There's nothing like the possibility of a win against England to turn a dark and dreary old winter into a bright, cheery spring, writes RISTEÁRD COOPER

YOU KNOW your’re in trouble when you get into a Dublin taxi and the driver asks you “Did you see the match?” Whether the answer is yes or no will matter not one wit to the man with the smelly tree hanging out of his mirror. “Eh I did yea.”

“Brutal weren’t they”?

“Ah I don’t know, it’s not an easy place to go I suppose.”

“I thought they were brutal. Shocking!”

Silence. “Although I have to say – I’m not racist now, but . . .” (here we go)

“But I can’t stand the French.”

Ah yes, I thought, a thrashing in Paris, an ill-advised flutter and a toxic taxi-driver, we truly are back to the bad old days. All that’s left was for Nigel Starmer-Smith to be doing the commentary on Rugby Special when I got home so I could really feel in a time warp.

Let’s be honest after a game like last Saturday’s it’s not easy to like the French is it? In fact whether Jerry Flannery’s volley on Palisson was intentional or not, it’s what we’ve all felt like doing to a French wing or two over the years. They’ve always had wingers who’ve given us a big pain in the ass. Surely it was time for one of them to have a pain in the leg? A host of French flyers have been the bane of our existence over the years – Esteve, Lagisquet, Saint-Andre, Bernnat-Salles – and of course Vincent Clerc who, even though he didn’t score this time, managed to stop us from doing so by pouncing on D’Arcy’s kick and chase. Would he ever just leave us alone? It was suggested by the BBC panel that “Flannery’s moment” would not have been out of place in a soccer match. Well I’m not sure what kind of soccer they’ve been looking at lately, but the timing was certainly Paul McShanesque, although he may well have missed the target altogether.

Even though everyone involved was carefully avoiding the subject of revenge for THAT match back in November, it surely would have been an added little sweetner if it had come as a result of say, an illegal hand in a ruck.

However, even the pessimists weren’t banking on a kick in the pants on this scale. Going into the match there was a genuine sense that Ireland had all the ammunition to do a job on them.

Of course when the expectancy is so high it’s not easy to come up with all the answers in the immediate aftermath of defeat, but Declan Kidney’s assertion that “you learn more from your defeats than your victories” would surely cause confusion in Italy. If that’s the case Nick Mallett and his Italian squad must be delighted, not to mention highly enlightened.

Of course the last time Ireland lost in Paris, they also subsequently lost to England in Twickenham and at home to Wales. That signalled the end of the long reign of Eddie O, and you can’t help thinking there must be a part of him that wouldn’t mind giving Deccie a call in his hour of need:

EOS: Hello Deccie, Eddie O'Sullivan here, coach of the United States of America so help me God!

DK: (ASIDE) How the hell did he get my number? (INTO PHONE) How are you Eddie?

EOS: Better than you after last Saturday anyway. Haha!

DK: That's a good one. (SILENCE) What can I do for you?

EOS: Listen I just thought I'd give you a tinkle on the blower to offer my commiserations. I suppose sometimes in a situation like this, it's good to get a little bit of advice from someone who's tossed around in the blanket before realising he wasn't in bed.

DK :What?

EOS: Look Deccie, you can't peel spuds with a chop-stick. I was in your position two years ago and I know what it's like, but you gotta stay positive and focus on the good things. That's what I always do when ever we get hammered and the Americans lap up all that "Yes we can" bullshit. But I have to tell you, if you get beaten by England and Wales you're f***ed.

DK: Lovely talking to you as usual Eddie, good luck with the surgery.

EOS: Surgery?

DK: To remove your head from your backside.

Something tells me this Ireland outfit will bounce back and beat England, albeit away from home, and there is a tingly, extra spice in the fact that Martin Johnson is under the cosh. Revenge is a dirty word, but on occasion a bit of dirt is no bad thing, just ask Johnson. So maybe after all these years this is the time for O’Driscoll and his mates to line up for the anthems on the other side of the pitch? Perhaps standing with their backs to the Duke of Bottomshire (or whoever the dignitary might be) and shaking his hand between their legs?

Or better still, what an opportunity this would be to introduce the Irish version of the Haka, where the entire squad performs an O’Haka to the tune of one of Ireland’s Eurovision songs?

It may not have the desired affect, but it would certainly confuse the bejaysus out of the England coach who, with the strain of each non-passing game, is bearing more than a faint resemblance to a masked Trick or Treater from Halloween.

The dream of two Slams in a row might be gone, but there’s nothing like the possibility of a win against England to turn a dark and dreary old winter into a bright, cheery spring.