HE CAME, he spoke, he conquered. After a long and epic drumroll, which included the lingering death of an English league season which held so little hope for Irish players, Giovanni Trapattoni stood among us yesterday, a messiah in Armani, and to the extent that we followed what he was saying he spoke a good game.

The FAI papered the joint with their people ensuring that the preliminary press conference had the upbeat air of a political rally and the most modest of quips was accorded the appreciative laughter normally reserved for Wildean wit.

We had the opening question asked in the dodgiest Italian which, when translated, turned out to be a slag on Liam Brady's dress sense (Laugh? We nearly died!), and we had a lengthy contribution from an Italian journalist discussing football tactics and philosophies in Ireland and Italy dating back to the middle of the last century. It went straight to the top of the pseud's corner charts in both countries, but Trapattoni took it all in his stride.

Through it all the new manager impressed, not least with his ability to talk straight in his curious mix of broken English, scattered German and the odd word of Italian. He didn't give us any guff about five-year plans and transition periods, and he didn't tell us that when he saw the DVDs of our team he swooned because it was like watching Brazil in 1970.

He just said we should be doing better. He said we had good players. He said there were little things wrong with the way those players do things. He said discipline was very important to him.

We nodded like patients realising that their doctor is overqualified for dealing with these painful if routine ailments.

And he said it all with an energy and a clarity which proved that this is no sinecure with which to usher himself into a happy retirement. His homework was already done, his backroom team posed with the manager all besuited like a boy band reunited with their manager 30 years after their first hit. He told it to us as he sees it.

He said he had come here because Ireland had good players. Then, sensing the doubt in the room, he named the good players. He reminded us that Greece, whom the world had written off, won the European Championship four years ago.

"Today football is difficult but it also needs good organisation," he smiled.

He was asked about Stephen Ireland, the troubled but talented Manchester City midfielder who recently decided he doesn't really feel up to playing for the country of his birth or surname. Trapattoni would be making contact within the next 10 days. And will this be his last chance, we asked, keen to envision a High Noon scenario.

Trapattoni paused. "Do you have children?" he asked, and proceeded with an avuncular explanation of how hard it is sometimes to persuade children to do what is good for them. As a way of describing the Irish soccer team who found Brian Kerr's attention to tactical detail too hard and too taxing, and who found Steve Staunton's near canine matey-ness too easy to take advantage of, it was perfect.

So, first he will go off to speak with those functioning talents who have decided that they don't really want to play international football any more. "I hope after talking they will decide to come back, if not, we will move on."

Then he will talk with those who feel too exhausted by the English season to spend two weeks in Portugal training, and finally he will address the case of his prominent player who has arranged a stag party in Las Vegas during the Irish team's training camp.

One imagines that the training camp in the Algarve will be a good deal harder to get out of than it will be to get included in.

"It will be a great honour to qualify, but first we have two very important weeks coming up at the end of this month," said Trapattoni, still happy and confident.

"I will be using the training camp to get us together because I know many players and we have a good team. The time in Portugal will be important for us to understand the young players and their character."

There's the rub. Young players and their character. Old football men find it increasingly difficult to bridge that gap. Trapattoni would be the first to admit his impressive CV is frontloaded with big achievements in Italy, titles and cups won when he was a man in his thirties and forties and players had an old-fashioned innocence.

We, the middle-aged men of the fourth estate, were charmed by him, but we wanted to take him aside and talk to him about what could be done about the empty-headed surliness of the modern whippersnapper.

We wondered to ourselves if Giovanni Trapattoni would still be as happy when he has spent some time dealing with the aggregation of egos and moans who have let down the last few Irish managers.

But it wasn't a day for bursting bubbles.

The theme of Mozart's Don Giovanni is that the death of a sinner always reflects his life. If this should be Giovanni Trapattoni's final football job, there is nothing in his past to prove Mozart was right. Or so one would hope.