As a nation, we seem destined to only half master the globally celebrated "beautiful game". Ireland is definitely game when it comes to soccer but rarely are we accused of playing it beautifully. It became clear after Saturday night that our philosophy is not box office across in Cyprus, where the fans stayed away in their thousands as we stuttered to a 4-0 win.

"We'll show you some sloppy Irish defence when we come back with the highlights," smiled Bill O'Herlihy shortly after the players trooped off the field, looking like a man who knew he was about to deliver some TV treats.

The latest outing by the boys in green was remarkable in that it was possibly the most doom-laden sporting victory of all time. The more goals we scored, the more downcast our pundits became. The fear was that if Roy Keane bagged a hat-trick, old Jim Beglin might actually start to weep on air. "FlaT-Tering," summed up a weary Jimmo at the close. "Thank goodness."

We have had our lows before, from the immortally-flung Bic pen back in 1990 to several failed missions in Macedonia, but at least those TV tantrums were justified by a miserable final score line.

From the very opening credits on Saturday night there was a mood about the occasion, an innate glumness and pessimism that could only mean one thing. Liam "Chippy" Brady was in studio.

Pairing Chippy with John Giles is the equivalent of sending dark thunderclouds across the country. These are men who belong on RTE's Beckett season, not on early evening sports shows. Their wintry demeanour is almost certainly attributable to their genius. Chippy, in his hey-day, was the "beautiful" part of Ireland's soccer history. And Giles was, as the saying goes, a great player.

It is simply not fair to ask these men for sunny observations on the state of soccer where Ireland is concerned for the simple reason that they love their country but cannot ever fully grasp its collective mindset when it comes to the game. Of course they are going to perpetually fear the worst.

"This is a potential banana skin," came the warning from Chippy almost as soon as Billo gave the nation a perky nod. Bill is, as we know, an amicable sort who likes nothing better than to front feel-good stories. On Saturday, he simply was not in the mood for dark prognosis. As he saw it, the forecast was simple. We were playing a bunch of olive-munching part-timers that liked nothing better than getting whipped 4-0. It ought to have been an easy night at the office.

"You're beginning to make me feel a small bit depressed, you know," he remonstrated with Chippy, bringing an edge into the discussion which never really left.

Out in Nicosia, Beglin was insisting an early goal was the key for Ireland. We were lucky enough to have a spy located in Cyprus in the jolly shape of Ronnie Whelan. In case we had forgotten about Ronnie, RTE replayed his classic goal against Russia in 1988, which for a summer rendered the shinpad more of an artistic expression than sporting accessory. Ronnie, according to Jim, gave assurances that an early goal would see our hosts falling apart, "blaming each other." They are, he declared "a bit temperamental."

Ah yes, the old foreign temperament. Among those who plied their trade in English soccer, there remains a conviction that once you travel south of Bognor, you meet nothing but defenders with long hair and no heart.

Now, the Cypriots may very well disintegrate whenever they quickly concede one goal. But it would appear that when they quickly concede two, as they did against the Irish, they dig deep, rally and produce a series of brilliant equalising opportunities.

"I can't believe it, totally, totally sloppy, we are falling asleep out there," moaned Jimmo at one point as the home team, clearly lost for topics about which they could argue, threatened to do the impossible.

The impending danger was measured in the rising volume of Mick McCarthy's pitch-side observations. In the second half, he could be seen conversing with Ian Harte. It is possible that he was simply explaining that they had secured restaurant reservations for 9.30 p.m., but on the other hand, he could have yelled, "Harty, that is fookin' awful."

And for a while, it was, so much so that with almost 88 minutes gone and Ireland 3-0 up, commentator Darragh Maloney would only venture that it "should be three points" for the Irish side. You're either a gambler or you're not.

The saving grace was, of course, Roy Keane. He was, as ever, inspiring. "We got a shot of Roy Keane scowling there," purred Jimmo late on. "That's what we need."

It was true. There is probably nobody on earth capable of scowling quite so marvellously as Keane. He has a complete library of scowls, some of which he uses when he is perfectly happy with things. When he scored his second goal on Saturday, he refused to stop scowling. That act alone probably brought a smile to the faces of Chippy and Gilesy for the first time in, oh, months.

Because Roy Keane they can empathise with. In him, they see the true winner's mean streak that is at the heart of sporting greatness. Keane didn't celebrate his fourth goal against the Cypriots because he would have been embarrassed. For him, wonder goals mean nothing if they aren't substantiated by the overall team performance. And Keano did not look that happy with his team.

"He is the top player in the world in his position," said McCarthy flatly afterwards, and the statement didn't seem unreasonable.

Then he pondered the visit to Nicosia as a whole. "Strange," he mused, with apt Barnsley economy.

So it was and ever will be. It is the way we play it.