Sideline Cut: We should spare a thought for that poor gentleman who makes his home in Charles De Gaulle Airport. Not only has he to put up with Tom Hanks playing him on film, but this weekend he has to fight for the right to use his salle de bain with 20,000 Paddies on the rampage.

Although long since free to leave the terminal bench where he first sat after he found himself in bureaucratic limbo, the man has become a fixture at Charles De Gaulle and must have seen some pretty rare parties arriving over the years. The Stones, the Ramones, Young Fine Gael on Tour - so many legendary carousers and fighters must have passed before the exile's eyes over the years.

But can any of that have prepared him for the sight of the best fans in the world in their restless, migratory stage?

It is undoubtedly a sign of continuing affluence that 20,000 or more Irish fans are set to add some gaiety to the Paris autumn this weekend. We are champion wine consumers now and all that.

But still, after a long summer of sport, the Paris adventure is a fantastic testimony to this country's weakness for a great contest and to the renewed faith in the Irish soccer team. This weekend might have cheered up old Sam Beckett, who once walked the streets that are this morning crowded with Irish. You will see green jerseys loitering around the Eiffel Tower, you will see men in green wigs waving down from Quasimodo's perch in Notre Dame and gangs of Irish carrying inflatable hammers pondering the Dutch masters at the Louvre.

It is virtually guaranteed that by the time the gates are locked at Pere-Lachaise cemetery, a replica Clinton Morrison jersey will be left draped on the tombstone of the ever-young Jim. No matter where you go, you will see a lot of Irish.

An October date in Paris always promised to be something special. After all those distant trips to play against big-boned and athletic Baltic teams, the prospect of visiting the French, the envy of world soccer for six years, was irresistible.

It glimmers with the potential of becoming one of those unforgettable nights for Irish sport when the hour or so of drama or heroism eclipses the point of the exercise. As was the case with Paul McGrath in Giants Stadium, with Liam Brady's goal against Brazil, with Bonner's save against Timofte, with Keane against Holland, with Keane against Portugal, Paris holds the possibility of a moment that will stand alone long after the details of the night have faded. Stade de France on October 9th could be a ticket-stub to keep into old age.

As a small island with a semi-professional soccer league structure and a handful of players making a living in England, we long for such isolated expressions of grandeur, and that is about as much as we have a right to expect.

Yet, this time, it is different. This time we are waltzing into Paris intent on showing the French a thing or two about arrogance and insouciance. Flick on the teletext or scan the wires for the past couple of days and you are met with a barrage of Irish players past, present and future lining up to display what is generally being described as a "bullish" mood.

The thought of Robbie Keane, Andy O'Brien or Mattie Holland going in for a spot of bullishness should fill us all with unease. Nostrils flared and steam coming out our ears is not our scene. Best we leave that to our friends across the water. After drawing a game that could very easily have been lost thanks to five minutes cowering in the face of sheer terror caused by Hakin Yakin, Ireland departed Switzerland to a chorus of disappointment.

The perception was that a win had gone a-begging and that Brian Kerr had sent out a team burdened down with a defensive mindset. It was as though Kerr had inherited Brazil circa 1970 and sent them out to play like Arsenal circa George Graham.

It is hard to understand precisely how or why the notion that beating the Swiss in their home-patch was a birthright. At such a perilously early stage in the campaign, not losing was of much more value than actually winning. That was achieved.

And now, the general approach to what is a hugely challenging game in France, where the local mood will be both wildly partisan and anxious, is disconcertingly cavalier. There has been a lot of talk about how the French are in disarray, about how they are weak, about how they have lost 10 or more of the squad that failed to ignite in Portugal this summer.

For the first time, we, Ireland, are bundling our way through an establishment city, to the most famous city in the world, talking the talk and demanding bottles of the finest vino as we helpfully explain why their little combination of Thierry, Pires, Gallas and Cisse cuts no moutarde. It is dangerous stuff.

We can only assume that the opinion emanating from the Irish camp has been controlled. It was surely the prospect of a night like this that lured Keane back from the pastures of international retirement. The pictures broadcast of Keane disembarking the team bus, with the familiar white Tee-shirt and the lupine stride that intimidated no less a football force than Juventus, suggested that, tonight, he is up for it.

In a way, tonight marks the real beginning of the Kerr/Keane axis. It is surely no coincidence that the manager, once cuddly and twinkle-eyed, has over the past year acquired the spare, hungry look and guarded expression so readily associated with the Manchester United cult figure. Before the Ireland jobs crossed their paths, Kerr was portrayed as a sunny charmer, Keane as an existential outsider worthy of the French.

But at heart they are both football men clear in their ideas and similarly bold in their belief that Irish soccer should never be content to know its place. There has hardly been a peep out of Keane since he returned to international duty. That is encouraging.

We can bet that Kerr does not for an instant believe that his counterpart, Raymond Domenech, has lost his head. The French team has been named, and although it lacks the withering authority provided by names like Zidane and Vieira, it is hardly a pushover.

Kerr will wait until today to name his side, engaging in a practice that old Jack Charlton used to refer to as "playing silly buggars". Kerr is doing it his way. For all the talk, expect Ireland to be cautious tonight. Anything else would be foolhardy. It will not be lost on the French that we have landed in their city shooting from the lip. That could be construed as disrespectful in a dressing-room that contains World Cup winners. It could be dangerous.

It will be a night for holding nerve, for being brave and daring, a night made for Roy Keane. It could be the kind of night that makes you jump out of your seat, even if that seat is a bench in the eternally bright passenger terminal at Charles De Gaulle.