In recent times no sporting team or organisation on this island has come even close to matching the Belfast Giants ice hockey team in the dark art of public relations. Faced with the seemingly insurmountable task of winning over a sceptical public, the Giants PR machine expertly cranked into gear and was welcomed with inviting arms by a compliant media. The result was a good news story with no apparent downside which must have had the GAA and the FAI hanging their heads in despair.

Or at least that is how it seemed until last week. One of the main concerns surrounding the long-term future of the Giants was the extent to which the team, and beyond that the whole idea of the team, would bed into the local sporting consciousness once the first flushes of enthusiasm had died down. Judged by the arrogance which those connected with the team have shown recently, this could yet turn out to be the Giants' biggest weakness.

The controversy that raged around the team was simple: even though all other sporting life here has been in cold storage since the confirmed case of foot-and-mouth disease in south Armagh, ice hockey has continued on in seeming splendid isolation. The ensuing debate and increasingly acrimonious public row has gone beyond the confines of sport to include censure from a number of ministers of the Northern Ireland Assembly. Regardless of how they attempt to portray it, this has become a highly embarrassing public relations disaster for the Giants. Whether they can recover remains to be seen.

The root of the problem is that in deciding to play their games at the Odyssey without interruption, Belfast's first ice hockey franchise have seen fit to take their lead from the organisers of the British league in which they play, rather than pay attention to the weight of both local and government opinion. By doing so, the Giants officials have betrayed an acute lack of sensitivity for the concerns of people here.

Never mind that they might feel that a blanket ban on all sport is something of an over-reaction; in this crisis, perception and appearance have become as important as rational or justifiable action. And the message being sent out by the Belfast Giants shows scant regard for a community with a deep emotional and financial dependence on a healthy agriculture industry.

Last Saturday night the position became even more entrenched when the Odyssey Arena staged a cup final between teams from Sheffield and Ayr. The game was played despite a fairly unambiguous request from Brid Rodgers, the Minister for Agriculture here, that it should not go ahead because of the risk involved in having supporters travelling from south central Scotland and northern England, two recognised areas of infection.

Of course, the Giants may have been boxed into an administrative corner, and in reality had little say in whether the game went on as planned. But a public expecting solidarity from all groups and bodies which claim to have roots in the local community could not have failed to recognise the appalling vibes and signals that were sent out. The erstwhile masters of public relations have now to cope with serious, self-inflicted wounds.

The long-term effect of all of this is difficult to judge. In the worst case scenario, a new incident of foot-and-mouth could be directly attributed to the movement of people to and from Belfast Giants ice hockey games. That, however, is highly unlikely. Much more probable is that the great bubble of goodwill and support that has hovered around the Giants from day one will have burst.

Already there are anecdotal indications of a fall-off in support. The majority of games in Belfast up until last weekend had been 8000 sell-outs, but the arena attracted only 4,000 supporters last Friday night. Whether this is just a blip or the first sign of a trend will be a matter of some anxiety for the Giants.

But this wobble represents a significant test for the Belfast Giants regardless of what happens. During their short existence, the team's lack of both a history and a natural power base was marketed relentlessly as one of its selling points. The advertising slogans proclaimed loudly that ice hockey was a sport for all; the barely disguised sub-text was that this meant a move away from the sectarian baggage carried by other sporting codes here.

But this very lack of a tradition, of a longstanding shared sense of belonging and loyalty, was always going to emerge sooner or later as a blind spot for ice hockey in Belfast. No one was under any illusion that the Belfast Giants were, first and foremost, a sporting franchise for those who had invested heavily in it and that those same people sought and expected a return on their investment. Those are the cold, financial facts.

The first signs of shrinking crowd figures or, even more significantly, dwindling public confidence in the "product" will send alarm bells ringing. That is the time when, in sporting terms, a team or a sporting organisation needs to start calling in some of its favours.

The emotional attachment that the long-time traditional supporters have built up over years, decades and even generations will keep them coming back even during the bad times, and the hope is that the storm can be ridden out. Irish League football has stayed afloat here for years on precisely this premise.

But for all its spectacular early success and impressive growth, the Belfast Giants ice hockey operation cannot draw on the same sources of support. Bonds have not yet been forged with the local community and the fledgling sport has few places to turn.

The likelihood is that the Giants have already done enough in terms of engaging the Belfast public to survive their current difficulties. But the PR difficulties of the past week should have been a wake-up call.