Sideline Cut: The majority of the Irish population who care about such matters revel in the misfortune of England's soccer team. Some don't bother to camouflage the glee with which they embrace English discomfort, basing their antipathy on centuries of oppression.

Having ticked the box marked historical grievances, we can move on to a grouping that consider themselves a tad more open-minded; they eschew the alleged slights of history but are still virulent in their dislike of English success. They justify this stance by citing the excesses of the English media, more often than not homing in on tabloid excess or la-la-land television punditry, drenched in nationalistic myopia.

They recoil at the manner in which the English soccer team are routinely elevated to the pantheon of great teams at sundry tournaments, largely unsubstantiated by results; the way English players are habitually labelled world class as the runaway bandwagon of expectation and jingoism careers toward the inevitable speed-bump of reality.

What had been unpalatable to an Irish audience, the preening and the pomposity, suddenly becomes uproariously funny: England getting their comeuppance, so to speak.

Those who previously couldn't stomach the victories of our closest neighbours, queasily avoiding the pre- and post-match hyperbole, can now delight in the English media verbally disembowelling players and management.

It doesn't matter that the English players and management rarely fuel the monster of expectation with rash predictions. It doesn't matter that those self-same English players, reviled in their national colours, are, when in the red of Manchester or Liverpool or the blue of Chelsea, adored and feted by Irish supporters.

The real culprits in all this appear to be media and supporters who first suspend realism and then, at the first sign of failure, conveniently reintroduce it to bludgeon the team to a bloody pulp.

Irish soccer is currently suffering from the Glasshouse Effect, a malaise whereby laughing at others' misfortune while blithely ignoring the fact one is guilty of the same folly can lead to catastrophic consequences. The Republic of Ireland manager, Steve Staunton, is all too aware of the symptoms if not the cure.

His introduction to international team management was taken from the pages of Boy's Own: Ireland made turnips of the Swedes at Lansdowne Road.

One of the more interesting soundbites to emerge from the post-match euphoria and ahead of the next game, against Chile, was the observation by an outspoken television pundit of what could be achieved with a young manager who could organise and get his players to play for him.

Staunton needed to yank the brake on expectation, bringing an honest appraisal to what was a friendly match. He did, after a fashion, and that sliver of caution was at least able to be traded in part mitigation for what transpired first in the loss (1-0) against Chile and more pointedly in the Dutch defeat (4-0).

Ireland were tangoed good and proper, again in friendly games.

Some who had welcomed Staunton's appointment - the majority cautiously, one or two more overtly - were overtaken by defeat-induced amnesia. Players and management got it with both barrels from most quarters, mitigation to be found only in the dictionary - between mithridatism and Mitilini, as it happens.

But it was the outrage that accompanied Ireland's defeat in their opening World Cup match against Germany in Stuttgart that arguably best illustrates how similar are the attitudes of some sections of the English and Irish media - pundits more so than journalists - and how flight of fancy can override reality.

It's not Staunton's fault that FAI chief executive John Delaney promised to recruit a "world-class manager". These are Delaney's words, not Staunton's.

Where the manager slipped up was his assertion in the wake of the defeat to Germany that the Irish players had been "magnificent".

The Irish players were far from that. They were combative and competitive but limited; an abundance of perspiration failing to camouflage the lack of inspiration.

Staunton needed to bring a large dollop of honesty, not to berate his players but to concede the distance his young team still has to travel. He could have applauded their attitude and commitment, but he erred when attributing to them qualities they simply didn't possess. He left himself vulnerable to ridicule and was mauled accordingly.

But realistically, what should Ireland's expectations have been travelling to the home ground of a team that had just recently finished third in the World Cup, and had been five minutes from making the final itself?

One voluble television pundit trumpeted the fact that Germany were overrated. But what of Ireland? Surely the same charge could be levelled there.

Damien Duff, Robbie Keane and Shay Given are regularly brandished in Irish circles as world-class players, but the Newcastle goalkeeper is the only one to consistently broach those standards.

Duff can reach those heights periodically, and in fairness, he does it more often for country than club, but stellar performances are fewer these days. And Keane is simply not in that elite bracket.

Staunton must address the shortfall in genuine quality, the promise of youth laced with mediocrity and expediency.

Liam Miller? Aiden McGeady? Stephen Ireland? International tyros all, they shouldn't have to shoulder the burden of expectation. Who will step into the breach?

This is a mediocre Irish team in transition, more caterpillar than butterfly, as tonight and next Wednesday may illustrate graphically.

The manager's mantra these days is that a fairer assessment of his managerial skills will be gleaned if and when we qualify for the 2010 World Cup finals. Maybe so.

He can hardly be blamed for the four-year contract handed to him by the FAI, employers who may not number patience or prescience among their qualities.

What Irish supporters and one or two pundits may have to acknowledge is that expectations have to be tempered and realism brought to bear in appraising this Ireland squad.

They are neither the best nor the worst group of players. And their progress looks like being slow and painful, taking a few lumps along the way.

Those who watch from the other side of the whitewash would do well to beware the Glasshouse Effect. Or they could end up replicating the guff that befogs our neighbours across the Irish Sea.