"Tickets. Argentina versus Ireland. I give very good price. Helloooo? Tickets?" One Irish fan took pity. He slung a weighty arm over the little man's shoulder and shook his head sympathetically.

"Jaysus, man, did you not hear?" he said.

"Ireland . . . nous sommes finis."

It took a while for the depression to sink in. The Irish fans had been so determinedly upbeat, so bafflingly optimistic, that it really wasn't until the second French try that 30,000 hearts hit the cement floor.

'Les Verts' was stunned by the disappointment . . . but the uncharacteristic silence didn't last long. As the flood of green jerseys poured towards the nearest watering hole, the post-match analysis began in earnest.

The performance of two Irishmen in particular dominated the conversation.

"O'Sullivan's the problem, " said Andrew Kiely from Castleknock in Dublin.

"A four-year contract before the World Cup? It's ludicrous. Disgraceful. We've reached a crescendo of 12 years of rugby and it's all downhill from here." Looking thoroughly depressed at his own analysis, Kiely melted back into the crowd.

Nearby, Kerryman Brian McElligott was equally distraught. Even his hair seemed to have curled in horror. "Ach, I mean, it was terrible, you know, just awful, " he said, running his hand through his traumatised follicles. "I blame the manager 100%. Eddie O'Sullivan should not be there, end of story. And there's something awful wrong with O'Gara. Some of the kicks he missed, you know, it was like he didn't turn up in his head. We had no game plan or anything.

Good thing we got the All-Ireland or I'd be in an awful state."

Outside a heaving fastfood restaurant, a group of five Longford men were propping up the wall. "He should be shot, I mean it, " said Matt Hanley. "And yes, even if we'd won, I'd say the same thing. Eddie O'Sullivan should be shot. It was dreadful. Shambolic. All those sort of bad words. Not to mind the ref. You know where he's from anyway."

The group gave one giant nod. "But what was going on with O'Gara?" asked Vincent Tighe, scratching his chin reflectively. "He wasn't happy from the kick off.

You could see it in his face.

What's been going on at home?

We've been here for 10 days now, but we heard rumours about gambling or something?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. No one knew what exactly was wrong with O'Gara.

Indeed, no one knew what exactly was wrong with any of them. The confusion around the stadium was palpable. Our star kicker was making basic errors. Our coach was walking around like a man who's got an unexpected blow to the head.

Our team, the team, was in tatters.

And yet, after just an hour of mourning, the Irish began to bounce back with an elasticity normally seen in rubber.

"Of course we're happy we came, delighted, no question, absolutely, " said a group of older Irishmen with posh English accents. "We didn't have enough primary possession though, " said Paul Cohen. His friend, Paddy Nolan, poked him in the ribs. "Don't go using phrases like 'primary possession', you'll sound like a tosser, " he said. There was a brief, nonplussed silence, before all three men exploded with laughter.

"I had a great night, a French girl flashed me, " said a young man from Clontarf with a satisfied sigh. "The French are great."

Outside one of the green beer tents, a photographer was shouting at a colourful posse of Dubliners. "Look dejected, sad, you know?" said the photographer. The men obediently frowned and scowled. One dramatically wiped away an imaginary tear. It was too much for the rest, who dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"You do realise you lost?" said the photo-grapher, more irritated than anyone in the vicinity.

By the early hours of yesterday, most of the fans had converged in the numerous late bars in Paris. Together. En masse. French and Irish, in some cases literally hand-in-hand.

In O'Sullivan's bar on Boulevard Montmartre, the crowd had spilled onto the road. "I love the Irish, " yelled Jean Francois Ropical, whipping up his French jersey to reveal a green strip underneath. "I got it in Temple Bar, " he said, puffing his chest proudly. "You like, yes?"

As a bouncer struggled to convince one rather intoxicated reveller to desist from dancing on the bar, a large section of the crowd burst into a rousing rendition of 'Ireland's Call'. Monaghan man Shane Connolly surveyed the crowd with a mixture of admiration and bemusement.

"We must be the best losers in the world, " he said. "I mean if we're like this when we lose, what would have happened if we won?"

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Neil Francis, Ciaran Cronin and all the best rugby coverage, Sport