The sometimes fatal danger of the sudden-death play-off

Sport, George Orwell once decreed, is an unfailing cause of ill- will, writes Phil Shaw. Play-off football has made an unfortunate habit of bearing him out, never more so than after El Salvador beat Honduras in Mexico City for the right to meet Haiti in yet another play-off for a place in the 1970 World Cup finals.

Their two previous games had provoked rioting, in which expatriates from both countries were attacked in the other. Three days after the third meeting, the Salvadoran army invaded Honduras on the pretext of protecting its nationals.

In the ensuing conflict - now known as "the Football War", although the games were an excuse rather than the cause - 3,000 died before the Organisation of American States brokered an uneasy peace.

Strife in the Middle East led to Wales becoming embroiled in a play-off as early as 1958. When Arab nations refused to play Israel, the names of seven European group runners-up were put in the Jules Rimet Trophy. Wales's was drawn out, and they travelled to Tel Aviv six months before the World Cup was due to open in Sweden.

There were tank tracks on the pitch and refugees in the dressing-rooms. The British press had to submit copy to the Israeli censor, one reporter eventually filing via an Army field telephone on the touchline. The news was good, Wales's 2-0 victory being their first on foreign soil.

They repeated the margin in Cardiff and went on to beat Hungary in another play-off during the finals to decide who went through to the last eight. Seven years on it was the turn of the Republic of Ireland, whose defeat by Spain is recalled on this page by Noel Cantwell, but two decades passed before another team from these islands experienced a one-off decider.

The 1985 tussle between Scotland and Australia was, in fact, a two-off with a place in the World Cup finals the prize. After winning 2-0 in Glasgow, the Scots - under the managership of Alex Ferguson - trekked 11,000 miles to Melbourne 10 years ago this month.

They were away nine days, three of which were spent travelling, and also had to contend with psychological warfare waged by the Socceroos' Yugoslav manager, Frank "Mad Dog" Arok. His bark proved worse than his bite, a 0-0 draw taking the Tartan Army to Mexico.

By the time Australia tangled with Argentina for a place at USA '94 they were coached by a Scot, Eddie Thomson. The first leg, in Sydney, was goalless. For the second, the Argentinians recalled the man whose "Hand of God" goal had become a symbol of post- Malvinas defiance. "The wee No 10", as Thomson called Diego Maradona, made the difference in a 1-0 home win.

The Dutch, incidentally, are no strangers to play-offs, the national team having played neighbouring Belgium for a place in the same finals. The bad blood Orwell so disliked was manifested after only 90 seconds of the first leg. Wim Kieft, a striker then playing for Pisa, was sent off by the Italian referee and widely blamed for the Netherlands' second successive failure to qualify.