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Jack and the ghosts of USA '94 are with us still

Barry Egan


This Man's Life

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Jack Charlton. Picture: Getty

Jack Charlton. Picture: Getty

Jack Charlton. Picture: Getty

Life goes in a blink. Last Saturday at 8am I was driving in Foxrock when I saw Mario Rosenstock stopped by the side of the road on his bicycle, on the phone (to Eamon Dunphy). I rolled down the window and he told me the sad news that Jack Charlton was dead.

I was transported back 26 years. To the 1994 World Cup finals in America and three of the greatest weeks of my life - courtesy of Jack. And Aengus Fanning, the then editor of the Sunday Independent. He had originally sent me over with a ton of expenses in my back pocket to write about the atmosphere in and around Ireland's first game in New Jersey's Giants Stadium against the much-fancied Italians. The plan was that I would fly back to Dublin after the game. Against the odds the plan changed when, thanks to Ray Houghton's goal and Paul McGrath and Phil Babb's defending, we beat the Italians.


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