Simon has been commissioned to write a new song. It's called '50 Ways To Lose A Match'. It goes like this: "You don't have to play like a dog, Rog/ Don't bother your arse, D'Arce/ You're much too slow, Bowe/ You're bringing on Best but only in jest/ 50 ways to lose a match. . ."

Such was the compendium of errors that 50 ways to lose the match wouldn't cover it all. When you're playing in Paris, you can legislate for errors. But unforced errors are just something that if you're serious about being competitive here, they just can't even creep into your strategy.

I've played in Paris on a number of occasions. It is without doubt the most intimidating and difficult place to play, particularly up front, and I would liken the first couple of minutes of any game in Paris to those scenes at the start of Saving Private Ryan.

The troops are all gathered in the amphibious landing craft.

You're about 10 seconds away from landing on Omaha Beach. The big metal door falls open and hits the sand.

Everybody runs forward but it's not German bullets that drops everyone, it's coming from behind. Bad enough trying to face the German machine-gunners, but if there's friendly fire coming from behind, you have no chance.

Ireland imploded spectacularly yesterday. A Keystone Cops compendium of unforced errors gave the game away without even as much as a punch being thrown. It was an amazing match and Ireland's individual performances ranged from some of the most courageous I've ever seen through to a couple of individuals who will never play for Ireland again.

As I look at my match notes, while I dictate this article, one of the things that has left me staggered is a little note halfway through the first half and it says, 'France attack Ireland and apply pressure for the first time in the half '.

In effect, we had to wait 30 minutes for France's first proper attack. At that stage, the score was 22-3 and in keeping with this amazing game, you felt that Ireland, even at that stage, were not out of it.

In fairness to Ireland, they tried to play some rugby but the key to this game was the French ability in a tackle.

They destroyed Ireland at the tackle zone. Ireland were very gamey and tried to play the ball out of the tackle but such was the ferocity of the French on the front foot that they often double-teamed the Irish ball carrier and sent them yards back. When the game was won, at 29-3 which is when Ireland were officially pronounced road kill, then the French stopped playing and their defence had more holes than OJ Simpson's alibis.

From both coaches' perspective, it was a bad game.

Bernard Laporte's team should have put 70 on Ireland and he will take heavy criticism for almost throwing the game away. If Ireland with about four or five minutes to go had actually been a little bit patient on the French line with Stringer, D'Arcy and Leamy getting very close, Ireland would have been up to 38 points with five minutes remaining . . . just five points behind. That would have been a very interesting scenario.

But rush multiplies risk and Ireland, in the final couple of minutes of helter skelter, couldn't hang on to the ball or get the final pass away.

So we have to ask ourselves the questions about those first 25 minutes. And it's obvious to somebody, even with a room temperature IQ, what happened. Ireland's first scrum, as it always seems to be, was a nightmare start. Olivier Milloud got under John Hayes and literally had him at a 90degree angle. The French took it against the head and normally that is game over but this Irish side is a little bit more complex than that and the whole concept of the game being decided by the first scrum doesn't really apply any more.

You can legislate for that.

Keep your shape and your concentration and you'll still be in the game. But it's very difficult when you look at it in the cold light of day, the catalogue of errors for Aurelien Rougerie's first try was staggering. Bowe slipped coming across, O'Driscoll was caught out of position and Murphy was beaten for pace and then beaten in the tackle. It was a gift of a try. Five minutes later, another gift.

Michalak chipped through Leamy and Murphy managed to do a Laurel and Hardy on the recovery. The ball popped up as both Irish players fell over each other like bread out of a toaster and Michalak, not trusting himself or his dodgy groin, flicked it to Magne who went in under the sticks.

Twelve-nil and an embarrassed French audience sang happily. But the game was not over. Ireland went through the phases again and you thought maybe a quick try and we're back in it. But the most galling sight was Ireland losing their shape offensively after just 20 minutes.

There were five of Ireland's players grouped in a hopeless 15-metre short side, none were geared or aligned to attack. Stringer looked around and said, 'what is the point of passing to these guys?'. There is nothing doing so he popped it to O'Gara who took an age and gave Marty plenty of time to block his kick. That made it 19. O'Gara repeated the same trick with the outside of his boot, Marty just could not believe his luck and Geordan Murphy threw another gift to Cedric Heymans. The winger took it head high and at pace.

It was much easier for him to knock it on but he could not abuse the hospitality of his guests. To gift France five sickening tries was generous in the extreme. But the French reciprocated and the somnolent effect of having a 40-point lead left the French thinking of their match in two weeks' time. I thought only horses slept standing up.

To their credit, Ireland's fitness held out until the very end and they earned, as opposed to were gifted, four decent tries. This match had real potential for Ireland. I have never seen such a catastrophic concession of unforced errors. The blame lies with one man. Eddie O'Sullivan's well-nourished botty will be spit-roasted on one of those Parisian-style rotisseries. The term losing the dressing room is being echoed around the Irish rugby scene. I would say when O'Sullivan walked back into the dressing room, the looks his players would have given him would have been the same as that of a corpse greeting an undertaker.