THERE was no great expectation among the Irish supporters making their way through the rain to the Stade de France on Thursday night. No chest-thumping predictions, no bravado about silencing Paris. Just a steady trudge through a damp city, coats pulled tight, conversations hushed and cautious.
It felt less like the opening night of a Six Nations campaign and more like an obligation fulfilled. Repaying the debt of glorious days in the recent past by stepping up to take the pain in Paris. A Thursday fixture, awkwardly timed and awkwardly staged, seemed designed for broadcast schedules rather than the people who follow teams across borders. Another small reminder that modern rugby often puts commerce before comfort, television before atmosphere. Even before kick-off, the evening carried a faint sense of resignation.
What followed on the field did nothing to lift it.
France, heavy pre-match favourites, wasted little time asserting authority. They played with pace, power and precision, while Ireland struggled to summon intensity, cohesion, or belief. By the end, the scoreboard told a harsh story, but it did not exaggerate.
There was a brief flicker of encouragement when Jamie Osborne produced a fine long-range kick to earn Ireland a 50:22 in the opening minutes. It was a moment that hinted at structure and intent. It lasted seconds. A loose offload followed, possession was lost, and with it any sense that Ireland were ready to impose themselves.
France needed no second invitation. In the 13th minute, wing Louis Bielle-Biarrey, last season’s Guinness Player of the Championship, took possession near halfway and accelerated down the left touchline. One shrug, one burst of speed, and he was gone. Thomas Ramos converted, and Paris exhaled.
More concerning than the score was the tone. France were sharper, faster, more certain. Ireland looked tentative, as if still weighing possibilities while their hosts were already dealing in conclusions.
If Ireland’s plan was to play a kick-and-chase game in Paris, it was executed without conviction. Aerial contests demand collective aggression and numbers in pursuit. Ireland brought neither. They lost nine of their first ten contests in the air, surrendering possession and territory with alarming regularity. Four French tries would ultimately flow from those failures.
On the ground, the story was no kinder. France dominated the collision area, winning the gainline at will while Irish carriers were repeatedly driven backwards. The visitors found themselves trapped in a weary cycle: tackle, retreat, infringe, clear poorly, repeat.
A quickly taken French penalty deep in Irish territory led to sustained pressure. Sam Prendergast briefly relieved the danger with an interception, but his decision to play from behind his own goal line handed France a five-metre scrum. From there, the punishment was swift. Attacking blind, Matthieu Jalibert found space to score France’s second try. Ramos struck the post with the conversion, but the momentum was firmly established.
Another infringement allowed Ramos to extend the lead to 15–0 before France produced the moment that best captured the imbalance. Jalibert chipped ahead into space, France recycled with ease, and Mickaël Guillard’s offload sent Charles Ollivon surging through the final tackle to score. By half-time, it was 22–0 in all but name, and Ireland were hanging on.
Old scars, new doubts
The parallels with November’s defeat to South Africa were uncomfortable. Then, as now, Ireland were physically dismantled. Then, as now, they lacked edge in the tight exchanges. Questions about selection in the pack will follow, particularly whether a more abrasive presence — such as Munster’s Edwin Edogbo — should have been trusted to bring confrontation where there was too much compliance.
Andy Farrell’s decision to select both Prendergasts was always a calculated gamble. It relied on Ireland controlling enough of the forward battle to play laterally, allowing a mobile back row to link play and give Sam Prendergast time. That control never arrived.
Starved of front-foot ball, Sam Prendergast looked short of confidence. His game drifted sideways, predictable under pressure, while his defensive frailties were exposed. Without authority up front, his strengths were muted and his weaknesses magnified. At times he looked like a junior club player pretending to be Johnny Sexton.
More awkward still is the wider selection principle. Farrell has long spoken of picking on form, yet Ross Byrne — steady, experienced, reliable — was overlooked. In hindsight, the decision risks appearing less strategic than stubborn, an insistence on proving a point rather than responding to what the contest demanded.
Jack Crowley brought urgency when introduced, but was played out of position, limiting his influence. By the time Ireland found any rhythm, the damage was long done.
France ensured there would be no false dawn after the interval. Within minutes, Antoine Dupont chipped ahead, a skewed clearance fell kindly, and Bielle-Biarrey sprinted clear for his second try. Ramos converted to make it 29–0, and the contest slipped into exhibition.
France played with freedom, offloading through contact, stretching Ireland across the width of the pitch. Ireland chased and scrambled, brave but overwhelmed.
There were small consolations. Nick Timoney finished well after a rare moment of incision, and Michael Milne powered over from close range. For a few minutes, pride flickered. But France had the final word, Théo Attissogbe finishing acrobatically in the corner to seal a comprehensive 36–14 victory.
The final whistle brought little surprise. France were polished, powerful, and precise. Ireland were left with questions that cannot be ignored.
They lacked intensity.
They lost the collisions.
They failed to compete in the air.
For the supporters who made the journey on a cold, wet Thursday night, it was a dispiriting return. For Andy Farrell, it was a night that stripped away comfort and demanded clarity. Paris has a way of doing that. It rarely lies, and it never waits.
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