Matt Holland: How Roy's keenness inspired us to historic triumph

What a game; what a performance; and what a week. My Republic of Ireland team beat Holland yesterday and, in so doing, probably knocked them out of the World Cup finals next year. In contrast, we have given ourselves a real chance of automatic qualification. Whatever happens, a draw against Cyprus next month would be enough for the play-off spot, in which we would have to be confident of over-powering the third best country from the Asia qualification group.

How did we win this epic match? Well, the headlines will shout about the 10-man Republic defeat of Holland. But there is no such thing as 10 men when Roy Keane is one of them. My job was relatively simple for the last 25 minutes, after the potentially match-turning sending-off of Gary Kelly: I basically tried to surgically attach myself to Patrick Kluivert. But Roy was everywhere – tackling everyone and proving without doubt that he was the best player on the pitch.

His former team-mate, Jaap Stam, certainly knows it. It has been a dreadful week for the Dutchman and the rapidity of the transfer shocked many, not least the big man himself. I don't think that Sir Alex Ferguson would have sold him because of what he wrote in a book. Stam hadn't started the season as well as he would have liked and United have conceded goals, too many for Ferguson's comfort, and that is why I believe the transfer happened.

Our build-up was less perturbed than Stam's. In fact it was pretty much business as usual, a mixture of hard work and pranks that have helped develop the marvellous team spirit that the Irish have. Alas, I must confess there was an innocent victim on Wednesday after training.

Robbie Keane was being photographed with three models and a young boy for a promotion to encourage everyone to wear green to Lansdowne Road yesterday. Niall Quinn picked up a bucket of iced water as surreptitiously as possible with the intent of soaking Robbie, but his none-too-delicate tiptoe towards the scene of the crime alerted his fellow striker, who easily evaded the dousing. One of the girls was not so fleet of foot, however, and ended up with a drenched front. Quinn insisted that Robbie had been his intended victim, but his grin at the girl left the watching jury in doubt. I just wish she'd been wearing the squad's infamous yellow shirt instead of the revealing one she had on.

Each training session is completed by a vote among the players for the worst performance. The recipient is awarded a yellow jersey he has to wear for the next session, and because it is passed around, it never gets washed. The yellow-shirt practice started many years ago but this particular garment was first used at the start of this World Cup qualifying series and, to be candid, it stinks.

Poor old Clinton Morrison has won it twice this week, much to the amusement of the rest of us. As is the custom, he has signed it each time, although he has struggled to find a space not already occupied by the name Jason McAteer. Jason's name, though, will have been used positively in today's headlines.

I, thank goodness, have won it only once, in Andorra. It was revolting then so it must be close to standing up on its own now and heading clear the crosses. It really has the benefit of making everyone train hard; honestly it smells that bad.

I needed a chuckle the other day after lunch when I spent about 20 minutes answering questions to the press and then nearly another two hours in front of the TV cameras. For some reason they all seemed intent on preparing the fairytale headline of "Holland Against Holland" or "Holland defeats Dutch". Mind you, I quite liked the last one.

After all the preparation, jokes and bonding, it all gets serious, and I can't describe the feeling of running out for my country in front of thousands of fans at Lansdowne Road. They are tremendous supporters and made us laugh and proud after the away match in Estonia when we left the hotel to go into town and watched a massive game of street football between the opposing fans. We cheered and applauded, as they had done us earlier, although I'm not sure who won.

The cheer they give us at home is enormous and the atmosphere fairly crackles. This is why we spend the years training and working, to represent our countries in vital matches, and I felt proud that a small group of friends and family were there to watch. I am in no doubt that Paula, my wife, Joe, my brother, and Swampy, a friend and devout Ipswich Town supporter, were among the loudest in the ground, possibly only defeated in decibels by Roy Keane administering some well-chosen words.

Roy has been the driving force of our World Cup campaign, his intense desire to win infecting the rest of us, and in a match where qualification can be secured, a play-off spot brought within touching distance or months of hard work dashed, he is the man I would most like to have alongside me.

We still have a lot of hard work to do, but my dream of playing in midfield with Roy at the World Cup finals in Japan and Korea next summer looks more likely than ever this morning.

Matt Holland, the Ipswich Town captain, was talking to Iain Fletcher