VIEW FROM THE COUCH:IT'S NOT often, really, that you anticipate an Irish World Cup qualifying game with much the same yearning as you might for an appointment to have your wisdom teeth removed with pliers, but what's it they say? We are where we are.

Mind you, these minnows – the Faroe Islands, not us – were probably never going to be kindly hosts, but after Friday’s glitchy events in Dublin, this trip suddenly became one that, to use the technical footballing term, would scare the bejaysus out of you.

“I have crossed the Alps barefoot and I have overcome many difficult situations in my career,” Giovanni Trapattoni had reassured the nation after the Germany business, “every manager has moments when he loses . . . it’s no problem.”

The RTÉ panel begged to differ, entirely, reckoning Houston had the mother of all problems. Bill O’Herlihy, for one, clearly not yet fully revived after Friday’s ordeal.

“That was one harrowing football experience for all of us,” he said as we welcomed us to the evening’s viewing, and then he proceeded to show us harrowing clips from the Germany game that only left us even more harrowed.

Thanks Bill.

The mood was sombre in the studio, then, even more so when word came through that Trapattoni’s press conference, scheduled for Dublin today, had been cancelled, leading all concerned to go: “Hmmmm.”

Eamon Dunphy didn’t want to speculate, but sort of did anyway, and you couldn’t but reminisce about the hope in our hearts when the Italian staved off the challenge of Tel Venables to land the Irish job. “Trapattoni is from a different galaxy to Venables. It’s like comparing Abraham Lincoln to George W Bush,” Eamon said at the time.

And sure, who disagreed?

Four and a bit years on and some are suggesting Trapattoni is as effective a leader as GWB, a slur the fella must surely never have had cast on him before during a dazzlingly lengthy managerial career.

Still, despite the gloom, Bill went and said it: “It’s inconceivable that we’ll be beaten, isn’t it?”

D’you know, it took half an hour to clean the runny egg stains from the telly screen.

Over to the stadium and George Hamilton was noting how few Irish fans were there, but still, you could see a couple of hundred on a wintry October night in the Faroe Islands a few days after their beloveds were throttled 6-1 in Dublin. There’s a word for that: devotion/madness (take yer pick).

Twenty minutes into the game and there was divil a goal, Ronnie Whelan suspecting Ireland were happy “because we haven’t conceded against the Faroes”. This, he felt, wasn’t a good thing.

George, meanwhile, thought Trapattoni looked a bit chuffed too, “relaxed like a weight is off his shoulders”, grassy knoll-ish as it might have been, his suspicion being that this was the manager’s arrivederci.

Then we could hear, by the sounds of it, two Irish fans, their voices as flat as the top of Benbulbin, launch into The Fields of Athenry, so that confirmed we were in deep trouble.

Half-time. That 3 Mobile ad with Trapattoni and the squad trying to persuade a little fella to eat his broccoli. “Support works – now you’re unstoppable,” said the screen after they succeeded. Back in the studio, John Giles sensed Trapattoni and the squad could have done with a few greens themselves. “I’ve been very, very impressed with them, unfortunately,” he said of the Faroes, although he wasn’t completely despondent, reckoning Ireland were playing “more constructively” than he had seen of late, having spent much of the pre-match analysing their Friday hoofing.

And constructively enough, Ireland went goal mad not long after the break, Stoke City abú. “What a goal from Marc Wilson, and what’s seldom is beautiful,” said George, before Jonathan Walters did his thing too (back off Robbie).

Walters, alas, later suffered a cut knee. “And there’s nothing worse than that sticking to the bed covers,” said Ronnie, enigmatically.

But then the Faroes pulled a goal back, scored by “a man who spends his working life in a kindergarten”, George told us, and until they scored again – mercifully: an own goal – it felt like you were having your wisdom teeth removed with pliers.

Grand, 3-1, and then four. We’ll never doubt you again, Darren O’Dea.

Ronnie doffed his cap. “After that hiding they took in Dublin Tuesday night . . . Friday, was it?”

Time was flying too back in the studio, where Liam Brady, sandwiched between Gilesie and Eamon, stood up for Trapattoni – “this guy knows what he’s doing . . . we’re on track to qualify

. . . we will look ridiculous to the rest of the footballing world if we sack this man” – Gilesie declaring: “I don’t care about the rest of the world.”

Parochial, that.

Brady was alone, the lonely vote for Trapattoni staying in his job. Bill opted to stay neutral, although he hinted that he was less than overwhelmed by the triumph. “The Faroes are Mickey Mouse,” he alleged.

Maybe, but we looked a bit Minnie Mouse-ish ourselves on Friday, so we crossed the Alps barefoot and won 4-1. Heck, that’ll do.