Will the pluck of the Irish be enough?
After an exhilarating, unforgettable week of football in the endearing Polish capital Warsaw, it's time once more to crank my old Land Rover into life and join the Euro 2012 football caravan, journeying this time north to the Baltic coastal resort and port city of Gdansk. I am not there to sample the sands or spa waters, nor am I particularly interested in the volume of containers the stevedores shift.
No, not for these honourable reasons do I tear myself from the comfort of Camp Wok, which is so far on the aristocratic side of posh camping it even boasts a tumble dryer and iron, and where on my last night, we happy, pampered football-loving campers watched the shoddy Dutch bow to the German powerhouse and applauded the Danish-beating Portuguese. In laundered linen, I am travelling north to watch incumbent kings of Europe and mighty world conquerors Spain take on Ireland, who at the time of writing have one studded boot in the international departures lounge.
'Never a footballing hotbed' as the official Uefa Euro 2012 programme describes Gdansk, the seafaring mercantile city has imported top-grade football for tonight's menu and the likes of Xabi Alonso, Cesc Fabregas, David Silva, Xavi Hernandez and the enigma that is Fernando Torres shall seek to complete Ireland's speedy-boarding check-in for an early exit.
But can the Irish, John O'Shea, Shane Long and Robbie Keane among them, cause the upset of the tournament so far? I won't be betting on it, even if I am supporting them with the romantic, glassy-eye side of my Anglo-Irish heritage.
It is time to nail my Euro 2012 colours to the aerial of my Land Rover and rip off my pretentious Beijing Guoan top to reveal the layers of the shirts that I loyally wear underneath - those of England, Ireland and Poland. England is a given. I was born there, in Winchester near Southampton, the newly promoted Premiership team I support. And - if all goes according to plan - I will be cheering on the Three Lions in Donetsk, Ukraine, on Tuesday night. Of course, it might be a Euro 2012 road too far given the far-flung location of this venue. It's the same distance from Warsaw to the futuristic Donbass Arena as it from southern England to the Polish capital. The roads are, I hear on the bitumen-vine, poor but the fuel cheap, and the locals welcoming.
My second football faith lies in Ireland because my father is Irish and I have family there - plus I have a passport in my wallet to prove my 'Plastic Paddy' credentials. Why Poland? Since it is because of the Polish, and one in particular, that my rugby-loving father finally gave up on his attempts to turn his son on to the egg-shaped ball game and reluctantly handed him over to football, a game and the players of which he derided in terms no longer acceptable in polite society.