Sideline Cut: Around teatime on Saturday, as they were turning the lights out in Lansdowne Road, Irish rugby coach Eddie O'Sullivan reflected on the might of the All Blacks. O'Sullivan is a world removed from the traditional, blood-and-thunder Irish coaching style evoked by the late Mick Doyle. It is not his style to go in for the blame game, as evinced during the brief and disastrous reign of Brian Ashton. And he has not been placed under the invidious pressure for results that undermined his predecessor Warren Gatland.

On bleak afternoons, O'Sullivan has the ability to suppress his disappointments and frustrations almost immediately and provide what can seem like a detached analysis of why things did not go right for his team.

The effect can be disconcerting, as though we are listening to a hired consultant as opposed to a beaten manager. But O'Sullivan's thesis, in good days and bad, has been that it is absolutely necessary to maintain an even-tempered world view. He did not lose the run of himself after Ireland won their first Triple Crown in almost 20 years. And he would not allow that Saturday was the end of the world, although a lot of Irish rugby people walked away from Lansdowne believing the sky had collapsed.

You can bet that the sportsman in O'Sullivan was hurting at the extent of that 45-7 hammering. But he holds such a fetish for coaching innovation and technical excellence and the ideal state of a harmonised team and management that he could also coldly admire and try to learn from the threat New Zealand presents to international rugby.

He offered unconditional praise, and did not even blink when he agreed that Ireland simply could not cope in the fundamental areas of strength and skill.

At one point, though, he mused that the next World Cup - New Zealand's great obsession - is still a full two years away. "But that's their problem," he muttered.

Graham Henry had long departed the blowsy tent by that stage, but it is not hard to imagine that O'Sullivan's afterthought is rattling around at the back of his own mind. New Zealand are having fun on this winter tour, storming through the ancestral countries with exhibitions that make the game here look threadbare and lacking in vitality, in imagination, in point.

Their deconstruction of the all-running, all-dancing Grand Slam champions from the valleys set the tone for the tour. Last year's Six Nations adventure by the Welsh was widely hailed as the revival the tournament had been waiting for, and it was predicted the new generation of Welsh renaissance mewould lead the Lions' charge of New Zealand.

The fall-out from that tour included widespread disenchantment and the publication of Gavin Henson's exposé. But the manner in which the All Blacks flattened the Welsh illusions was damning. That match alone might have been enough to kill the cocky panache with which the Welsh played their game last year - an arrogance that always seemed a little superficial and suspect to begin with.

But the Welsh were always going to be an appetiser for Henry's side. England are the beast that truly engage the All Black spirit, and although Andy Robinson's team may have recovered somewhat from the lows of last year's Six Nations, they remain brittle and uncertain.

The accusations of espionage provided a little light relief during the week, but the mood around Twickenham this afternoon will be solemn. Clive Woodward's 2003 World Cup triumph already looks like rugby from an another age: slow, deliberate and ponderous, dependent on the agonising machinations of Jonny Wilkinson.

The physical breakdown the luckless Newcastle number 10 has suffered since striking his immortal World Cup final drop-goal has served as a metaphor for English rugby.

For the last two seasons, they have been caught between waiting for Jonny and trying to keep on track with the evolving nature of rugby. They remain world champions in name, and there should be no underestimating the pleasure the All Blacks will take in exposing the hollowness of that title today.

It would be wrong to say New Zealand took Ireland lightly, given the dynamism and ruthlessness of their performance. But it is also evident they never seriously contemplated getting beaten in Dublin.

Shortly after he named his fresh 15 to play the Irish, Henry was handed a sheet bearing the host 15. He was asked what he thought of it, and a room full of people studied his face as he read the selection. Without the household names of O'Driscoll, O'Connell and Hickie, with an aged front row, novice wingers and a captain just returning from injury, he knew it was far from the most formidable team to defend the honour of Lansdowne in recent years.

"Frightening," he responded, and the room exploded in laughter. He was not being disrespectful, but afterwards the chances of anything other than a comprehensive New Zealand victory seemed even more remote.

But nobody was quite prepared for the stark difference between the teams, and as Lansdowne fell into muted awe, it seemed as if Irish rugby was lagging a decade behind the best in terms of power and skill and speed of hand, of foot, of thought.

New Zealand are developing a squad where they will have perfect cover all over the field. It is a bold strategy, but when you have a country (and several Polynesian islands) full of excellent players, it makes sense. The challenge for Henry is keeping this going until the summer of 2007.

By establishing such lofty standards and two formidable teams, it is already glaringly obvious that several brilliant New Zealand players are not going to play in the games that matter at the next World Cup.

That can lead to frustration and disillusionment, particularly if the margin for selection is so thin. And although they are having fun tormenting these damp and dismal islands with their array of superstars, they can only pick 15 for the heavyweight games in two years' time.

Henry cannot legislate for an off-performance on a given day, or meeting a team like France when they are feeling invincible and in the mood. The closer to the clouds New Zealand sail right now, the more devastating the potential fall.

But that is for another day. This series of games is about sending out a message that has been impossible to ignore. Rugby needs the All Blacks' danger and glamour and toughness. It needs 15 guys who can stand in old Fortress Twickers, the most bullying sporting arena in the world, to chant a menacing prayer in a foreign tongue that declares: we are going to destroy you and there is nothing you can do about it.

For soon New Zealand will be gone south with the swallows. And then we can all get back to the cosy war of the Six Nations.