the dressing room. Normally the routine is carved in stone: lie on in the morning, breakfast, walk on Malahide beach, dinner, back to bed, pre-match meal, shower, change, drive to Lansdowne Road. But today we were running around all over the place.

It started at eleven with the official team photograph on the steps of the Holiday Inn. We changed into our tailored Louis Copeland suits and our Oliver Sweeney shoes and actually looked like a proper team as we smiled for the cameras. Then we took the gear off, packed it into a suit bag, and set off on the coach to Malahide for the walk.

When we came back to the hotel, the reception area was jammed with people looking for autographs and we had a job getting down to our rooms. We checked the telly for news of the team: Mick hadn't announced it yet but the text suggested he was sending out his strongest team.

After dinner I returned to the room and packed my suitcase for the fourth time in as many days and couldn't make up my mind about what to bring or leave behind. Definitely making the trip is my digital camera, my portable DVD player, my MP3 (a brilliant gadget for downloading music from the Internet) and my Jimmy White autobiography.

But I'm not sure about my dancing gear. Should I bring one set or two? And I'm not sure about my red and white boots. Nike have promised me a better deal but are still treating me like a twat and I'm considering trying the new Addidazzlers (when my agent eventually gets his arse into gear and sorts it out).

After our pre-match snack, we boarded the coach for Lansdowne Road where the buzz soon focused our minds on the task in hand. It was a weird game and for the third time in a week I walked out thinking, 'Don't do anything silly, just make sure you come through it okay.'

After five minutes, I felt a shudder run up my leg from my heel when I was tackled and landed awkwardly but I was able to run it off and it seemed to be okay. My ankle was slightly swollen when it was checked at half-time and Mick decided there was no point in taking a risk and sent on Steven Reid in my place.

He played well and scored a very good goal and is more than capable of doing a job for the team. Am I worried he might take my place? No, but I'd be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind. But I am confident in my own ability and have been playing consistently well of late. Steven may be the star or the future but at the moment the shirt is mine and I intend to keep it that way.

It's always disappointing to lose but there was a lot of positives in the game for us. We played well without giving 100%, created a lot of chances, had a good work-out and have an idea of how Cameroon will play and what we've got to do. And the atmosphere in the ground was just fantastic. I don't remember it like that when we lost to the Czech Republic in '94. It was a great send-off.

DAY 5:

Siberia, Friday, May 18

GREETINGS FROM SIBERIA

MICK BYRNE raps on the door and orders us out of bed. I'm knackered. Even Stan is stuck to the sheets. We pull on our tracksuits and find a way through the coma and onto the coach. It's raining outside. We're about to spend 17 hours in three jets and I can feel it. The first moan of the day is only seconds away.

Okay, so I can understand (well, no actually I can't) that the FAI can't afford to charter a plane to take us directly to Saipan. And I can understand that since September 11 security has been tightened. But did we really have to queue individually at check-in? And was there no shorter route than Amsterdam and Tokyo? And did they really have to organise a reception before we flew out?

The minimum, surely, on the morning after a game, would have been to escort us straight to a private lounge. But there were hundreds of people swarming around us in the Departures Lounge and even I couldn't handle the attention after a while and in the end Mick had to insist we were taken to the Aer Lingus Premier Club lounge and given some space. But surely we should have been taken there in the first place? It was almost a relief to get onto the plane.

Twelve hours, and many thousands of kilometres later, I am recording these lines as we jet across the icy plains of deepest Siberia. Dean Kiely is sitting alongside. Roy Keane is a couple of rows in front. We're travelling business class thanks to his outburst last year when we were allotted cheap seats on a trip to Cyprus. And he's wearing a pair of lovely boy-scout knee-length socks that we've all been given to offset deep-vein thrombosis.

But I can't imagine them on David Beckham.

 DAY 6:

Saipan, Saturday, May 19

HERE ON BUSINESS

STEPPED off the plane in Tokyo this morning and just managed to hold onto the contents of my stomach until I had reached the toilet. After that it wasn't pretty. As soon as I caught sight of the bowl there was diced carrots everywhere. When I came out, this Japanese man was staring at me like I was an alien ... which is pretty much how I feel at the moment. Even in business class the voyage has been draining.

Kevin Costner is waiting outside to escort me back to the lads. Costner, aka The Bodyguard, is Tony Hickey, our security officer. And from the first day we met he has always reminded me of a German Shepherd we had at home called Tina when I was a kid. My Mum used to take us to this park, my sister, my brother and me, and Tina would circle us for an hour as we rolled around in the grass. It was astonishing. No one entered the circle.

I remember having dinner one night with Lee Carsley in Iran when he nodded and said, "Look at Tony eating his soup." His eyes were darting everywhere as his spoon moved from the plate to his mouth. And you give him a hug at the end of a game and he's exactly the same.

"I've got to make sure the gaffer is all right."

"I've got to go and find Robbie Keane."

"Where's Roy? Where's Mattie Holland? Where's Breeny?"

"What the f***k is that guy doing?"

Tony is a real pro.

We rejoin the lads in an executive lounge upstairs. Shay Given has his cassette player out. They're listening to some 'Radio Roy' sketches from 'Gift Grub' and having a laugh at our captain's expense. Roy sits in the corner, grinning from ear to ear. And to think it's been said that we don't bring out the best in him?

Five hours later, we touch down in Saipan. It's hot and sticky like you'd never believe in the baggage hall. A woman hands us a garland of flowers as we step into the sunlight. She obviously hasn't heard we're here on business ...

Well, maybe in a day or two.

Enquiries to: franknoc@yahoo.com

Japan

Embassy of Ireland

Ireland House 5F,

2-10-7 Kojimachi,

Chiyoda -ku,

Tokyo1020083

Tel : ++81 3 32630695

Fax : ++81 3 32652275

Korea

Embassy of Ireland

Daehan Fire and Marine Insurance Building,

15th Floor,

51-1 Namchang-Dong,

Chung-Ku,

100-778 Seoul

Tel : ++ 82 2 7746455

Fax : ++ 82 2 7746458