Hey fellas. We just stopped to see what condition your condition is in. Glass of water anybody? The Irish came to yesterday morning. Heads throbbing. Eyes bleary. Wondering what happened to the last 10 days. There was an island? There was a fight? You don't say? Well, hey? Did we really say that? Where's Roy by the way? Nooooooooooooooo!

Carlsberg don't do nightmares but . . . It was Wednesday and you didn't have to be Stephen Hawking to understand that any brief history of wasted time is going to have a major chapter devoted to Irish soccer and the great black hole into which its major star got sucked.

Roy Keane put a quiet and emphatic end to the most debilitating controversy any World Cup team has experienced at 4:40 a.m. on Wednesday morning, so yesterday we started afresh with a new calendar. Yesterday was Day One AR. After Roy.

And out of respect the team went backwards, walked backwards towards serenity. You can do it with them. Two bows, four claps, and one bow. Altogether now, please, and with respect. Two bows, four claps and one bow.

And send your petitions to Okuni Nushi-no Mikoto, the principal god of the shrine at Izumo Taisha. Okuni Nushi is respected and loved as the god of good relationships. The formal ritual offered up to him is - and, please, altogether now and act like you mean it - two bows, four claps and one bow. Maybe it's too little too late, but it might just stop Steve Finnan from throwing a wobbler.

Niall Quinn says the team are shattered. If so, there are precious few hours in which to put them back together again. They began that process yesterday morning by presenting themselves in front of the beautiful Shinto shrine of Izumo Taisha and merely looking on in awe as a fragment of the eight-and-a-half million worshippers who come here every year passed through.

The team, tracksuited pearls before shrine, learned that in Japan, October is called Kannazuki, or the month with no gods because all the gods are said to gather in Izumo Taisha at that time. This being a place of dignity and peace they were left to apply their own quiet Keane jokes when they heard that information. Then, with two bows, four claps and one bow, they were gone.

After lunch, they did more community service. In exchange for the overwhelming hospitality of the people here - they offer more cups of tea per day than Mrs Doyle from Father Ted manages in a lifetime and devote themselves to Chado or The Way of Tea in much the same way as Irish people devote themselves to Pubbo or The Way of Drink - the team have visited hospitals, attended ceremonies and coached kids.

(Today, by the way, the team will attend a farewell ceremony when they will be presented with something called a Lucky Hummer. Those familiar with American slang have noted that a hummer is a euphemism for the act of fellatio. Great anticipation therefore as to who will accept the lucky hummer on behalf of the team and sincere and respectful hopes that it isn't presented by His Excellency The Mayor of Izumo).

In the soft, diffuse sunlight which seeps into the splendid Izumo dome (attention trivia buffs: it's Japan's largest wooden structure), the team split up and gave coaching lessons to hundreds of local kids. They must have wondered as the children moved with such quiet and respectful purpose about the comparatively raucous and individualistic culture they come from. It's hard to imagine a Japanese Roy Keane.

The children received the coaching with such delightful enthusiasm that it put smiles back on the faces of the players and made them feel like stars again. In the Izumo Dome (48.9 metres in height, folks, there'll be a test on this stuff later), there hung one of the many banners which the local people have erected, as well as planned acts of spontaneous celebration. It said: Fight Irish! And it was subjected to almost as much interpretative analysis as was the gnomic announcement of Mick McCarthy when he came on the PA to announce that there were two minutes of kiddie coaching left.

"Losers Go Home!" boomed Captain Barnsley and as the echo bounced around the dome (143 metres in diameter), people wondered if he was stating a fact of life for the benefit of Keano or merely parroting the Nike ad.

Training followed in the bright sunshine and Jason - two bows four claps and one bow everyone - resumed good relationships with a football. Mark Kinsella sat this one out, but generally the mood was light and the feeling was of moving on. In the minutes after training, the team went through what appears to be the intensely pleasurable ritual of fighting their way to the team bus. Hundreds of Japanese teenagers, most of them wearing school skirts, press forward and beg for autographs.

"Gary-brin, Gary-brin, Gary-brin!" they scream and Big Breeny makes step-by-step progress towards the bus, signing five autographs for every foot he gains. On the bus, meanwhile, Damien Duff has the window open and is making to throw his shirt to the crowd in the manner of a newly-wed bride tossing away her bouquet. Finally, Duffer finds someone willing to toss the jersey. Screams and near apoplexy follow. A nice World Cup moment, involving the Irish. Here come the good times. Well, the not quite so bad times.

McCarthy gives a determinedly upbeat press conference at which he announces he had just two hours sleep the night before. The media, who haven't slept a wink since Tuesday, listen resentfully.

Nobody has yet established any level of comfort in talking about Roy Keane at these press conferences. Too bad.

The team move on tomorrow and into the World Cup proper. There are a million questions to be asked, a million opinions to declare. Day One After Roy.

A new beginning and an old story waiting to be told.