Nothing motivates quite like the memory of back-breaking labour for poor pay.

By making Anthony Stokes and his pals suffer consequences for their actions, the neophyte manager garnered plaudits far beyond the north-east of England. Many reckoned he struck a blow for old-fashioned values in an era when they feel over-paid players are divorced from the real world. The popular view is that so few footballers have ever had jobs outside the game they don't understand standard work practices, tend to lack character in times of crisis, and utterly fail to grasp the extent of their own good fortune.

A commonly-expressed opinion around any English stadium, those sentiments figured too in the post-mortems carried out by Irish fans after San Marino. It's not the players' fault they've had it easier than their predecessors but. . .

Exactly 20 years ago, an Irish team were in the middle of a European Championship campaign in an extremely difficult group.

They counted among their number individuals with previous jobs that included labourer, hairdresser, accountant, roofer, factory operative and warehouse worker. There was also a qualified teacher with a degree in Russian. When older fans recall that side, they invariably drop clich�s like fighting spirit, passion, and the always popular pride in the jersey. At a time when just eight countries reached the finals, that team went to Germany in 1988 and nearly shocked the continent by punching so far above their weight.

It's not difficult to envisage how much the drudgery of their pre-football lives impacted on the subsequent attitude of so many of that bunch. With up to eight of the regular starting XI knowing what it was like to do a menial job for minimum wages, they had an incredible work ethic on the field and off it, evinced a certain joy about the hand fate had suddenly dealt them. Unsurprisingly too, there was a unique bond between that group and the green hordes who credit-unioned their way to Stuttgart.

Compare this then to the growing chasm between supporters and players today, and the fact the present squad are routinely mocked as "the surly millionaires" by a media who marvel at their apparently constant state of discontent. Not to mention the outbreaks of mass hysteria at criticism of their consistently inadequate displays.

Beyond the determination to measure themselves against Europe's finest, there was something else motivating Jack Charlton's side back in the day.

For becoming the first Irish team to reach a major finals, they earned a bonus of �6,000 each. To put that in perspective, Paul McGrath (right) was then drawing down an annual salary of �39,000 a year at Old Trafford and Tony Cascarino was trousering �23,400 at Millwall. Unseemly as it may sound, it's fair to conclude the cash meant something real to them too.

How much would a qualification bonus be worth today? If the improbable occurred and the current team reached Euro 2008, every player might get a Euro100,000 windfall. That's not even a fortnight's wages for Robbie Keane and Damien Duff.

Rightly or wrongly, the impression grows that playing for Ireland means less for this generation than it did for their forerunners.

But how could it not? In the past, an international cap usually meant a hefty pay increase, a probable new contract, and a decent chance of a move to a better club. Back when every single match in Britain wasn't covered by Sky, it was a genuine shop window.

Trace the career trajectory of any number of Irish internationals from the '70s, '80s and '90s, and their breakthrough in a green jersey almost always prefaced a move to a more lucrative destination. That was back when performance and pay were index-linked. In a world where Aston Villa still pay Lee Hendrie �25,000 per week, it's safe to assume those criteria no longer apply.

Notwithstanding a few Irish teen starlets pocketing six-figure signingon bonuses before they even move to England, the average weekly wages are so hefty now any potential windfall from international recognition isn't worth the grief from club managers frustrated with losing their employees half a dozen times a season. Fresh from the debacle in Europe's smallest footballing nation, Damien Duff found himself embarrassingly "rested" on the Newcastle bench the following weekend, and Stephen Quinn discovered his failure to figure among Ireland's subs had caused Neil Warnock to go into a major tizzy in the press.

Nobody is saying a player needs to have done a few shifts down a coalmine to care about his country but the lack of real-world experience is as good a conspiracy theory as any to explain the listless displays of this group of players over two successive campaigns. FAI apparatchniks were happy to inform us the lack of passion was Brian Kerr's fault until the performances under Staunton grew even more insipid.

Maybe both managers discovered, like so many others, that it's very difficult to communicate with the modern footballer, a character who doesn't readily accept criticism and doesn't always have a stomach for hardship.

Upon opening the tabloids, we often tut-tut about the way money has corrupted young English players and the denizens of the 'Baby Bentley' generation. It's about time we realised nationality doesn't necessarily insulate Irish footballers from having their own competitive edges blunted by financial excess. The evidence of that appears to have been before our eyes for a couple of years now.