Some people date the decline of our economy to the moment we sent Dustin the Turkey, a national in-joke, to mock our European neighbours with a terrible novelty song.

In the past we took the Eurovision song contest very seriously. When Dana won in 1970 with 'All Kinds of Everything', her Eurovision win was all we had. By the time Johnny Logan sang 'What's Another Year' in 1980, the Euro­- vision was our main industry; it accounted for 75% of our GDP; there were Fás courses in writing pop ballads; every able-bodied youngster was apprenticed to a previous winner. Norway had oil. Denmark had fisheries. We had Eurovision wins. And now, with new-found humility, Ireland is trying to kick-start that industry once again.

That was the general feeling underlying Friday's Eurosong 2010 Late Late Show Special: "We need the win!"

Ryan Tubridy looked weary, hurried and out of his comfort zone. Unlike interviews with national politicians and international superstars, selecting our Eurovision entry is serious stuff. Johnny Logan was there, eager to mention his platinum records in Scandinavia, and alluding darkly to problems he had with RTE. Dana was happy delivering funny slap-downs.

"I was thinking of dressing up as Lordi [monster-themed Finnish metal band that won the competition in 2006]," said third panellist, RTE journeyman and metaphorical cheese-monger Marty Whelan.

"And did you not?" said Dana with expert timing.

Why the panel were there at all wasn't quite clear. Dana, in particular, was reluctant to make any judgements: "It's for the viewers at home to decide," she kept saying, which seemed to cause Tubridy physical pain.

Speaking of causing physical pain, the first song was from Irish Times columnist John Waters. He's a repeat offender. In 2006 he entered a song and grumbled when it wasn't selected, and in 2007 we were represented by his (terrible) song, 'They Can't Stop the Spring'. His obsession with entering the Eurovision seems incongruous, but perhaps all columnists have unlikely hobbies (Fintan O'Toole is probably, right this instant, in an Ultimate Fighting tournament).

Anyway, four mini-skirted blondes got innocently jiggy around a fifth mini-skirted blonde who sang a theological europop song about whether her "heavenly" experience with her beau would be better in the afterlife.

"When you dance for Jehovah, will my heart go supernova?" she sang, before asking: "Will there be ecstasy in heaven?"

No. But I believe Paul's letters to the Corinthians refer to a head shop.

Dana liked it: "It's a good strong pop song... but even if I thought otherwise, I would not say so," she added non-committally.

Marty Whelan was just odd. "I thought they were all from Latvia and I was speaking at them in broken Latvian earlier on!" he announced and everyone laughed because they weren't sure what else to do.

The next performance was a straight-up, soft-rock ballad from veteran songwriter Ralph Siegel. It was bellowed by soft-rock vocalist Lee Bradshaw, and was called 'Rivers of Silence'.

Dana was vague. Johnny was self-aggrandising ("Thirty years ago when I won the Eurovision..." he began) and Marty has a contract with RTE.

Mikey from Boyzone sang a smoky torch-song he'd composed with some friends. It initially had a little too much cheese-less dignity, until he was joined from nowhere by a blonde, mini-skirted saxophone player. "Hubba, hubba, wooohoooo!" said Johnny Logan, although not in those exact words. "That's for a different show," he added. "Maybe for a different country," sighed Tubridy.

This was followed by a piece of economic allegory, performed and written by a pan-European collection of writers, producers and performers. It was essentially a bid to outsource Ireland's indigenous Eurosong industry (like they did with Waterford Crystal and Dell). "Hot lady, sexy lady, fashion queen!" sang German singer Monka Iyvik, surrounded by backing vocalists in geometrical dresses and a blaze of jazzy 1930s harmonies (borrowed from Christina Aguilera).

"Eight countries came together to write this song – that guarantees us some votes!" said Marty optimistically.

Then Niamh Kavanagh sang 'It's for You', an unbelievably boring ballad featuring a tin whistle solo. Some songs are like sonic wallpaper. This was sonic camouflage; you could hardly tell it was there. But this must have been a sweet relief to the studio audience because they went mental and the judges were suddenly unanimous that it was a one-horse race.

"Niamh could sing the telephone directory and it would sound good," enthused Johnny. I thought she had sung the telephone directory.

After a short diversionary interview with English musical star Michael Ball, the country's verdict came and everyone liked the Niamh Kavanagh song – the local juries, the phone vote, Michael Ball – everyone loved the song that stood for nothing.

It was like a national election. Was this bland ballad (Fianna Fáil) really so much better than Mikey's vague offering (Fine Gael), the Eurojazz nonsense (Labour), the soft-rock wheeze (Sinn Féin), or John Waters' europop farce (the Greens)? Apparently so.

"Ireland is back on form!" said Michael Ball encouragingly, and Jesus (and John Waters) wept.