I n the minutes immediately after the match it wasn't so much Thierry Henry's left hand but Damien Duff's right foot that was haunting the thoughts of this viewer.

Maybe it was an exercise in displaced thinking, a subconscious attempt to escape the operatic emotions that were about to be unleashed all over Ireland.

But there's no escaping when this country is in full victim mode: the anger, the self-pity, the witch-hunt -- all whipped up into a cocktail of national hysteria. Then, equally predictably, the backlash to the backlash -- berating ourselves for our hypocrisy, for losing all perspective, for blaming everyone else.

Stop! Can we please get off? Because it doesn't always have to be like this, we don't always have to be the victims. We are not helpless pawns in some grand conspiracy; it is not our unavoidable fate to end up the eternal also-rans and nearly men. But that's where we usually end up and it just about serves us right because, while we love to see our stars competing at world-class level, we are seemingly indifferent to the fact that they come out of a second class sporting environment. Facilities are crap, government policy pathetic, the general culture ignorant.

It's been a mantra in recent years that gallant defeats are no longer enough for this great little nation. But the mentality is so deeply embedded that it has almost become a badge of honour, part of the national identity. As long as they compete with courage, then defeat is okay -- disappointing alright but sure, what can you do?

A greater emphasis on skill and technique would be a start.

Which brings us back to Duff, a player who was blessed from childhood with natural skills -- all of them unfortunately in his left foot. Everyone loves Duffer because he is a delightful ball player and by all accounts a lovely bloke. But in his 12 years as a professional footballer he has never acquired even a basic level of competence on his weaker side. It is painful to see a player with so much confidence when the ball is on his left, struggling with such doubt and hesitation when it's on his right. The talent he has came naturally, the technique he could have acquired was never coached or learned.

If we in Ireland take pride in our fighting heart, the English cherish their bulldog spirit. It amounts to the same thing: two countries where guts and commitment are prized over intelligence and technique. Our best young players end up in cross-channel clubs, already behind their continental peers in terms of basic skill, and doomed never to bridge the gap thereafter. Every generation ends up telling the same story: never outfought, almost always outclassed.

And it all came home to roost again on Wednesday night. Ironically enough, this was a rare match where the Irish players weren't outclassed. But when Duff was put through on goal in the 61st minute, he was forced to take the shot with his right; if he'd put the hours of practice in, he might have been rewarded with the most memorable goal of his career.

He wasn't the only one; when Kevin Doyle had his one clear chance in the first half, his heading technique let him down.

Robbie Keane has always been a panicky finisher. Too much time and space in front of goal jangles his nerves. It was almost inevitable that he would fluff that brilliant chance in the 73rd: he has squandered one-on-one opportunities with a regularity that suggests he wasn't coached to improve his ratio in these situations, or that he was never too bothered anyway.

At the press conference on Thursday, Trapattoni said he was confident of winning if the game went to penalties. But we would almost certainly have lost: British-coached players have a miserable history in penalty shootouts. And it is not for lack of bottle, it's simply because they don't strike the ball well enough. The snooker player Steve Davis was famed for his granite temperament but for him it came down to a simple equation: his nerve held up because his technique was immaculate. He could trust it to work under maximum pressure.

The scenes on the pitch after the match would have melted your heart. Duff, Doyle, Keane and the rest of the players had delivered a monumental performance, one of the greatest by any Irish side in any sport. They had every right to feel cheated. They had competed for two hours at just about the highest possible level in their sport and, miraculously, were the superior side. But the margins are so finely calibrated at this level that the slightest deficiency can become the difference between winning and losing. Duff's career-long weakness off his right was punished in the end; likewise Keane's career-long anxiety in front of goal. They were punished dishonestly, as it turned out, but punished nonetheless. Had they taken those chances, they would've been impervious to Henry's cunning, to the referee's error and to FIFA's previous machinations. All the courage in the world couldn't save them but a bit more class would have.

If we want to avoid being victims forever, we could start by planning a future in which our footballers will have the technical ability to convert that overworked fighting spirit into the goals that win games and end all arguments.

the.couch@hotmail.com

Sunday Independent