RTE opened their Six Nations season on a decidedly temperate note, revisiting the gallows days of Ireland's recent past.

Brian Ashton appeared on our screen like the ghost at the banquet, gaunt and uttering those famous words, "I don't know whose game plan that was but it certainly wasn't mine".

And we were reminded the Gatland era endured far from sunny early days with an examination of a doomed 13-man pushover attempt by les vertes against the Argentinians during the last World Cup game in France.

"There's Brian O'Driscoll mullocking around at the back of that lot," observed narrator Neil Francis. "The piano tuner is pushing the piano."

This surprising autopsy on seasons past was a marked departure from the heedless optimism that generally prevails on the first day of the Six Nations. Perhaps in this decadent age of choices at outhalf and Munster parties and flashy tries, RTE decided a bout of humble reflection would not be amiss. It was sobering and frankly morbid stuff and did nothing so much as underline the fact that O'Driscoll gets himself in curious situations from time to time.

None more so than on Saturday when he found himself wedged, in true centre style, between the bulky frames of Messrs Hook and Pope, two men who now appear on TV as frequently (and in many respects as buoyantly) as old Baywatch re-runs. Acquiring the injured Irish star for analysis was a fine move on RTE's part but it is questionable if it was fair to put him through the psychological trauma involved in keeping such off-beat company.

The Hookster opened in classically aggressive fashion, insisting no team could afford to lose a player of Dominquez's quality and still win. Hadn't Ireland lost none other than O'Driscoll, ventured Tom McGurk.

"He hasn't scored 819 points just yet," countered Hook," even by your strange arithmetic".

After Popie offered his hap'orth Hookie declared he disagreed "with the man from the 400 million sheep". Not content with dismissing New Zealand, he went on to take a pop at McGurk's home town.

"What do you think, Brian?" the presenter asked the Irish centre. O'Driscoll just smiled gallantly but looked as if he knew he was in for perhaps his toughest - and certainly his weirdest - international afternoon to date.

In all, though, it was a reasonably successful day. The smiles on the faces of Mick Galwey and Anthony Foley, as they proudly examined Peter Stringer's blossoming shiner, said it all.

The young scrumhalf appeared to be fine after taking a fullblooded swing from Troncan and it was clear the old-stagers were delighted. For the team to return home with a win was fine, but to come back with a great, gleaming shiner in their midst was proof enough of a good weekend.

Ireland, as Hook contended, may have been poor and may have been lucky but as Keith Wood noted, it was also the first opening-day win in many a long year. That tougher times lie ahead was emphasised by the predictable nature of events across in Cardiff. The Welsh, as usual, had amassed the biggest male choir in the world for England's visit and began brightly but there were a number of poor omens in the air. Neil Jenkins, Wales' redoubtable placekicker, went into the game with 996 international points and was seeking to become the first man to reach the four-figure total.

"Perhaps the record is on his mind," sighed Tony Clements as the kicker sent a couple of early chances wide. England had a familiarly ominous look about them, with their irritatingly pristine shirts and dashing young fliers like Wilkinson and Greenwood, who looked and sounded like they'd been plucked straight from a Wilfred Owen work.

"He's dazzled him with his feet," moaned Clements as Matt Dawson blurred past Welsh full back Stephen Jones for another white try. Dazzled is not a word you associate easily with Cardiff. It quickly became an afternoon for the statisticians.

Will Greenwood rushed in for three tries, thereby threatening a four-try record created by a player by the surname of Burton back in 1881, when Neil Jenkins was just starting his career. By the time the Welsh man finally made history, with a cursory kick in front of the posts, the game was well out of reach and he trundled upfield in desolate form. Alan Bateman and Rupert Moon were thrown in for the Welsh, giving the whole thing a definite golden oldies reunion feel. It was reassuring in this highly sophisticated era of haute couture scrum caps and remotecontrolled miniature tee trucks and video referees.

These new-fangled refs were called into action at both Cardiff and Rome. Shut away in their little rooms, they examine contested scores from all angles before deciding to award a try or not. While he studies the film, the more traditional onfield ref stands around the field with the players. It is not the most riveting of developments but does offer a whole new lifestyle for wannabe officials. How nice to be able to jog down to the local video store, stock up on beers, pop-corn and the entire Godfather canon and head home for some serious training. It is almost like a high-tech nod to the old amateur days.

Although the win in Rome was pleasing, it was impossible for the home panel not to look ahead to Ireland's home games against the French and English.

"I think they can be beaten," declared Hookie of the English, "as long as you have a couple of Howitzers and a Panzer division."

There was general laughter but it was one, understandably, of those occasions when no one had the faintest idea of how to reply.