We'll Answer Our Hemisphere's Call

Is there a word - a noun like patriotism, or nationalism, or jingoism, or sectarianism - for a devoted love, support and defence of one's hemisphere? Hemiphilism, being a hemiphiliac maybe? An odd word like that would work, to fit the feeling of spending a weekend cheering on a hemisphere!

Perhaps it's something that will catch on. Instead of children being taught about the flag and the struggle and the history at school, instead the little 'uns will be reminded regularly about their responsibilities as Northern Hemispherians.

"Remember sonny, north means 'on top', ok?"

Maybe the brain-bleeding drone of the argument over the Irish rugby team's anthem could be rendered obsolete by the simple use of two, new Hemisphere anthems: Land Down Under by Men At Work for the South, Up On The Roof by The Drifters for the North.

That's all for the future. But with our own group of tortured souls long returned from France to attend meetings with irate commercial endorsers brandishing small print, England, France and Scotland all enjoyed the benefits of this new Trans-Hemisphere support.

Say what you like about us Northern Hemispherians, but we stick together when the chips are down. Frankly, we'd had just about enough of folks criticising our hemisphere. We knew how Lynyrd Skynyrd felt when writing Sweet Home Alabama: "I hope David Campese will remember, Northern Man don't need him round anyhow!"

Yes indeed, there's nothing we Northern Hemispherians like more than getting one over on our old enemies in the south. Even the French kept their end up, despite being forced to play away from home at their own World Cup (that's the Northern spirit for you!).

Scotland couldn't quite make it a perfect weekend for God's own hemisphere, but then the Argies are honorary Northerners anyway, what with Contepomi being more Leinster than the Leinstermen themselves, and all those grizzled forwards playing in France.

Gosh, with England and France, our two Northern brothers, playing in the semi, I don't know who I'm going to support!

Death in the Family

The use of the world 'post-mortem' in relation to the fall-out from Ireland's disastrous Rugby World Cup campaign is instructive. The insinuation is of death, that we are standing around a slab in a chilly mortuary looking at the lifeless corpse of Irish rugby.

The inclination to view a sporting collapse in such dramatic terms is common.

I remember, when Celtic lost to Basle in the qualifying round of the Champions League early in the 2002-03 season, feeling such a sense of void that it seemed like the upcoming season was stillborn. Nine months later, Celtic were playing in a UEFA Cup final, providing the club's supporters with such rich memories that seemed so unlikely at the start of the season.

Rumours of the demise of the Irish soccer team are unlikely to exaggerated at the moment. However, while the sense of terminal decline pervades the Stephen Staunton era right now, even the blackest-mooded depressive cannot say that there will be good times again sometime in the future, most probably depending on how long the current manager lasts.

The mourning over the Irish rugby team is so pronounced because it's reminiscient of the untimely passing of a brilliant, much-loved child. It is hard to do 'perspective' when one looks at the scale of what just happened in France.

We all know the lines: the best team in our history, the best-prepared, at the peak of their powers. The Pool D table makes horrific, chastening reading for even those who approached this World Cup with excessive caution. "We'll lose to France, and will just squeeze by Argentina," said those priding themselves on not being drawn into the mass cheerleading.

If only, eh?

But perspective I will urge, dammit. Clearly those who call for the head of Eddie O'Sullivan are no mere fickle Salomés. The list of mistakes, flaws, cataclysmic errors of judgement, and basic poor man-management that O'Sullivan is responsible for is long and very, very damning. Were it not for the man's curriculum vitae, I would take aim myself.

But has the coach not buttressed himself to any degree with his previous achievements? The would-be executioners are now treating the successes of the last few years as pure chimera, Mickey Mouse honours in a weak Six Nations, devalued Autumn international success against teams looking at the long game of France '07, rather than Lansdowne Road '06.

But where was such wisdom at the time?

Sure, the hype over this team has exceeded their achievements. But just as those who watched the dismal fare in the early games from France could not be codded by post-match pleadings of improvements and individual errors, when we watched Ireland over the last few seasons it was with a sense of awe and exhiliration that simply cannot be deemed to be worthless now.

There's no need to throw any more mitigating circumstances into the pot; everyone knows about the timing of the tournament, the difficult draw etc. Clearly hard questions need to be asked. Big, big mistakes were made, some of them - the failure to develop a sufficiently deep squad - were being made even at the height of our success. O'Sullivan has to address severe question marks over his control-freakery, the overly-structured play and the cold-hearted squad management.
But he has, just about, earned the right to answer them.

But a bit of perspective please. Nobody died here.

Don't Cry For Them

Damn those happy-go-lucky Argentines. They need taking down a peg or two.

"Aren't they wonderful, the team spirit, the way they've dragged themselves into the elite in spite of the hindrances of world rugby's powers-that-be?"

Pah. Not in the mood. Feck them. Let's take them apart.

Never mind the complete, utter illogicality of Ireland getting four tries and winning by more than seven tomorrow. Never mind the fact that any neutral looking on would surely root for the Pumas, whose courage in prising the win on the opening night from France and professionalism in securing all available points since makes them the team of the tournament so far.

Screw the fact that the sort of effort it would require of Ireland to beat Argentina while racking up the requisite stats would appear to require a performance completely outwith even the most bizarre graph of form imaginable.

To hell with the notion that two of the areas in which Ireland have struggled so far - recycling quick possession and breaking down crowded blitz defences - would appear to be Argentina's strongest suits.

Cry "poppycock!" at those who point at the purpose, cameraderie and leadership that the Pumas enjoy, in comparison with the seemingly lost souls in the Ireland squad.

A couple of World Cup wins in soccer aside, Argentina is no more comfortable with success than we are. The country's history is sad and violent; they dance the dark and passionate tango, not the get-yer-ya-yas-out samba.

So let's hope tomorrow will be a bad day for Argentina. A national catastrophe. Ireland v Argentina in the 2007 Rugby World Cup needs to go down with the economic crisis of the late 1990s, the death of Eva Peron, Maradona's drug bust, Rattin's sending off against the English and the birth of Chris de Burgh as black events in the Argentine annals.

(Good taste precludes the inclusion of the sinking of the Belgrano in that list. But perhaps The Irish Sun could have the headline "Gotcha" on standby?)

Top Tournament Turnarounds

Old Mother Almanac often recounts the bitter day the doctors wrapped a newborn TSA in swaddling clothes and gave her the dreaded news..."Madam, I'm afraid the child has the optimism."

No sir, not for these parts the gloom and gnashing of teeth that passes for discourse among Irish sports fans these days. Hence, these midweek days have seen the staff at the TSA Institute for Cock-Eyed Optimism busily at work formulating a plan for Ireland's erstwhile rugby heroes to avoid the very real prospect of a stoning upon arrival at Dublin Airport.

Nope, stop the presses, oh Irish Times, on those Fintan O'Toole pieces suggesting that the arc of Ireland's prosperity was symbolically bookended by Italia '90 and France '07. We've identified five occasions when tournament turmoil was turned into open-top ovation.

England - 1986 World Cup

The pedantic among you will point out that England did not win the 1986 World Cup in Mexico, and were, in fact, eliminated at the quarter-final stage, that Rubicon which Sven was so chastised for being unable to cross.

But after the first two group games in Mexico, a quarter-final seemed as likely for England as Margaret Thatcher having a pint of bitter in a working men's club in Oldham. A 1-0 defeat at the hands of Portugal was followed by a mind-numbing 0-0 draw against Morocco. In addition, England lost both their midfield lynchpins, Bryan Robson to a shoulder injury, Ray Wilkins to a red card.

But, lo and behold, a rejigged England - with Peter Beardsley, Peter Reid, Steve Hodge and Trevor Steven drafted in (fancy that, using your squad!) - walloped Poland 3-0 in the final group match, courtesy of a Gary Lineker hat-trick.

Paraguay were dispatched by the same score in the second round, before Bobby Robson's side achieved the greatest victory of all in English eyes: a moral one at the hands of a dirty, cheating Argie genius.

Kerry - 2006 All-Ireland

It's easy to forget, as Jack O'Connor occupies his place in the Kerry football pantheon after managing the county to two All-Irelands, how close his regime was to ignominious collapse last summer.

Losing to Cork in the Munster final replay was bad enough, but the team captain, O'Connor's Dromid clubman, Declan O'Sullivan, had been booed off the field. Rumours abounded that the camp were at each other's throats, that the O'Sés were at loggerheads with the management.

All of it nonsense, it transpired. O'Connor hit on the brainwave of putting Kieran Donaghy in at full-forward, and his explosion onto the national conciousness in the quarter-final win over Armagh helped Kerry coast to an All-Ireland that looked likely in July.

Italy - 1982 World Cup

It was the tournament which begat the maxim about Italian teams starting slowly. They drew their three opening group games, 0-0 with Poland, 1-1 with Peru and 1-1 with Cameroon. Manager Enzo Bearzot was heavily criticised for starting striker Paolo Rossi, who had just completed a 2-year ban for involvement in a betting scandal.

The Italians sneaked through to the second round on goal difference over Cameroon, where they faced Argentina and Brazil in the tournament's experimental second group stage. The Argentines were defeated 2-1, thanks in no small part to defender Claudio Gentile's brutal subjugation of Diego Maradona.

Then came the unforgettable 3-2 victory over Brazil, in which Rossi repayed Bearzot's faith with a hat-trick. Rossi got another two in the 2-0 defeat of Poland in the semi-final, and scored the first in the final, a 3-1 win over West Germany.

England - 2003 Rugby World Cup

Ok, bit of a tenuous one this, given that England won all their matches on the way to winning the tournament.

But the sweet chariot looked wobbled a little early on. Samoa were unconvincingly disposed of 35-22. Then came the quarter-final, and a Welsh side who'd just frightened the All Blacks. Jonny Wilkinson endured a jittery first half, with Wales leading 10-3 after 43 minutes.

But Mike Catt's introduction at half-time steadied the future world champions, the veteran putting a metaphorical arm round Wilkinson's shoulder. A try from Will Greenwood and 23 points from the young fly-half took England clear, and onwards to Sydney.

Another Miracle Match Please

Well, you know, it wasn't such a bad weekend for Irish rugby after all. All four provinces winning their opening Magners League fixtures and all? That's good isn't it? Feel better?

Indeed.

The Irish Rugby World Cup campaign has gotten so bad that people are beginning to compare it to England's effort at the football World Cup last year. The talk of a 'golden generation', the misplaced optimism of the public mood, the overbooked endorsement diaries, a 'Goldenballs' figure who isn't quite as good as he thinks he is, a coach rewarded with a juicy new contract prior to proving himself worthy of it; all followed by dismal, disjointed performances.

All we need is Eddie to embark on an affair with the tealady at the IRFU and a slew of player autobiographies to complete the analogy.

But here we are now. In need of a miracle. Did someone say 'miracle'? As in 'miracle match'? Well why didn't you say so?! Don't we have just the men to do it right here!

Cast your mind back to a cold and wet January Saturday in 2003, when Gloucester arrived at Thomond Park needing to avoid both defeat by 27 points or more and the concession of four tries to eliminate Munster from the Heineken Cup. Remember what happened?

Wind forward a few years, 2006 this time, Sale Sharks had to be beaten by four tries lest Munster's Heineken Cup quest fail again. Remember what happened?

Ah, if only those happy-go-lucky Argies could be brought to Thomond, and if it only it was January, and if only our rugby players had a few hard months of toil under their belts.

And if only it was somewhere far away from this oppressive, claustrophobic World Cup, with the haunted looks on the faces of the players and their coach as they try to figure out answers to questions we can't even get our heads around to ask.

It's been mentioned in several reports how the Argentines have given the impression of greatly enjoying their World Cup experience. Trevor Brennan, in his national anthem polemic in last Friday's Irish Times, described how he rang one of his Argentine colleagues at Toulouse, who was at that moment on the team bus back from training last week. "What's that in the background?", asked the Barnhall Bruiser. "Singing," responded his Puma friend.

Singing. Can't imagine our boys giving it The Fields on the TGV. Not that Eddie should start handing out lyric sheets instead of conducting DVD analysis. Nothing, of course, makes a player happier than good results, but the sense of embattlement, unease and a general lack of wellbeing has pervaded for weeks now.

Which is why, on Sunday, necessity and - good God man! - the milk of human kindness dictate that O'Sullivan should send his team out with the most minimal instruction. "Go and enjoy yourselves lads." It's about time. And it might just work.

Eddie The Assassin

So Eddie has acted. Are the changes merely rearranging the deckchairs on the Titanic, or will they shore up the giant hole in Ireland's Rugby World Cup campaign?

If you were looking for a sacrificial lamb amongst the Irish team from the first two games, sticking a pin randomly in the teamsheet would probably have served your purpose just fine. But Peter Stringer pays the price for being the perpetrator of the most glaring, identifiable error, rather than the bulk of his teammates for their part in the astonishing malaise that has gripped the Irish team.

Eoin Reddan's elevation to the starting XV has met with much approval for the player's calibre (being the scrum-half on the current Heineken Cup champions is pedigree enough), but also no little dismay that the Wasps player has had virtually no prior test match experience. Reddan's selection raises serious alarm bells about Eddie O'Sullivan's preparations, and the suspicion arises that the coach is now implementing panic measures.

Only a short few days since he was considered the third best number nine in the squad, Reddan is now being called upon to instigate the forward momentum and pack management that has been virtually non-existent in the opening games. It's a bold move by Eddie; in poker parlance, the coach is 'all in'.

Andrew Trimble and Jerry Flannery are more straightforward changes, both bringing more explosiveness around the field than the men they replace, the under-par Denis Hickie and the injured Rory Best.

But it's the banishment of Geordan Murphy from the 22, replaced by the unheralded Gavin Duffy, that has caused the greatest consternation. Murphy, O'Sullivan claims, is paying the price for errors against the French in games seven and nineteen months ago. It hasn't required mind-reading skills to figure that O'Sullivan does not trust Murphy, his preference for Girvan Dempsey long being used as evidence for the 'Steady Eddie' characterisation of the coach.

But you could forgive O'Sullivan having Murphy on the bench with Dempsey at 15, the thinking being that, were a game-breaking, or -saving intervention required, at least Murphy's unpredictable talents could be drafted in. Now, if we require a dash of magic, we can replace the dependable Dempsey with the, er, also dependable Duffy. Hmmm.

Still, there it is; the bloodletting has occured. The changes will have energised the stiffs outside the regular 22 at least, with three of their tackle-bag carrying number having been asked to saddle up.

Whether Eddie's bold moves do the same for the rest of the underperforming squad remains to be seen.

A Little More Action Please

One by one they filed in, each with the same bowed head, hand-wringing, but taking it like a man. Eddie, Brian O'Driscoll, Gordon D'Arcy; Marcus Horan turned up on RTE Radio 1, Shane Horgan took the notion of collective responsibility seriously on Newstalk. No doubt Paul O'Connell and David Wallace will minutely document the pain of it all in their Sunday newspaper columns.

The flipside of the ubiquity of this Irish rugby team - how did they fit any training in around all those advertising shoots? - is the necessity for accountability. And, fair play, they haven't gone to ground, you know. Horgan and Horan talked about yesterday's video analysis session, presented, one presumes, by Wes Craven. Guys fronted up, in the parlance of the sport; hands were raised in admission of culpability.

Which is all well and good. It's certainly better to hear than the line of being top of the group with a bonus point to boot. That one was floated by some, and sank carrying all crew of the S.S. Optimism to their graves.

While we're glad of their honesty, we don't need the articulacy of our rugby players to spell out the grim nature of Sunday's performance. Watching the game again on the Setanta repeat yesterday, commentator Mark Robson was reduced to reciting, like a Rabbi chanting the script of the Torah, the list of Namibia's previous results, stunned by the incongruity of what was in front of him.

"They lost in qualifying to Tunisia and Kenya...Georgia and Romania beat them in the Nations Cup....they only defeated Uganda by a point in June...Australia of course put 142 points on the scoreboard four years ago....they lost 32-20 to the South African Students, then South Africa beat them 105-13...."

Nowhere in that lot was there the remotest context for what happened on Sunday night, against a team for whom winning the competition was considered within the realm of reason.

The poverty of the Irish display was such that it cannot be simply ascribed to the seemingly random misfortune of individual errors. This wasn't a bad day at the office. This was more like turning up for work to find the office had been demolished by a bomb.

Very obviously, this team have not been properly prepared for the start of the World Cup. The idea that the Irish team that ran out of puff against Namibia could, had the draw placed them there instead, have matched France or Argentina in their opening game is laughable.

But there's the rub. Ireland's World Cup did not really start last Sunday. Sure, the points difference escape tunnel has now been blocked off. But, if the preparation of an international rugby side is as scientific as I think it is, one imagines that Stade de France a week on Friday is intended to be nearer the top of the graph the Stade Chaban Delmas two days ago.

It's a straw, and I'm clutching at it.

Not that there weren't abysmal things about Sunday that were nothing to do with conditioning and ring-rustiness. The gameplan, that familiar O'Sullivanism, for example. Why did we attempt to play this match as if we had just stepped off the pitch in Rome last March? Why not simply kick for territory and keep the Namibians pinned back, allowing ourselves to feel our way into some sort of fluency, rather than simply assuming it with through looking for midfield gaps that hadn't yet appeared?

The breakdown was disastrous, Ireland recycling ball with the urgency of a hen laying an egg (apologies to all hens if the egg laying process is, in fact, carried out in an urgent manner. I always imagine it to be a serene and sedate process. If not, you should complain more. Like female humans).

But on the other hand, Namibia killed so much ball illegally that referee Joel Jutge's failure to issue a yellow card was the greatest act of charity towards an African nation since Bob Geldof and the black babies.

They're smart men, our rugby boys; they speak well and they're no fools. They know more than you or I about what went wrong on Sunday, and have done enough in recent years to warrant a bit of faith.

But there's only so much talking you can do.

Formez Vos Bataillons!

It's the World in Union, sang Kiri Te Kanawa, deploying the play on words still beloved of Rugby World Cup organisers to this day.

Except it's not, of course. It's mainly the former British Empire, various pug-nosed French peasants, some Argentinian polo players and motley frightening Pacific Islanders...in Union.


Still, though, it's not a bad old collection of half-men, half-buses that will occupy our front centre of the sporting stage for the next God knows many weeks. The quadrennial installation of the All Blacks as favourites has been duly completed, and the quest of the men from those damp islands on the derriere of the globe to add the seal of the William Webb Ellis Trophy to their generally held position as the best team in the world will be compelling.

But the RWC (if you don't mind us referring to it as that henceforth), despite having a short history, is nonetheless in thrall to that past. All wizened experts, seeking to justify their wizenedness, point to the stumbles of highly fancied All Black teams in past tournaments: to the suspicious dose of Jo'burg belly that did for them in 1995 and the wily French and Australian outfits that outfoxed them in '99 and '03.

They can't handle the pressure, say the sceptics, who are invariably supping from a can of Fosters and driving a Ute at the time. Australia, masters of the sledging arts, have been poking the All Black beast in the belly since the Tri-Nations game in Melbourne in June, which the Wallabies won 20-15. "Awww, same awwld Awll Blacks," they've been drawling since, "ye can get to 'em, eh?"

Wallaby nous could very well test Kiwi mettle in the semi-final (should New Zealand overcome their quarter-final opponents, more of whom anon..), in a repeat of the 2003 semi. Yes, the All Blacks are bigger, better, deeper, stronger ( did I mention bigger?) than ever, but.....

We'll deal with the holders with the short shrift their reign as world champions deserves. With the departure of Clive Woodward, the retirement of Martin Johnson, Matt Dawson and Neil Back, and the descent into infirmity of Jonny Wilkinson, English rugby went through its most dismal period in perhaps three decades since that evening in Sydney four years ago.

The appointment of Brian Ashton as coach and the desperate re-arranging of the deckchairs on this doomed vessel will do little to discourage the view that a tame defence of their title is likely. Their pool game against South Africa should be of interest to geologists, replicating - when the two packs meet - the movement of the earth's plates. The Springboks have class all over the field; they should meet an equally immovable object in France in the semi-final, but one a little lighter on its feet.

If there is a surprise to be caused, and it is not at all a surprise, it should be Italy to emerge over Scotland in Pool C, repeating their Six Nations victory. Scottish preparations have been marred by the decimation of their domestic game, and it's now or never for Italy.

Wales's regression since their Grand Slam of 2005 is a fascinating demonstration of how the game of rugby changes. Back in '05 'offloading' was the word - everyone was doing it, it was the cool new craze!

But if you happened to catch Wales's recent warm-up match against France, you would have witnessed how the coaching intelligentsia responded to that tactic: defence, my boy, defence. Bigger, tighter, blitzier than ever and, according to those who know these things, likely to be the central theme of this tournament, unfortunately.



Now then, who have I forgotten? Ah yes. Samoa. No, okay; how are we going to do? We'll lose to France, beat Argentina and lose to the All Blacks. It is written by the prophets.

Had Ireland won the Grand Slam this year, the leap of faith to the semi-finals (i.e., topping the group and avoiding the All Blacks in the quarter-finals) would have been imaginable. Look at England in 2003. They didn't sit around in meetings telling each other they could win the World Cup. They had been the best team in the world for the previous two years. They knew they could win the World Cup.

The RWC is too gruelling, too taxing and too inhospitable a place to play yourself into title-winning form. You can't go there and find yourself. You rather need to have located yourself well in advance.

Ireland won't win this World Cup because they will sustain injuries to irreplaceable players, they will struggle in the scrummage against any of the other rated nations, they tend toward inconsistency too much, and because, fundamentally, they know they are just short of what is needed.

And Ireland will not top their group, avoid the All Blacks etc., etc., because they will be facing the future world champions in their third game. Excuse the crudity of the term in advance, but we have been 'ridden' by the draw. This France side are, as we already know, the real deal; they have extraordinary depth, and ferocious power. They are not the 'flair' side of old, only deploying the Rougeries and Dominicis when games are well won now; but my, they are strong.

All that, plus the "Aux armes, citoyens! Formez vos bataillons!" bit in La Marseillaise resounding from the patriotic-when-they-want-to-be-as-long-as-there-are-no-bullets-involved French public in Stade de France, means they could be unstoppable.

There's an Achilles heel though. I'd rather like to have my half-back pairing sorted out on the eve of the tournament, thank you very much. Fragile Freddie Michalak might wobble at the right time for Ireland.

And then you never know.

Never Had It So Good?

So off they went, thirty bold adventurers and true, to acclimatise, presumably due to France being a country with the occasional day without biblical rain-showers.

For most of them, the announcement of the squad on Sunday morning would barely have necessitated a pause in the crunching of corn flakes, so certain were they of their autumnal travel plans. But a few would have dreaded Eddie O'Sullivan's Dear John phone call like the icy finger of the Reaper himself.

Four years ago many of the same players endured a similar Sunday morning in August before embarking on a campaign which ultimately petered out in a quarter-final defeat to France.

Expectations are higher this time, but the challenge ahead seems even greater. So how does Eddie's 2007 squad compare to the 30 of four years ago?

PROPS

2003: Reggie Corrigan, John Hayes, Marcus Horan, Simon Best.

2007: John Hayes, Marcus Horan, Simon Best, Bryan Young.

HOOKERS

2003: Keith Wood, Shane Byrne, Frankie Sheahan.

2007: Jerry Flannery, Rory Best, Frankie Sheahan.

LOCKS

2003: Paul O'Connell, Donncha O'Callaghan, Malcolm O'Kelly, Gary Longwell.

2007: Paul O'Connell, Donncha O'Callaghan, Malcolm O'Kelly.

BACK ROW

2003: Victor Costello, Simon Easterby, Anthony Foley, Keith Gleeson, Alan Quinlan, Eric Miller.

2007: Simon Easterby, Neil Best, Denis Leamy, David Wallace, Alan Quinlan, Stephen Ferris.


SCRUM-HALVES

2003: Peter Stringer, Guy Easterby, Neil Doak.

2007: Peter Stringer, Isaac Boss, Eoin Reddan.

FLY-HALVES

2003: Ronan O'Gara, David Humphreys.

2007: Ronan O'Gara, Paddy Wallace.

CENTRES

2003: Brian O'Driscoll, Kevin Maggs, Jonathan Bell.

2007: Brian O'Driscoll, Gordon D'Arcy, Gavin Duffy.

WINGERS

2003: Shane Horgan, Denis Hickie, Anthony Horgan, John Kelly.

2007: Shane Horgan, Denis Hickie, Brian Carney, Andrew Trimble.

FULL-BACKS

2003: Girvan Dempsey.

2007: Girvan Dempsey, Geordan Murphy.


Immediately, for all the cribbing over the second-string results in Argentina and Scotland, a greater strength in depth is obvious. Only at fly-half was the 2003 squad actually stronger, although prop, hooker and lock seem much of a muchness.

In some positions cover was embarrassingly light four years ago. Neil Doak? Jonathan Bell? Anthony Horgan? John Kelly (forced into action against France)? Kevin Maggs started every game! No genuine cover at full-back!

The five games in 2003 saw just 21 of the squad featuring in the starting line-ups, with eight starting every game. The back division remained totally unchanged, apart from John Kelly's enforced start against France for the injured Denis Hickie, and David Humphreys getting the nod at fly-half for the Namibia and Argentina games.

2003's final act was the disappointing quarter-final against France, when a plainly exhausted Ireland simply ran out of puff. While the recent friendlies have shown that we don't necessarily have an All Black-style alternative XV, looking at this year's squad, we should at least have viable options both to allow the resting of front-liners, and also to provide impact substitutes in the big matches.

In the outside backs, for example, the trio of Carney, Trimble and Murphy all carry the potential to skewer a tiring opposing defence if needed. What foe would welcome the sight of a bloodthirsty Neil Best charging on for ten minutes of barely controlled mayhem? And the option of Trimble provides a modicum of insurance in the event of the dreaded worst happening to O'Driscoll and D'Arcy.

Sure, we remain utterly dependent on the central core staying fit, but compared to last time out, Ireland look to have packed more than just the bare essentials.

The Latest Suggested World Cup Squad That Eddie O'Sullivan Will Totally Ignore

Two whole months till the announcement of Rugby World Cup squads then, but sure, with the dismal round of summer tour internationals over, what else is there to talk about?

There is the distant, mystical wonder of the Tri-nations getting under way this weekend, but we're blinkered, parochial types around here, so we'll just agree that they all look very big and scary down there and get back to speculating if Big Mal will get crocked again.

Ostensibly there is only one game left for Ireland's supporting cast to snare positions on the World Cup bench before the day of reckoning on August 14th. That comes against Scotland on August 11th, although there has been some speculation that the IRB will push the date back to allow the internationals scheduled for later in the month to be included as final auditions.

Ireland's last game before the titanic opening tussle with Namibia on 9th September is on 24th August, but one imagines that, even if the IRB does extend the deadline for squad announcements, Eddie O'Sullivan's mind will be well made up by then, if it isn't already.

Presumably there won't be many takers for the access all areas DVD about the tour to Argentina. However, like a Big Brother race row, it was at least useful in shaving a few contestants out of the running for the big prize.

So binning their French phrasebooks are Tony Buckley, Peter Bracken, Kieran Lewis, Barry Murphy, Tomas O'Leary and Jeremy Staunton. Also praying for an outbreak of some deadly virus or other in the camp are Shane Jennings and Leo Cullen, neither of whom were able to demonstrate enough to leapfrog ahead of those untainted by sinister English club ways. Luke Fitzgerald's lack of game time has not ruled him out in the eyes of some of his advocates, but it's a gamble I can't see O'Sullivan taking.

There's an old joke about sculpture, it goes something like "how do you do a sculpture of an elephant? Take a block and remove all the bits that don't look like an elephant". Not really a joke, as such, more of pithy aphorism. Anyhow, with a few bits removed that don't look like a World Cup squad, we can focus on the fine detail.

Stuff That Will Not Cause Eddie To Drift Off In Contemplation When His Wife Tries To Engage Him In Discussion About The Banjaxed Washing Machine Or Whatever Wives Of International Managers Yammer On About

Namely that the four props will be Horan, Hayes, Best (S), Young; that the three hookers will be Best (R), Flannery and Sheahan; that three of the locks will be O'Connell, O'Callaghan and O'Kelly; that three of the back rowers will be Easterby, Wallace (D) and Leamy; that the scrum-halves will be Stringer, Boss and Reddan; that the outhalves will be O'Gara and Wallace (P); that two of the centres will be O'Driscoll and D'Arcy; that two of the wingers will be Horgan and Hickie; and that the full-backs will be Dempsey and Murphy.

Stuff That Will Cause Eddie To Say "Woman Will You Stop Yammering On About Banjaxed Washing Machines, I'm Trying To Think Here!!"

Wow it looks like an elephant! But not quite. Six places left, and like the hard-hitting internet news organ we aren't, let's start a heated debate.

I contended before that Mick O'Driscoll would go to the World Cup, and while I have wobbled on my stated position like an atheist at the gates of hell, I will stick to it. That's based on nothing more solid than a hunch on O'Sullivan's mindset, mind you, and indeed would consider Trevor Hogan exceedingly unlucky to miss out, given that, aside from O'Kelly, he alone showed well in Argentina of the locks.

Perhaps it's just the suspicion that the boss would like a man who knows the workings of his Munster mates in the event of a need for action, or maybe those couple of lineouts stolen in Argentina, I don't know. As I said it's flimsy stuff.

The back row, though, sheeeesh! This is Ireland's strongest area, has been for a while. As I expect O'Sullivan to go with 17 forwards (leveraging his backs' versatility a little - ooh don't I sound all Wall Street?) it follows that back-up will be like-for-like in the back row.

Neil Best will definitely get to deploy his brand of mayhem at no.6 in France. His physicality over a long tournament and potential impact off the bench make him a cert for the match-day 22. I'll plump for Keith Gleeson to make the cut as David Wallace's understudy, delighting purists of the open-side role. And with the Wise Head department well covered, Jamie Heaslip should get the reward his outstanding season deserves at number 8.

Just two official blazers going in the backs then. Andrew Trimble has been ensconced in the scene for long enough, and has done enough in an Ireland shirt, to make it as centre and wing cover. Then comes the question: Gavin Duffy's decent tour and adaptability in a number of positions? Or Brian Carney's explosive potential and element of mystery?

In the normal run of things, Eddie would smile at Duffy and say "You had me at 'decent' and 'adaptable'". But maybe the excitement will get to him, maybe the anticipation will be too much, or maybe the washing machine will finally pack up and he'll just say "Feck it!" and decide to throw one Carney-shaped curveball at the plate.

Let's see shall we.

O'Sullivan Searches For X-Factor

He may have slightly better dress sense, and presumably a marginally less humungous ego, but Eddie O'Sullivan puts me in mind of Simon Cowell with this whole Argentina tour squad thing. Looking at the names mustered by O'Sullivan yesterday for the upcoming summer tests in the land of tango and tenderloin, I couldn't help but picture the massed auditionees for the early rounds of X Factor or Pop Idol.

Some of them are bright young hopefuls, bursting with talent; some are more familiar faces, giving it a second or third shot at the big time; and some will disappear back into obscurity as sure as if they were a yodelling granny.

Eddie (did he do a Louis Walsh on Declan Kidney a few years back?) will sit back impassively, arms folded, waiting to be impressed.

"Call that tackling? You're wasting your time, but more importantly, you're wasting my time. I'm sorry, no!"....."I don't know who ever told you that could scrummage, but they were lying"....."But Eddie, give me another chance, I've got what it takes"...."I've seen some bad players in my time, but you are by far the worst yet," and so on.

It'll be a nervous party that fulfils Ireland's tests in the Estadio Brigadier Estanislao López del Barrio Centenario in Santa Fe and the Estadio José Amalfitani in Buenos Aires. If you take out Ireland's starting XV (that which played against Italy, save for Paul O'Connell instead of Mick O'Driscoll) and those in the Argentina party who are certain to go to the World Cup (the two Bests, Jerry Flannery, Mick O'Driscoll, Isaac Boss, Geordan Murphy, Andrew Trimble and Paddy Wallace), that leaves 22 players battling for just seven vacant places in a 30-man squad for France.

With so much at stake, maybe, less than X Factor or Pop Idol, the bitchy competitiveness of America's Next Top Model might be a more appropriate comparison. Certainly, there are close calls in many positions before the Argentinian catwalk decider (although hopefully no nude shots will be required).

Malcolm O'Kelly, Ireland's most capped player and once an untouchable squad member, faces the challenge of younger, fitter men in Trevor Hogan and Leo Cullen. Frankie Sheahan may find the dynamic Bernard Jackman of Leinster a tough contender for the third hooker berth.

The competition will be most ferocious in the back row, with no fewer than five viable contenders to join the abovementioned four certainties. And then, in the backs, you have the dark horse, Brian Carney, eyeing up bright young thing Rob Kearney and Ulster's Tommy Bowe, with Kearney's greater versatility giving him the edge currently. Perhaps even Geordan Murphy could be vulnerable, given O'Sullivan's impatience with the Leicester man during the Six Nations.

Of course, in the end, that man O'Sullivan is far more powerful than Simon Cowell; after all, Eddie doesn't have to bother with the inconvenience of a public vote. Fortunately, however, there are no yodelling grannies to get rid of in this contest.