Alan Ruddock: Now Ireland can sink back to the comforts of defeat

It is difficult to convey the devastation that swept through Ireland on Thursday. Normally sane people likened it to a death in the family, children and grown men cried and the Taoiseach's office was flooded with calls beseeching Bertie Ahern, the great conciliator, to intervene. Ireland had lost Roy Keane, the iconic leader of its football team, in bizarre and inexplicable circumstances, and with him went all hope of progressing in next week's World Cup finals.

Instead of cautious optimism that the team could make it through to the quarter-finals, the people had to come to terms with the prospect of a swift and humiliating exit at the first hurdle. For once a nation that travelled in hope, that revelled in the fun and festivity of major championships but cared little for results, was preparing to travel in expectation. It was a new, and for some, uncomfortable experience. It is easy to make merry when you expect nothing. Hope and expectation, however, make life more difficult.

In the 14 years since Jack Charlton's team sneaked its way into the European finals in Germany, Ireland itself has been transformed. In 1988 Ireland was still in the grip of what seemed at the time to be never-ending depression. The unlikely success of Charlton's team, much derided outside the country for its motley collection of foreign-born players, captivated the Irish and provided blessed relief from dullness.

In 2002, Ireland is a different place. Its people are proud that it boasts the fastest-growing economy in Europe; its youth has returned and it is has grown accustomed to success. It is, undeniably, a harsher place: suicide rates are high, violent crime is rarely out of the headlines and the yuppie culture that blighted London in the 1980s has taken root in the land of the Celtic Tiger. Glorious failure may have satisfied a previous generation, but it is not part of modern Ireland.

Japan and Korea was going to be different. This time Ireland had a blend of seasoned professionals, young stars and one man who could transform them into world-beaters. It had emerged unbeaten from a qualifying group that would have buried England. Roy Keane, alone on the world stage, has the power and the talent to galvanise those around him, to drag improbable performances from those who are usually average.

He may never inspire affection outside the confines of his own family, but he inspires awe and respect. His passion, his commitment, his unrelenting pursuit of excellence and victory leave no room for the half-hearted. His teammates, both on the Irish and Manchester United squad, are intimidated by him, and humbled. Those who cannot believe that one man can have such an impact on a team should study videos of Ireland's performances against Holland and particularly Portugal, or Manchester United's away victory over Juventus in 1999.

In almost all respects, Keane is the polar opposite of what a traditional Irish icon should be. He takes no pride in defeat, however glorious. He shuns company. He is serious and straight-talking. He does not shed tears as he belts out the national anthem, he stands stony-faced. He is a winner, and nothing less than victory satisfies him.

He went to the World Cup believing that Ireland could go far, and he went with a seriousness of purpose that was not matched by those around him. He raged against the quality of the facilities and the lack of intensity in training.

Keane's singleness of purpose, his determination to accept nothing less than complete dedication and impeccable preparation, sets him at odds with Mick McCarthy, the manager who has said that he is in Japan to enjoy himself. It also sets Keane and McCarthy, a Barnsley boy who captained Ireland under the Charlton reign, at opposite ends of the Irish character.

Simplistically, Keane represents the new, success-driven Irish, McCarthy the traditional, laid-back, pint-swilling fans of old. McCarthy wants to do well, but he lacks Keane's burning will and has opted instead for harmonious mediocrity.

For McCarthy and his employers at the Football Association of Ireland, simply getting to the World Cup finals was achievement enough. For Keane, the man who carried his country there on his back, it was just the starting point. It is a cultural divide exaggerated by the two men's contrasting personalities, but one that is played out daily in a new Ireland where winning matters.

Without Keane, Ireland reverts to normal. Expectations are at zero, a draw will once again be a victory and the travelling fans, who will have spent thousands of euros to get to Japan, will just enjoy the party. The team will no longer have to deliver, it will only have to perform bravely. If it loses, then Keane can be blamed; if it manages to win, then the euphoria of triumph over adversity will wash away any prospect of recrimination.

For McCarthy, who decided that his pride was more important than keeping Roy Keane on his team-sheet, it is a classic win-win, as long as he can maintain the fiction that his captain's demise was all of Keane's making. That may wash with one generation, which still believes in authority and blazers and all things in their place: but it will alienate a newer generation that idolises Keane for possessing all the qualities that so enrage their elders. They will, however, still manage to party – even if the edge has gone.

alanruddock@hotmail.com