SIDELINE CUT:You have to admire the French coach's brazen attitude, even if claims of Irish solidarity ring hollow, writes KEITH DUGGAN

NOW THIS is more like it. Marc Lievremont’s provincial and needlessly-insulting remarks towards the English are just the type of thing modern sport needs. In case you happened not to be paying attention to Six Nations murmurings during the week, Lievremont is the compulsively experimental French national coach who has selected about half a million of his compatriots without yet discovering his best XV, hasn’t lost a Six Nations match in a couple of years and leads his troops into old Fortress Twickers this afternoon with the following deliciously tart observation: “We don’t like them and it is better to say that than be hypocritical.

“This insular country who always drape themselves in the national flag, their hymns, their chants, their traditions. We beat Ireland yet we left Dublin with the encouragement of all the Irish, who said, ‘For pity’s sake, beat the English’.”

This from a man who comes from a nation whose national anthem goes on for about 15 minutes. And you can bet his words sounded even saucier in French. And even if they don’t seem all that plausible, who cares? I can’t imagine, for instance, that the Irish players, after outscoring the French by three tries to one, were tripping over themselves to tell the French to “do” England.

It may have escaped Mr Lievremont’s notice that Franco-Irish relations have lapsed somewhat since 1798. He may be unaware that “Jean-Claude Trichet? I’d rather Nietzsche” is now the protest slogan of choice to be seen on the Tee-shirt of many a disillusioned young Irish man. Perhaps Lievremont headed off to the cinema to catch a show at the Trauffaut retrospective on the night – often described as “fateful” – when Ireland played France in Paris in that World Cup play-off match.

Not to stoke old coals, but there remains a significant number of people who become unreasonably exercised by the memory of Thierry Henry’s brazen handball – who, in fact, believe his act of gamesmanship has somehow led to the economic shambles that has befallen Ireland. Indeed, there are still a significant number of anguished fans who can’t let go and believe the game should be replayed and that Trap’s boys should go to South Africa even though the World Cup finished seven months ago. (Would it be too much to ask for them to stage it all again? The final was rubbish anyway).

So it is hard to believe the French rugby players were the toast of Dublin after their jammy and typically French victory.

Particularly when observed among the usual six dozen Frenchmen and terrorised cockerel that travel to all Six Nations games was none other than Raymond Domenech, possibly the most misunderstood man in world sport but nonetheless briefly as notorious as Oliver Cromwell in this country following his role as French football coach and arch defender of Henry’s larceny.

“It was a wink,” Domenech said when asked why he had chosen to watch France play rugby in Dublin – a remark that was infuriating, cryptic and enviably suave and French.

No, this is not a good time for the French to be over-estimating their popularity with their Celtic brethren. Still, it is always fun when someone sticks a feather under the nose of the English and the parade of England old boys who are in a state of high dudgeon over this international slur must be long. I imagine that the gaffers at the BBC are fitting restraining straps into the leather chair that Brian Moore will occupy for this afternoon’s commentary.

Here is old Pitbull reminiscing about the good old days of Anglo-French scrum downs in his memoir Beware of the Dog: the venue was Paris for the 1991 World Cup quarter-final. “I take no pleasure in describing the events of the final 20 minutes,” Moore writes – in a tone which suggests he takes every pleasure.

“It was a war in which both packs levelled anything above grass height. What was captured on camera was probably a quarter of what went on as players tore into each other legally and often illegally. Peter Winterbottom was caught on camera as he kicked the head of a French forward. Winterbottom was not a dirty player and a cheap shot like that was totally out of character. However, what the cameras did not register was the act that drew his violent response: he had seen the French player stamp straight on my face at the beginning of the ruck.”

And after Will Carling’s winning try: “Jason Leonard scandalously and repeatedly defames me in his after-dinner speeches by claiming that after this score, and in the face of an apoplectic crowd, I ran down the touchline sticking two fingers up to them. That is a downright lie: I merely waved in the manner of a royal – which was infinitely worse.”

It is a safe bet that Moore – now one of the more entertaining sports commentators you could hope to hear – and the other belligerents of yesteryear will arrive in Twickenham hoping to see the French getting a good hazing. It is eight years now since Martin Johnson broke protocol in Lansdowne Road by leading his English team out onto the ground and refused, despite the entreaties of the stewards, to stand with his team on the visitors’ side of the red carpet, forcing President McAleese to walk on the wet ground when she went to meet the Irish team.

The Irish made light of the incident afterwards – given the whopping 6-42 defeat, doing otherwise would have sounded like sour grapes. But we can only guess at the moral indignation that would have broken out if an Irish captain had behaved in similar fashion before being greeted by a member of the royal family at Twickenham.

They probably have some law that would make it a prison offence. If Johnson’s stubbornness was ever in doubt, that day ended it, and now that he is manager of England, he has kept his counsel. And it is the prudent thing to do – unless France waltz into London and win. Then, the Twickenham set will not only have to endure the brassy sounds of the Dax band, they will have to suck up France’s ninth Sixth Nations win on the trot and take it in the knowledge that they never had the gumption to insult Lievremont back.

Being accused of arrogance by a French man is a bit like being accused of dishonesty by Bernie Madoff. But you have to admire someone who comes out and says it before the game even takes place. Lievremont’s daffy outburst is a welcome break from the careful, rehearsed and safe statements of mutual respect that now characterise these big rugby weekends.

And he did hit upon one rarely mentioned truth: that for France and the Celts, the real point of this winter rugby tournament has always been about beating England. And for this latest bit of French lip, the English could make them pay dearly. Dunno about you, but I think it may be time to forgive the French.