Ireland beating England on your birthday makes a body feel better, no matter how many times you analyse it, writes RISTEARD COOPER

AH, THAT’S better. You can analyse it ’til you’ve out-bored every pub bore to sleep, you can dress it up in fancy adjectives and frilly phrases, but the truth is you can’t beat beating England. The date of last Saturday’s heart-stopper happened to coincide with the day I came into this world, and with 10 minutes to go it felt like the celebrations might have to be conducted down at the morgue. (That’s not the name of my local, by the way). Even though the weather ensured there were enough mistakes to drive you to drink (which I was merrily doing), the match was also littered with inspired moments from the men in green.

But the moment of the match was surely the “conversation” between touch-judge Christophe Berdos and referee Mark Lawrence which swung a vital penalty decision in Ireland’s favour. You may remember Berdos as the TMO who had Kiwi ref Bryce Lawrence bewildered as to whether Ugo Monye’s attempted try for the Lions against the Springboks in the first Test last summer should have resulted in a five-metre scrum or a 22 drop out. That day, after a good five minutes of watching repeated angles, Berdos adjudged it was unquestionably a five-metre scrum. However, Kiwi Lawrence doesn’t speak Frenglish and awarded a drop-out.

In a similar exchange on Saturday he completely bamboozled the other Lawrence by drawing attention to the two number nines: “It is a penalty against green white and against nine white.”

“What?”

“Both number nines – a penalty!”

“You want me to penalise them both?”

“Yes, but it is a penalty green.”

“So it’s a reversed penalty?” To which Berdos offered a mousey-quiet “Yes?”

That was the sign it had to be our day.

Of course there were other moments, such as Brian O’Driscoll using his head to trip up Paul O’Connell. If the loping Munsterman’s knee wasn’t the size of John Hayes’s head it probably wouldn’t have been so bad for Bod, but at least he knows now what a collision with the Bull’s ceann would feel like.

Although it’s debatable if he knew too much about anything. It was a testament to his own cement-mixer head that he was deemed fit enough to take to the field at the final whistle – although he was congratulating Argentina and introducing himself as Susan to a pretty confused Jonny Wilkinson. Good work O’Connell, and roll on Wales!

Something will have to be done about this “celebrate-before-you-touch-down” malarkey. It’s been filtering into the game for a while now, but Shane Williams running under the sticks with his arm raised against Scotland and Tommy Bowe’s finger-wagging for the winning score last week had me up shouting obscenities I didn’t know I knew. The potential for disaster and squirming humiliation is just too much to bear. If there are as many schoolboys reading this column as I’m led to believe, my message is simple: say no to drugs and just put the f***ing ball down.

To be fair, Bowe didn’t look like dropping it, but even seeing a recording of it five days later gives you the heebie-jeebies.

Not surprisingly for the post-match duties, the manner of both coaches couldn’t have been in starker contrast. Looking about as comfortable as John Terry on Mastermind, Martin Johnson managed to navigate a route to avoid giving Ireland any credit while blaming the players, the ref, the conditions and general ill-fortune. It is no wonder his team don’t play with any enterprise – though he doesn’t look like he’d be out of place on the Starship Enterprise. Surely one day now he’s going to tell us the truth about his Vulcan ancestry.

Of course, neither man believes in unnecessary chatter, so the craic at the after-match dinner must have been mighty.

Johnson: Well done Declan.

Kidney: Thanks Martin.

Johnson: It was nip ’n’ tuck for a while.

Kidney: That’s right, you didn’t make it easy for us anyway.

AWKWARD LAUGH. PAUSE.

Johnson: Thought the ref was poor today, I have to say.

Kidney: Ah, I didn’t think he was too bad now, to be honest.

Johnson: Thought he killed the game.

Kidney: That’s funny, I thought you killed it. See you next year Martin. Maybe?

Kidney’s considerable mind now shifts to England’s polar opposite, Wales, and in preparation for the possibility that Andy Powell could be included, the Welsh have asked that all modes of transport be moved from their base in Druid’s Glen as the temptation would be just too much for the flanker. It is a concern for the Welsh party though, as the last time he was here he also went looking for a sandwich in the early hours . . . no harm was done, though, as the Garda managed to intercept him driving the Dart on the M50. Phew!

However, when he didn’t produce his licence they smelled a rat.

Three games in and this Six Nations has already been a roller-coaster; the damp squib against Italy, the downer of Paris and the euphoric high against “them across the water”. Perhaps we’ve moved on in Ireland, but a win in Twickenham always does it for me.

Allez Berdos!