It just looked wrong. No matter what way they spin it in the coming days, yesterday morning was a disaster for Fianna Fáil.
As far as the start of the election campaign is concerned, the party took its advantage to the Phoenix Park and promptly handed it to the opposition on a plate.
They planned this short course race down to the very last detail, hoping to gain valuable early ground by bursting from the blocks and leaving the rest of the field standing.
Surprise is a wonderful weapon. But strangely, in the course of a bizarre few hours, it seemed as if Fianna Fáil had turned it on themselves.
This long-awaited day was one of unexpected contrast. It began with Taoiseach Bertie Ahern scuttling to Áras an Uachtaráin as the Sunday city still slept. His mission was to ask President McAleese to dissolve the 29th Dáil, and he carried it out in a manner that verged on the furtive.
Dawn calls to a very small number of media personnel heralded what should have been a momentous event. Instead, it was almost as if Bertie was embarrassed to be seen out so early.
Still, at least he did Mrs McAleese the courtesy of allowing her to do her Constitutional duty before she departed for America.
Around the city, and around the country, activists from all parties roused themselves and attacked the lampposts. Meanwhile, Enda Kenny was on his way to Knock airport, preparing to board a flight to Dublin. It was midnight in Mayo when he got the first call saying it was very likely the Taoiseach was about to name the date.
Labour, the Greens and Sinn Féin turned on the power in their offices at first light. Election machines were oiled and ready to go. They got to work as soon as the news was official.
The PDs were first out of the traps at 11 with their manifesto. Tánaiste McDowell, his usual ebullient self, declared that he hadn't been surprised by the Taoiseach's daybreak flit to the Aras. He was fighting fit and ready to go.
Before the launch, he posed for photographs on the Liffey boardwalk with deputies Liz O'Donnell and Fiona O'Malley. As Minister for Justice, he could be confident he wouldn't be troubled by the drug addicts who like to loiter around the riverside walk.
Once the all-important images were recorded, Michael made his way across to the Morrison Hotel and joined the throng of candidates, handlers and shiny young PDs.
He presented his party's pledges to the nation. Seven in all, and introduced by Michael in the proud tones of a man about to unveil seven new wonders of the world.
"Don't Throw it all Away" was the slogan on the backdrop. The manifesto, said the Tánaiste modestly, is called "From Good to Great". A little slide-show accompanied the exposition.
So what fresh goodies were on offer from the junior government partner of ten years' standing? Lower taxes, fairer stamp duty, better healthcare, protection of the environment, a tough approach to crime and a promise to "reward pensioners". After a spirited contribution on the health system by Mary Harney, it seemed churlish to ask whether the pensioners' reward would be for staying alive, or staying on trollies.
The slides were all nice images of children and families. There was one of the Tánaiste with two Garda reserves. All three were laughing with their arms out in front of them at mid-chest height, like they were doing the hokey-cokey.
The PDs are giving everyone in the country a free manifesto magazine.
Minister McDowell experienced some media leakage as journalists rushed off to make Enda Kenny's gig across the city.
It was held outdoors, on the steps of their election headquarters.
Despite his sleepless night and early flight, deputy Kenny was full of beans, leaping out of his car and punching the air. His hair, some of the ladies present observed, seems to have found its level and is settling down.
In brilliant sunshine, IndaKinny indulged in fightin' talk. "Your time is up!" he told the Government. He offered "fourteen fundamentals" to trump the seven pledges.
There was much talk of destiny, before he went off to present the government with their P45, officially bagging first silly photo opportunity of the election for Fine Gael.
Enda Kenny's performance may be the key to the campaign. He appeared relaxed yesterday and up for the fray. Time will tell.
Labour were supposed to start with a silly photo opportunity of their own at the Molly Malone statue. Leader Pat Rabbitte arrived at the bottom of Grafton Street in his battle bus. Then he formed a line with deputies McManus, Burton, Costello and Shortall and they walked up the street.
Like a big human sweeping brush, they moved quickly along. As a walkabout it was pointless; they talked to no one. But there were photographs taken at the flower stalls and Pat accused Bertie of "chickening out" of calling an election for May 17th and wondered why he "slunk out to the Park in the early hours of the morning".
Back in headquarters - it's sure to be a hit with the media, as it's next to Doheny and Nesbitt's pub and above Burger King - he bagged the first silly prop of the campaign. He turned on a "digital clock" for a "Countdown to Change". Labour is "brimful of ideas designed to create a new society in Ireland," said Pat. People want change. "It's very evident from the doorsteps and the supermarkets."
There is a large white message board just inside the door. A "Message of the Day" was scrawled in red marker: "It's the future, stupid. P.S. Don't forget health." All very upbeat, confident and enthusiastic. It was the same story at the Greens and the Sinn Féin press conference, which took place about the same time.
And so, to Fianna Fáil in their impressive headquarters in the Treasury Building near the Grand Canal Dock. The atmosphere there could best be described as subdued. There was tension in the air.
Even the irrepressible PJ Mara seemed a little reserved. This was nothing like the launch five years ago, when everyone was buzzing and Mara kicked things off with a mischievous, "It's showtime, folks!" What followed was quite strange. Following a low-key introduction by press director Mandy Johnston, the Taoiseach walked from behind the backdrop onto the small platform in the conference room.
He seemed a little out of sorts. He read from a script without passion or animation. He highlighted his Government's achievements, then ran though a mini-manifesto of promises. It wasn't a long speech, and for the day that was in it, it was decidedly dull.
When he finished, he didn't wait for questions, but shot back through the opening in the backdrop, leaving an audience of bemused journalists staring into the silence.
Bertie came into the refreshment room for a little while, shaking hands and making small talk with the media. He was pleasant and said he hoped to see everyone on the campaign trail. But there was awkwardness there. Everyone knew it was because of the Mahon Tribunal. He didn't stay long.
No questions answered, but lots more lingered.
Events in Dublin Castle today will determine how the campaign pans out for Bertie. For Fianna Fáil, the battle is on hold.
The best laid plans of mice and men . . .
