What's left to say? There are things in life which you never really expect to see. An Irish team winning well in an away qualifying game is one of them. An Irish team being outfought by Switzerland is another.

Even our hosts were surprised by Saturday night. Didn't you know our defence was very slow, asked one Swiss journalist of his colleagues. At least you can't torture yourselves by saying how close you were, said another. They chuckled to themselves and said nice things to us and made plans for Portugal.

This was an odd and distressing night which threw up more questions than answers. Take the Swiss, a team whose reputation for doughtiness is such that with everything on the line in Moscow a few weeks ago they folded like deckchairs and lost by four goals to one. How could we crumple before them? If football were a schoolyard the Swiss are the timid kids who wear glasses and do their homework and we're the fiery redheads who blow their nose in their sleeve and can stand their corner.

The Swiss could scarcely believe on Saturday night when they pushed the opposition gently in the chest and found no resistance.

Brian Kerr will fret over this one for a long while. Either his players let him down badly or this is the best his players are capable of. Neither thought offers comfort.

This morning he must know the wistful self-doubt of the narrator in Sondheim's ballad Send In The Clowns, he who strangely loses his timing so late in his career. Kerr's reputation is built on twin platforms, his meticulousness and his ability to motivate. He gets more out of teams than they thought they were capable of. That's his schtick.

There is no doubt that everything about Saturday's preparation was thorough. The performance was limp, however. As it was against Russia a few weeks ago. Suddenly we have an Irish side performing well beneath themselves in big games. It hurts.

There are reasons perhaps. Certainly, Ireland are a side in flux. There is no doubt we have lost key personnel, big men, literally and figuratively. Yet the pallid listlessness of the Irish play on Saturday is still mystifying. The lack of rage and defiance is what was so galling. Irish teams have been many things over the years but mild and submissive and placid? Never.

We gave away sloppy goals at critical junctures in the match but even in our more positive spells we never looked like a team playing for our lives. We never had a shot on target all night. The centre of our midfield looked anaemic even with Colin Healy there. Damien Duff was handcuffed to Raphael Wicky. David Connolly was game but nothing more. Robbie Keane was hard to spot. Kevin Kilbane did what he always does but the Swiss weren't surprised.

Oh, the goals we conceded. John O'Shea and Matt Holland climbed into the doghouse early on. O'Shea letting the ball go bobbling back to the Swiss and Holland half watching Hakan Yakin as part of his man-marking duties and failing to clear a simple ball.

Yakin scoring with the elan of a schoolboy showing off. And then in the second half, a free header, a Given fumble and Frei deadly from 24 inches out. Out went the lights.

Long before the end the Swiss recognised that we had all the fight of a bowl of fondue. They indulged the crowd, bringing on local favourites. When the lanky Marco Streller was introduced for his debut a modest-sized red banner was unfurled. To Portugal - With StrellAir! In the end there was loud pop music and the synchronised mass waving of red flags with Swiss crosses. A few years ago when we were capable of generating our own passion we used to laugh at these middle European nations who had to mollycoddle their fans into making noise. On Saturday we could only reflect that the Lansdowne experience has just become a pale imitation of this. Somewhere we've lost the verve and the soul. Our players look too rich, too pampered, too comfortable and, in the end of Saturday's game, too petulant.

It will be the guts of a year before Ireland play competitive football again. The players will be a year older but they won't have gained a year's worth of competitive experience. And by next winter it will be three full years since Holland came to Lansdowne Road and we last had a big-time competitive international in the city. We've lost a lot since that day and on Saturday we lost even more.

What we've gained is a manager who knows the soul of Irish soccer, who will feel Saturday more acutely than any of us. He knows his task now. We've hit bottom. The only way is up.