Saturday, 9.0 pm: Drug test cowboys

Quotes time. If things haven't gone too well this is never much fun, but after tonight's 1-1 draw at Lansdowne Road there are special treats in store.

The standard routine is that a gang of journalists hang around a corridor through which the players are supposed to pass and ask (occasionally beg) them to take a minute out to share their thoughts.

Several players are considered to be bankers - Kenny Cunningham, Niall Quinn, Gary Breen, Alan Kelly, Tony Cascarino and Denis Irwin foremost amongst them - who will generally say something regardless of how things have gone. Some others are less co-operative.

This evening, however, the FAI have complicated matters. The drug tests are taking place in one of the rooms in the corridor and after Irwin has emerged and talked for a few minutes, FAI head of security Joe McGlue arrives to tell us that having players wandering through the drug test area is against UEFA regulations, so the rest of the squad will leave by an exit that leads on to the pitch.

Well used to this part of the post-match routine descending into farce, the 30 or so journalists troop out into the night and end up having to compete with autograph-hunting fans in the new location.

Two players, Kevin Kilbane and Robbie Keane, stop for a while, a couple more pause but say little, while Roy Keane is surrounded by half a dozen bouncers whose sole purpose is to prevent us beating a syllable out of him. It then emerges that everybody else has already gone.

Those who stop tell us that despite the late goal there is still every chance of salvaging the tie in the second leg. The demeanour of the rest tells a very different story.

Sunday: Welcome to post-tremor normality

There has been a lot of talk about how gruelling the journey will be, but in fact the 10 hours or so that it lasts pass surprisingly easily.

The fact that the team travels on a Sunday makes the trip a little more interesting for it is the Sunday papers, the Title excepted, which have a reputation for being most critical of Mick McCarthy.

Sure enough he takes a bit of flak from several commentators in the day's editions and despite the fact that the Ireland manager repeatedly insists that he does not bother with what is written about him (a claim none of the journalists believe), there is always the lingering possibility that he might just have a go at one of his critics en route.

McCarthy has never coped well with criticism, although he can occasionally be funny about it - later in the week he met one of his critics, Dion Fanning of the Sunday Independent, in the lobby of the team hotel and joked to a team official "isn't it amazing what you come across when you go out without your gun".

McCarthy is subdued, however, and there is no fall-out on the trip over.

Everybody is expecting a reception committee at the airport, but there is nothing - not even that guy who always seems to show up the the "Welcome to Hell" sign.

Most of the Irish journalists feel slightly let down, but the fact is that the emigration official who stamps my passport looking less than interested in his work is as ugly as it gets at the airport.

After a short bus ride, there is a ferry crossing. As the Irish party disembarks, a couple of hundred locals standing on the dock look on with little more than feint curiosity. No fearsome reception committee here either, then, as it turns out that they are waiting to travel to Istanbul on the return journey.

In fact, nobody in the party (well, maybe Tony Cascarino) experiences the slightest hint of hostility over the entire course of the trip. On the contrary, the Turks prove wonderfully friendly hosts.

Back on buses, we travel down long stretches of road bordered by locals who have moved into tents on the side of the road rather than risk being caught in their homes if there are further earth tremors.

An hour and a half later we have checked into our hotel, just a couple of miles from the stadium in Bursa where the game is to be played.

Monday: In the Lyons den

After recovering from the journey the players get to take their first run-out on the local training pitch, the Sahesi Velodrome. It's said that Germany trained on the same ground when they were here, but it's far from clear what it is used for when visiting international squads aren't going through their paces . . . a vegetable garden is the most common theory.

So many players are injured that Mick McCarthy and Ian Evans have to take part in the knock-around game in order to make it a seven-a-side. On the sidelines Turkish journalists ask their Irish counterparts who will play if Irwin, Carr, Cunningham, Quinn etc aren't fit in time. Every answer is met with the same look, one that clearly implies insanity on the part of the respondent.

Later, back in the hotel, there is the daily press conference after which Mick McCarthy is approached by Johnny Lyons of 98FM. Johnny and Mick have history, as they say. At the end of the World Cup campaign, Lyons ran a story that McCarthy would resign in the event of the team not doing well enough in Brussels to qualify for France '98.

Now, Lyons irritates the bits of McCarthy that the rest of the press corps can't reach. That is saying something.

Today's interview starts poorly, too. Lyons inquires about Roy Keane's workrate at training which doesn't go down well. He asks why Dean Kiely hasn't been blooded in a couple of friendlies before being thrown in on such a big occasion. This goes down less well.

McCarthy starts talking about the negativity of the press and, after telling Lyons that he is sick and tired of being the only positive voice, he departs mid question. The fading sound of his footsteps can be heard on the tape. Lyons subsequently tells listeners back home that Mick has "lost it, a la Kevin Keegan".

Bodes well for tomorrow.

Tuesday: Spot (kicks) of bother

As it happens the day before the game is quiet. In the morning only Quinn doesn't train which seems encouraging. Less so is the decision by the players to try their hands at taking penalties . . . just in case. The question of whether a team should practise taking spot-kicks before a big game is regularly debated within football, with two camps emerging - one saying yes and the other, predictably enough, no.

Steaua Bucharest trailblazed the yes argument in the build-up to the 1990 European Cup final against Marseille. For weeks before the game all the Romanians bothered to do was practise penalties.

In interview after interview their coach scoffed at the idea that the French could score against his men. He confidently announced that the match and extra-time would finish scoreless, and that the title would be decided by penalties. By virtue of being better prepared, his side would triumph. And so, amazingly, it came to pass.

Back at the Bursa cabbage patch, there is less reason for McCarthy to be confident. Roy Keane scores his attempt, but Denis Irwin, Mark Kinsella and David Connolly are among the long list of players who fail miserably. On the brighter side, bagman Charlie O'Leary looks reliable enough to make him worth bringing on late in extra-time.

Afterwards, at the press conference, McCarthy, commenting on local expectations, expresses a little bemusement that one Turkish journalist asked an Irish player if he reckoned the visitors could keep the home side down to less than five goals.

As it turns out the journalist in question is present and, a little embarrassed, he tells McCarthy that the question had been "only a joke".

"Not a very funny one," replies the Ireland manager.

The team train again in the evening, this time at the stadium, but the press are invited to stay away. When the players arrive back in the hotel, Niall Quinn is the main topic of conversation and when it is heard that he came through the session, there is relief.

When it is subsequently reported that Kenny Cunningham didn't train and that Quinn trained but pointedly didn't attempt to head the ball the anxiety returns.

Wednesday: Shouldering defeat

The day starts with the traditional press game. Seventeen journalists are ready to take part but, bewilderingly in the circumstances, can't come up with a ball. Three head off in a taxi in search of a sports shop.

The game is played at the training ground, which is just about right for our skill levels. It is basically the English journalists plus a few Irish against the rest of the Irish. For some reason the man from The Irish Times is considered a perfect candidate to play with the English for the day.

We win 6-4 but I am forced out of the game before half-time after landing badly on my shoulder following a poor challenge by Frank Shouldice of the Soccer Show. Referee Eoin Hand lets himself down by only booking Shouldice.

The press contingent leave for the game at 6.15 and get to the stadium about an hour-and-a-half before kick-off. The ticketing arrangements are chaotic and having become separated from the rest of the Irish reporters who are given regular stand tickets, I end up sitting by myself, nervously surrounded by local supporters.

The first task is to evict the teenager who is sitting in my seat and rather enjoying refusing to move. Eventually an older Turkish supporter intervenes on my behalf and young Basaran relents and sits on the lap of his friend, Tolga, for the duration of the game.

Over the next three hours or so I am feted by many new friends with Fevzi, Selguh and Gizem keeping me in Turkish refreshments while others battle their way over to greet me.

The game is poor, but the supporters clearly enjoy themselves. A variety of self-appointed cheerleaders, racing up and down the wall in front of us (on the other side of which there is a 12-foot drop), compete for their attention.

A favourite way of passing the time during quiet spells is to call for Turkish FA officials, standing under the main stand, to move out of the way on the basis that they are obstructing the view. They clearly are not. Several times during the game the crowd succeed in having the suits moved. Each time their delight is obvious.

It's never entirely clear what will happen to my popularity rating if the Irish team wins the game, but as they don't it takes me fully 10 minutes to complete the rounds of hugs and handshaking that follow the final whistle.

During this time I miss a Turkish defender taking revenge on Tony Cascarino for a nasty incident late in the game and remain more or less oblivious to the ensuing trouble until I fight my way through the celebrating crowd and clamber over the railing surrounding the press box.

McCarthy does his post-match press conference. Two players, Dean Kiely and Niall Quinn, stop to talk on their way to the bus and 30 or so journalists type like lunatics for an hour until it is time to leave for the airport.

The ferry crossing finally provides a bond between players, journalists and the few supporters in the party. It is rough and a large number of all three groups throw up.

At the airport Tony Cascarino is cornered by journalists needing something by way of follow-up pieces for Friday's papers. He obliges them by confirming his international retirement. The flight, captained by another Mick McCarthy oddly enough, is delayed for an hour and a half - just what the party needed. It is worse for the English journalists, just about all of whom miss connecting flights home.

At 8.30 in the morning it finally ends. Despondent players collect their bags and split up, with some returning to their clubs straight away while others head back to the hotel to get some sleep.

Turkey have gone through, deservedly so, but the Irish acquitted themselves well and defied those who predicted a far heavier defeat.

In the end, for all the talk of trouble there is just one walking wounded - Steve Carr, with twisted knee ligaments.

Well two actually, my shoulder's knackered.