With enemies like you Irish who would need friends?

Six Nations/ Countdown to England: It's no bed of roses being a Rose wearer in Ireland, but the banter is mostly good-natured and the respect genuine and reciprocated, writes James Helm .

Five happy years into Dublin life, and I'm well used to being the punchbag for sporting banter. The latest witty treasures have revolved around cricket, of all things: variations on how it took the arrival of an Irishman, Ed Joyce, to turn around the fortunes of the England team.

Five years is more than enough time to be fully aware that playing England - and these days, usually beating them - really matters. This time, to ratchet the occasion up a few notches, there's the significance of the moment: the Croke Park factor, the history wrapped up in it, plus the desire that a fine team fulfils its potential and puts things right after the heartbreak against France.

Every time I visit my rugby-mad GP the conversation quickly switches from health matters to the weightier matter of sport: Ireland's triumphs and England's woes. It's enough to keep me healthy. As I'm ribbed about Ireland's recent record at Twickenham, I reflect that I am actually paying for the privilege.

It's not a case of requiring a thick skin, more a case of needing a smart retort. When Irish people take to passionately supporting Ecuador or Sweden because they are playing the white-shirted ones at soccer, well, that's the way it is. Officially, the figures tell us, the British are now the largest non-Irish group living here, so if we were too upset we could always open a themed Red Lion pub where we could cheer our teams on, uninterrupted. It wouldn't be half the fun.

The overwhelming desire to annihilate England on the sports field doesn't, in my experience, extend to being even vaguely uncivil to any one particular Englishman. In 2003, after Jonny Wilkinson's drop goal took England to World Cup glory, an Irish friend and neighbour brought round a bottle of champagne. Come Saturday at 5.30pm you might want to see Wilko and his pals trampled deep into Croker's hallowed turf, their "sweet chariots" shoved somewhere unmentionable. But you'll still be friendly enough to England supporters before, during and afterwards.

"Don't worry," it's always politely explained to me, "it's the England team we can't stand."

I've never found cheering for England here a hazardous pastime, although I probably wouldn't go for the full song-and-dance routine in a city bar. Only once have I headed for the exit, when a bloke near me in a south Dublin pub thought racial abuse of Jason Robinson was a hilarious part of his England-baiting.

My privileged role involves describing Ireland to the world beyond these shores. Stories such as the steps in the peace process are obviously followed by audiences. The smoking ban was the source of much international curiosity. Anything that demonstrates Ireland's economic success provokes interest. Then there's the unusual, such as the recent, startling tale of Minister Conor Lenihan's face, and his medical diagnosis live on Prime Time . That produced amazement, and more than 200,000 hits on the BBC website.

Few stories, however, have produced as much fascination as Croke Park opening up to rugby and soccer. In the build-up to the France match I reported for programmes right across BBC World Service Radio, BBC World TV, Radio 5 Live, Radio 4, Radio Scotland, the BBC News website. Even CBC in Canada tuned in. As a story it combined sport, history, culture, identity. Perhaps it said something about this rapidly changing land. Time and again, live on air, I was asked why Gaelic games mean so much in Ireland, and why some opposed the move to open up Croke Park. I explained that a friend, a lifelong GAA man, says he'll never go back to Croker, while others are delighted.

"Surely the really big moment," the presenter would ask, "will be when England play there?"

No room for disagreement there.

Prior to the France match I interviewed the Taoiseach, who was full of praise for the GAA and expectation the move to Croker was going to be "good for sport and good for the country". But, as with everyone else, it was mention of England's visit that brought a smile to his lips. He even brought a competitive edge to an area of sport where I didn't know it existed, pointing out that Croke Park's floodlights are superior to those installed at the new Wembley.

For many, the drum roll prior to the opening note of God Save the Queen at Croke Park will produce a collective shudder. For some viewers at home, it might be the cue to reach for the mute button or go and put the kettle on. If they're in the pub, it could be time to order a drink at the bar. For many, it will be the moment when the move to the GAA's magnificent citadel will really hit home. Others will be less concerned.

Knowing the dignified way things are done here, I suspect there will be respect shown within the stadium.

The respectful attitude is likely to be mutual. I'm frequently reminded here of the Martin Johnson Moment, back in 2003, and the offence it caused, however inadvertent. Then, the England captain's refusal to budge meant the President had to take a detour on to the Lansdowne grass in order to meet the teams before the game.

So to avoid any repeat, the former Ireland international Conor O'Shea, now the English RFU's Academy manager, will tonight address the England squad on the sensitivities involved this weekend.

As the son of the former Kerry footballer Jerome O'Shea, he's well placed to offer advice. A statement said: "The RFU feel it is appropriate that every English player who has the privilege and honour of playing in front of the Hogan Stand next Saturday hears from Conor about the stadium's place in Irish culture and history."

In his newspaper column, Will Greenwood, a World Cup winner with England, described how he leapt out of his seat at home while watching the Ireland-France game, screaming for Ireland to win, something he'd never done before.

At Croke Park last Sunday, I was the same. Shouting for another team is tricky territory, as I always remember cheering for Scotland against Brazil in a London pub during the 1998 soccer World Cup. Scotland scored, I clapped, and a Scottish colleague gave me a withering look and told me what I could do with my "support". But no English sports fan is daft enough to expect the goodwill to be reciprocated.

Followers of England's sports teams know a fair bit about coping with defeat, which probably helps to explain why we celebrate rare victories - the rugby in 2003, the 2005 Ashes series - the way we do.

I'm bracing myself for the arrival of Irish mates based in London, for a memorable sporting occasion and a decent match. And, weighing up the relative merits of the two teams and their recent results, I'm also ready for the days that follow the game to be filled with celebratory calls, texts and emails from victorious, crowing Irishmen.

James Helm is a correspondent and presenter for the BBC .