John Cleese’s character of Brian Stimpson in Clockwise may not have been describing life as an Irish fan, but he might as well have been. The first qualifier of the World Cup campaign, a trip to soggy Serbia, was less a first step on the road to Russia, more a clumsy stumble out of the blocks. That we’re not a dominant force of global football – well that, Laura, I can certainly take. But the fact that we would turn in such a toothless performance, devoid of a shred of daring or ambition? That’s a more difficult pill to swallow.

Between Jeff Hendrick’s fortuitous goal in the third minute, and the penalty to put Serbia ahead with the clock showing 69, there was almost nothing to comfort Irish fans who’ve been here too many times before. Despite an emboldening Euro 2016 campaign, the classic Irish inferiority complex looked to have returned. Long balls were lumped at nearly every opportunity. Keystone Cops defending could’ve seen the result settled long before Daryl Murphy had the final say. And the disappointment of the night was so great that even a potentially vital point did little to hide the negatives.

Completing 94 passes at a 68% completion rate would send a Sunday league manager into a conniption. You’d chance blaming the surface – an admittedly cut-up and waterlogged pitch – but the Serbs seemed to manage, stringing together 371 passes at 90% success. Let there be no questions, and no doubt; when you make Serbia look like Barcelona in their prime, there’s something very wrong.

It bears uncanny resemblance to our rugby side, who found the free-flowing Argentinians far too hot to handle in the quarter finals of last year’s Rugby World Cup. It didn’t take long for Joe Schmidt’s side to be labelled far too one-dimensional to have any chance of competing with the global elite – a fact underlined throughout a dispiriting Six Nations campaign – as the safety-first approach perished in the face of teams who possessed some sort of attacking verve. That Connacht, with their exhilarating running game, were the standout side in green over the last 12 months tells you all you need to know. The capacity for caution has, at the top level, been eroded. The meek will inherit fuck all. Will Martin O’Neill and his men heed the warning signs? The initial portents are far from positive. Speaking to RTÉ after the match, the manager treated the notion of retaining possession as ludicrous, speaking of Serbia in the sort of awestruck terms that suggested their opponents were not, in fact, the 47th ranked team on the planet, but were from another planet entirely – the footballing equivalent of Space Jam’s Monstars. That Wes Hoolahan was once again relegated to a ludicrously-talented benchwarmer was insult to injury.

Grabbing a late goal spared our both our blushes and our chance of making it to the global showpiece, but it did nothing to sate the fans who hope for so much more. The slightest flicker of aspiration is unfailingly dampened. Even the famous passion and spirit of Irish supporters can’t survive much more.
• If our footballers need particular encouragement, you’d hope they were watching Jason Smyth last Friday. The world’s fastest Paralympian, and a Hot Press interviewee last fortnight, once again destroyed the field in the final of the T-13 100m to claim his fifth gold medal across three Games. Unbeaten in his career in para-athletics, you’d figure there’d be some temptation to rest on his laurels, but no. If there’s someone out there to test himself against, Smyth is ready to go. Speaking to this writer just a few short weeks ago, in fact, he found the mere suggestion of not aiming higher utterly ludicrous. His talent is matched by his ambition – and occasionally surpassed, which is why he’s seen dreams of Olympic qualification dashed in the past. But make no mistake, he’s one of our nation’s true sporting heroes – and it’s not just because he has the hardware to prove it.

And while we’re on the topic of the greatest… Every now and then there comes an athlete whose dominance is so preposterous that it makes those around look like scrubs pulled in off the street, which means that anything short of perfection is greeted with something approaching disbelief. Boxer Roy Jones Jr enjoyed such a period during his prime. Phil Taylor ruled the darts world with a similar infallibility – and yes, as far as Sports Colm is concerned, darts players are athletes. So the silence that greeted Serena Williams’ US Open defeat at the hands of Karolina Pliskova wasn’t notable just for its eeriness. It’s notable because it was further confirmation that the hard-hitting American has, even in a period of impressive parity within the sport, reached a level of pre-eminence that is rarely seen. At 34, it would be foolish to expect much more, but with her ability it would be equally foolish to count against a few more Grand Slams in the next few years. But most foolish of all would be to suggest that anything to happen in the future could possibly determine her legacy – the title of the greatest player of all-time is already secure.