Sideline Cut:Where have you all gone? There were 80,000 of you gathered on a damp, frozen afternoon last February to proclaim your passion for Ireland and the national rugby team. Remember that? England came to Croke Park for that unforgettable day when tough men were permitted to belt out the Soldier's Song with a tear in their eye; when an Irish crowd applauded the pristine, white shirts of England onto the field in Croke Park and felt great about it. Those of you who were lucky enough to have tickets stood to attention for the brassy rendition of God Save the Queen and felt like ambassadors for the rest of the country. You cried with pride.

It was one of those rare days when a sporting fixture stilled the country. By God, Croke Park had never known passion like that, you told your friends afterwards. The GAA chaps were moved and delighted.

And what a match! Remember that try? When Ronan O'Gara - or should we call him Rog - cheekily planted that cross-field kick toward the old Canal End dressing-room for Shane Horgan - Shaggy to you, The Fans - to leap and fetch and down a try that looked like a rehearsed tribute to the native game.

You loved that team. It was declared a magical day. And important too. It was one of those occasions that demanded the Thinkers and Talkers, the intellectual wing of the media, turn their attention to the frivolous subject of sport and explain to us that, actually, the day transcended rugby and was about the maturation of the nation and this group of sportsmen had become the People's Team. You heard someone calling them a national treasure on Marion and felt that was right. And you were there! A day to tell the grandchildren about. All agreed it was fantastic. It would never be forgotten.

So it seems reasonable, now that the same rugby team are on the verge of making an inglorious exit from the World Cup, now that those same players are being treated as a national joke, to wonder where you have vanished. Since the rugby festival kicked off in France three weeks ago, the general attitude toward the Irish team has swiftly turned from disappointment to outright scorn, evident in the chattering on the radio, the bitter reaction of the fans after matches and the mocking letters that have appeared in this newspaper and others.

Ireland went to France with high hopes and made the mistake of daring to voice those. And in failing to get the business done against Namibia and Georgia - presented as half-baked countries in comparison to our roaring emerald of a nation - the Irish team, those February heroes, left themselves open to a merciless backlash. And boy, did they get it. Nobody has been spared.

Needless to say, every loudmouth on the telephone list out at Montrose has been happy to give his and her opinion about why the Irish lineout has been malfunctioning or what the pack can do to improve its maul.

The Experts on Everything are always good fun in these situations, happy to blather on about the topic of the day, and with equal facility whether it be the death of a Princess or the strange ennui of Gordon D'Arcy. And once again, the controversy over the special rugby anthem, Ireland's Call, has reared its head. The spectacle of the Irish boys singing this genuinely awful ditty has been branded a disgrace, particularly in comparison to the sight and sounds of the Frenchmen blushing with patriotism as they belted out La Marseillaise.

It has led to questions. How could they not beat us after that? Wasn't it shameful that Ireland had to sing such a dumb song on such an epic night? Wasn't it a shameful night for Ireland? Didn't the team embarrass us? How could they let us down like that? Have they no pride? Remember Ciarán Fitzgerald? Remember Fitzy and those boys? Remember Ginger shoving half of Blighty over the line? They would not have rolled over and died. Those boys had passion.

Here is the thing. There is no doubt that something has gone badly wrong in the Ireland's preparation for this tournament and that everybody from Eddie O'Sullivan down has struggled in the face of ferociously hot pressure - and that by tomorrow evening Ireland may be officially out, the chief Losers of the World Cup. And then it will be really open season on them.

Their form has been disappointing and puzzling. But it happens. Good teams go to seed. If those of you who bought tickets for the games against Namibia, Georgia, France and Argentina check the fine print, you won't see any guarantees of Irish victories.

And yet the prevailing mood in this country since the rugby team went into meltdown has not been disappointment but anger. People feel betrayed and resentful and contemptuous.

Surely many of those of you who have been washing your hands of this rugby team in the past few weeks were also in Croke Park on that dazzling February afternoon? Yes, the current voices of discontent were those who sang and cheered as we walloped the English on that cold afternoon. And now there can be no escaping the fact that everything about that day was phoney and manufactured, that the emotion was created by the preposterous vanity that runs rampant in the Emerald Isle. Not only were you wrong in saying that day would never be forgotten; you have forgotten it already. It was never about celebrating Irish rugby or Irish sport. It was about celebrating yourselves. It was about feeling great about yourselves.

The Irish rugby team did what they do that afternoon: they played their sport as well and as honestly as they can. It is what they have been doing this past three weeks. And now that their efforts are not deemed satisfactory, now that they do not reflect handsomely on this smug country, the natural reaction has been to laugh at them and to disown them.

Brian O'Driscoll and Ronan O'Gara and the rest of the Irish boys will have learned a thing or two about life in this campaign. They will have learned that in Ireland, loyalty is negotiable and heroism is disposable. In future seasons, they will hear you, the fans, cheering them again - for they will play well again - but they may not care as much. They won't respect you as much and they cannot be blamed for that.

It is easy to support a winning team. There is nothing admirable about being part of an afternoon of confused pathos in Croke Park and getting all patriotic watching the boys in green looking sharp and glittering and winning, always winning. Any fool can feel for a team in that kind of theatre. The question is: where are you now? Shoulder to shoulder and all that.

What a cheap, hard nation we have become! Tomorrow against Argentina, watch those players and dare to tell yourself they aren't putting their souls into what is probably a lost cause. There has never been a doubt that this collection of sportsmen give it all in the name of Ireland. But they could be forgiven now for wondering if Ireland - as represented by that vanished February crowd - is worth the bother.