I wasn’t part of the Shamrock Rovers team that famously played Real Madrid in Tallaght stadium in July 2009. It was one Cristiano Ronaldo’s first game in a Madrid jersey and the world’s press were there. I was plying my trade at another club and having a decent season. Would I have loved to play in that game. Oh yes!

I have played against a few top sides in my colourful career. Big teams over for a friendly or once-or-twice in a European competition. Some teams bring a decent crowd as well as their own media, photographers etc. Some players really try to speak to the opposing clubs’ own media and get their mug in as many shots with the official photographer as possible.

The reason? To boost the profile as much as possible and try get onto bigger things than the League of Ireland. Most of us have the same agenda.

Take for example when Bohs played Gent in the 2005 Intertoto Cup at Dalymount Park. Dominic Foley had a decent game and the club’s official photographer managed to snap him a few times.

The chain of events led to the Belgian side actually signing him. He was almost 30. But, by now, playing in Belgium’s top league and probably earning more than he would at Bohemians. He managed to stay in Belgium until last year. Fair play in fairness.

I am guilty of trying to boost my profile to play in better places than the League of Ireland.The one I feel most ashamed about is getting a mate, who lives in Turkey, to “get in” with the local clubs and drop the occasional “Oh, check this bloke (secret Irish footballer) out. They’re raving about him in Ireland” and in return there’d be a nice reward if it worked out. It was tried, but nothing came of it. It’s the worst way of doing it.

I have only ever played professionally in the League of Ireland as a senior player. But I came close once to bigger and better fortunes.

I was out of contract with one club and they offered to renew it. I decided to wait a week or so to see if I can get anything else, but didn’t tell them that. I don’t have an agent or anything like it (still don’t). And everything is done by myself and a mate who we’ll call Bill (not his real name), who is a friend of the family and will make a call or two as a favour to me and my dad (in fact, my dad used to look after me as I was growing up, but illness stopped this).

Bill rings me up one day in December.

“Listen, you won’t believe this. But there’s interest from a foreign club” he says.

“Fuck off! Who?”

“Spanish side. Pontevedra”

“Potefedran?” I asked. I hadn’t heard of them.

“Pontevedra. Small club near Portugal/Spain border. They’re very interested and said will offer you a 6 month contract!”

This was music to my ears. I had no idea who they were, but living in Spain would be a dream. Who doesn’t want to play in Spain?

I played a great season that year. I was fairly knackered and if I joined the team, I’d have to go straight away as their season was ongoing right til the end of May. I didn’t care. Bill went to my father’s house that night. I met him there. He told me the details.

I found out that Pontevedra play in the third tier of Spanish football. That was a leap up from the League of Ireland, most will agree. In the league was Cadiz, a popular team that play in a 25,000 seated stadium. Imagine that. From 1,500 people to 25,000 in the space of weeks. Also in the league was Real Betis B; the reserve side of the famous club. The one thing that impressed me was that Pontevedra had a 10,000 capacity stadium and they got decent crowds in every week. This was becoming surreal.

I’ll admit I had a great season, one of my best. But this is a jump up and I questioned would I be ready. I didn’t win the league, but people said I had impressed and a lot of the clubs would be in for me. This knowledge gave me the confidence to do the 6 month contract in Spain. Six months is a short time and I was worried would I spend more time on the bench. But the challenge and new lifestyle appealed. Plus, not to mention, I would be earning a little over double what my then-current club offered. I told Bill I was well up for it.

But it was not to be.

As Bill was onto the club, ironing out a few details, I was having something of a end of season blow out drinking session with my then-club. I told nobody of the Spain deal in progress. It was nearly Christmas, loads of hen nights were about and things got a little worse for wear and out of hand and, in short, I badly sprained my ankle on the cobblestones in Temple Bar. I knew what this meant as I relayed the info to Bill: the deal was going to be off.

They didn’t call it off. They needed someone immediately for the position I played. They said they would sign me for their B team (who play in the seventh or eighth tier or something). But I wouldn’t be getting paid for the duration of the 6 month contract bar food and water expenses (which was €40 p.w.). I’m not wealthy. I don’t earn more than a brickie during a good week. I definitely couldn’t go to Spain and play football for free for half a year. The recession hadn’t kicked in at this time yet.

But what if I heal from my injury quickly, would Pontevedra boost me from their B side to the full side and pay me what they (only verbally) agreed? No came the reply. They needed someone immediately. I had somehow impressed (You Tube?) and on that basis and Bill’s hard work struck a deal. A drunken fall fucked it up and I got a much smaller deal. Forty euros each week for a bit of water and cheap supermarket curry to play football in a beautiful country? Plus I had a long-term girlfriend? It’d be alright if I was the main earner, but she’s have to be the bread-winner with this new situation.

There was too many negatives. I had to tell them no. Maybe they’ll call again? No. I never played a season as good as that one again. No club outside of the League of Ireland ever showed interest in me again. That was the peak of my career: a nearly moment. I’m not in the final stages of my career and that thought, above all, depresses me the most. The deal was never made public and I never told anyone aside from family members. It was only a verbal agreement after all.

As for Bill, he never done favours like that for me again. I fucked up. Spain, of all places, will have to wait. Rainy nights at places like UCD Bowl is my future.