Matt Holland: How the peril of exhaustion capped it all

Never before have I questioned the importance of an international friendly. It is a cap, a chance to impress or develop team shape and camaraderie and a vital part of all countries' preparations for the big matches. However, last Wednesday's match against Greece ended up a bit of a waste of time.

There were plus points – debut performances and the fact that we did not lose, and one cannot blame the Football Association of Ireland for organising it – but it did turn into a match that most could have done without.

The first problem was the extraordinary number of withdrawals. I lost count at 11, and wondered whether we would take more players to Greece than had dropped out. In the end a threadbare squad of 18 made the trip and yet I find it very difficult to blame the club managers for refusing to allow their players to go. Their jobs are constantly on the line, they need their major performers to be as fit and fresh as possible for Saturday League games and so a midweek international, when there are no qualifiers coming up, is understandably an avoidable inconvenience. And many made it so by claiming their players were injured.

It is a very long club season and players need breaks. My last 10 to 12 days have been exhausting. This is not a complaint – I was very proud to play against Greece – but rather an example of how tiredness can set in.

Ten days ago I was in the Czech Republic for Ipswich's doomed Uefa Cup tie. We flew back, played on Sunday and I went straight to the airport to travel to Ireland to join up with the squad. We then travelled to Greece, enjoyed a two-hour coach ride to the hotel and trained. Wednesday evening was the match, and a two-hour drive back to the hotel afterwards was followed by another two-hour drive at 4am to the airport for the flight home.

Arriving at Stansted airport I headed for a taxi, sunk in the back seat and dozed off before the driver woke me up at home. It was 5.30pm on Thursday evening and my wife Paula's birthday. Out we went to a restaurant, down my head drooped as the desserts arrived, and it was back to bed by 9.30.

I love my life and my job. We are paid extraordinarily well for doing something we love but that itinerary, considered solely on its own, is a tough one. Joe Royle, our manager at Ipswich, has given Hermann Hreidarsson and myself Monday and Wednesday off this week to catch up with some rest, much appreciated after yesterday's hard-fought win.

At least the feeling in the Irish dressing room was good, and much of the credit for that must go to the temporary manager, Don Givens. There were no sniping or vindictive comments among the banter, which, after our troubled start to the season, could have accelerated into a poisonous atmosphere. Instead, everyone worked hard and tried to help Don.

A decent pitch would have helped us all. It was rutted and bobbly and very nearly embarrassed Shay Given when he completely miscued a back-pass and we all watched the ball dribble past his post.

The atmosphere in the ground made the match more like a training session as well because barely 2,000 spectators turned up. Maybe this time a rest, albeit not as glamorous as that enjoyed by England, would have been best, but that is a comment based on hindsight.

As for Ipswich's exit from the Uefa Cup, I have mixed emotions. With over 50 games in a season and our parlous League position, I think the distraction and travelling of European competition was hindering us. Now we can concentrate on the League, or more specifically, getting ourselves into play-off contention.

Our performances have been improving and a good month either side of Christmas could regenerate the club. The players are responding to Royle and, importantly, he to the players. There is a definite bonding going on which I think will help us during the rest of the season.

On a personal note I would like to finish with my penalty in the shoot-out against Slovan Liberec in the Uefa Cup. After missing against Spain in the World Cup I wrote that I would take another one and so when Royle told me I was taking the first, I immediately agreed and started preparing myself. "Don't blast it – place it," I kept telling myself. The one in Spain was struck with power and had missed.

I walked up to the spot, elected which quadrant of the goal I was aiming for, looked at the goalkeeper and turned for my run-up. Now I had doubts. Some voice in my head kept urging me to hit it hard – the voice of nerves, I think.

I shrugged, banished all thoughts other than the spot I was aiming for and ran up and hit it. In she went, pretty much where I had aimed for, and I must admit, it was a big sigh of relief I exhaled on the jog back to the other players. I knew one day I would have to take another penalty in a shoot-out. The miss in the World Cup still hurts, but there is nothing I can do about it now.

Matt Holland was talking to Iain Fletcher