The Guillotine Beckons...

And so, we’re off and running, 100 per cent record intact, as the other five nations quake in terror at the might of the men in green. Italy safely dispatched, all that now remains is the simple formality of accounting for France, Wales, Scotland and England.

I jest. In fact it can be said with some certainty that, if we reprise the Rome performance, we will lose all four of the remaining jousts, and probably lose them quite horrendously.
Ireland’s display at the Flaminio was by some distance the worst they have turned in since the 2007 World Cup, which was one horror-show after another. With the likes of O’Driscoll, O’Connell and D’Arcy not getting any younger, a worst-case scenario can be envisaged which sees Ireland slumping to fifth place this season and subsequently getting turfed out of the World Cup by the Italians, who must still be wondering how on earth they failed to seal the deal.
That is, of course, a worst-case scenario. It doesn’t follow from Saturday’s fiasco that we’re now suddenly back in the dark days preceding the 2000 breakthrough, cannon fodder for the serious sides and devoid of all hope of winning anything other than the Wooden Spoon.
Ireland are still capable of capturing the title and indeed the Slam. But it will take a phenomenal step-up, and right now, with the French preparing to sashay into town having barely broken sweat in a stylish stroll against the game but limited Scots, optimism does not come easily.
France are insane, of course, and it is utterly impossible to predict with any degree of confidence which side of the beast will turn up on Sunday. The France we saw in the first half against Scotland, it is fair to say, could beat us blindfolded. The complacent crew who sleepwalked through the second half would be there for the taking.
Ireland, having (we trust and pray) got all the mistakes out of our system last weekend, will surely have held a forensic inquest in the interim and be a completely different animal, on home turf, in a match as colossal as this one.
We can also draw comfort from the fact that the malaise evident in Rome wasn’t structural: it was a simple case of several key players having dreadful days at the office and committing countless basic handling errors.
It is inconceivable that O’Driscoll or D’Arcy will play that badly again — they’ve been thriving this season in the Leinster colours — while Tomás O’Leary, despite a leaden display against Italy, may still be the best bet for a bruising battle against Les Bleus. Defensively, he remains the most formidable of Ireland’s four scrum-half options, though it wouldn’t hurt if he sped up his delivery a little.
The biggest area of concern, as always, is the scrum. Cian Healy got sin-binned last year in Paris, and his absence coincided with Ireland’s implosion. He was penalised repeatedly against the Italians, and it doesn’t take a huge leap of the imagination to envisage the problem recurring against the French, with the monstrous Nicolas Mas doing his level-best to make Healy’s life a misery. I’ve nothing against the lad, who is as brave as they come, but it would be reassuring if Tom Court got the nod instead for Sunday.
But in general, I would favour a minimum of changes to the line-up. These players are pretty damn good when they start to click, as they have proved time and again.
We also need to acknowledge that Italy are unrecognisable from the indisciplined, shapeless mess we have become accustomed to eating for breakfast over the last decade. Most uncharacteristically, they actually got stronger as the match wore on.
And it’s easy to lose sight of the fact that we did actually win the match, showing plenty of nerve and composure to do so with 14 men on the pitch. We also would have been out of sight by that point if we’d capitalised fully on a good third-quarter display, where we set up camp in the Italian half and (briefly) started to look like the force opposing teams have come to hate and fear. The French, of course, have nothing to fear but their own chronic inconsistency and psychological brittleness. But if we get off to a good start and plant one or two seeds of doubt in French minds... it’s winnable.
Right now, I would be insane not to forecast a French triumph. But I’ve been wrong before (as regular readers will be extremely aware) and I’m hoping to be wrong again.
To football: it was wonderful to see Manchester United’s unbeaten record punctured by the wonderfully whole-hearted Wolverhampton Wanderers, on a thoroughly bizarre weekend which saw Newcastle stage an astonishing resurrection from 4-0 down against Arsenal, while Everton and Blackpool served up another ridiculously entertaining 8-goal encounter. There can now be no doubt whatsoever that English football is more enjoyable than it’s been for at least a decade – goals flying in everywhere, upsets every week, and no longer a Big Four pulling 500 points clear of the rest before October. If, as some suspect, all this is partially attributable to an overall decline in playing standards, then it’s a decline we should all welcome.
Chelsea proved yet again that money can’t buy you love. Indeed, Kenny Dalglish’s Liverpool are currently enjoying what could almost be described as a renaissance.
Sixth place may not be anything to jump up and down about in the context of their illustrious history, but already the Pool are visibly transformed from the dispirited rabble that caused Roy Hodgson to age about a decade in the space of six months.
And while I remain gobsmacked at the transfer fee they coughed up for Andy Carroll, it’s quite possible that they’ll be none the worse for the departure of Fernando Torres, who had not exactly appeared to be busting a gut on their behalf this season.
On the international front, Trap’s troops will (by the time you read this) have commenced combat in the Carling Nations Cup, a competition which has singularly failed to set my imagination alight. I am old and decrepit enough to remember the old Home International Championship, and it was lower than a snake’s belly even then, and we can safely say this will not be any better.
It doesn’t seem to have dawned on the FAI yet just how dull and tedious this affair is going to be, but I’d imagine reality will dawn within a couple of weeks; I’d give the competition itself a life expectancy of maybe three or four years before it is humanely destroyed due to an overwhelming lack of popular interest.
I’ll still have a look at it, though, just in case. Enjoy.