In holy tandem for England on the same Parisian evening will come what seems to be a forbidding away match against the warm favourites for the RBS Six Nations title, and also a magnificent chance for redemption, for the rescue of a season tottering on the edge of disaster.

If they fail to take that chance, they may well be playing Ireland at Twickenham in March to avoid the wooden spoon, and to prevent the summary dismissal of Brian Ashton and his coaching team. No exaggeration. If they take the chance in France, they could be playing Ireland for the title. Easy.

Easiest of all is the goal for Paris, and the tactics. Winning next Saturday is everything, the only thing, and a controversial 3-0 victory, with a late drop-goal by Simon Shaw, would be perfect. Please don’t pretend there can be another goal, some bogus concept of development or performance that can make a defeat acceptable. Stop desecrating the Six Nations by using it as a rehearsal for a day that will never arrive. They must win, with eyeballs out, any way they can.

And please, nice Mr Ashton, stop dreaming about ways England can win. There is only one way. It is time for forward power, allied to passion and dynamism. In Paris, England must field the biggest, most power-orientated and most dynamic straight-line team they can find, spend the week raising the temperature with Brian Moore-like jibes at the French, and go out to wage sporting war. Did the same policy work against Australia in Marseilles? Did it ever.

Why unleash the dogs of war? For all kinds of cogent reasons. First, because at present it is the only style of game for which England are remotely equipped. They do not have the midfield craft for anything else. Second, because at least England will understand what they are trying to do. In Rome last Sunday, they seemed to be applying about seven segments of seven different gameplans.

And they must take Route One because they can beat France if they batter them up front. Sorry, but I do not believe in the New France. It is an illusion. Good on Marc Lièvremont for producing memorable rugby and Vincent Clerc. But reality will some day bite him. At present, he is nibbling sandwiches at the Six Nations garden party. Indeed, he is already retreating from the early championship period when he drafted unknowns apparently for the sake of it. Already, faced with the shock of watching his scrum being pushed around by Ireland (yes, by Ireland, for God’s sake) he is reverting. For England, he has hurriedly gone back to Pascal Papé, the experienced lock, and is anxiously monitoring for future games the fitness of Sylvain Marconnet, the old battleship of a prop.

Listen to Lièvremont on his summary dismissal from the squad of Arnaud Mela, the lock who started against Ireland but who now joins the ranks of the tyros sent away. “With regards to Arnaud Mela it’s paradoxical that he isn’t in the 22 because we’re satisfied with him, but we wanted to open the position up.” Let us hope this comment lost everything in the translation, because otherwise it is drivel.

England were desperately lacking against the Azzurri, though not everyone thought so. “The guys were brilliant to a man,” said Jonny Wilkinson after the 23-19 victory. We live in a country where freedom of speech is justly prized. We are also harsh in asking our sportsmen to stagger exhausted from the field and react with instant lucidity as a battery of microphones or voice recorders are stuck up their noses. Jonny is entitled to any opinion.

The truth is, of course, that England were ghastly. The win is to be treasured as ever, but they were supine, desperately ponderous and plodding, and lacking in dynamism. Occasionally, they dabbled with a driving maul, then went off and tried something else. Long before the end, England were a dabbling rabble. They beat by less than a score a team that tried to play an international match with no lineout and no kicking game, for goodness’ sake. If Steve Borthwick had not operated so well in the lineout in stealing Italy ball, the Azzurri would have won.

Power and dynamism and passion must be imported. The England team must be taken apart (and I fear profoundly that Ashton will lack the will to do so). I would make nine changes at the very least. If everyone had been available I’d have made 11. My new men are not simply a bunch of heavies. They are mostly, but not all, men of physical stature. Others are smaller, but not inclined to let a team walk all over them. England have to go out and take the game.

To demand that Danny Cipriani be chosen at full-back is in part a cop-out. But as Ian McGeechan said last week, full-back is the perfect position to assess a game and to gain experience. Josh Lewsey, whose non-selection I find vindictive and almost offensive and who is in prime form, must come back instead of Lesley Vainikolo, whose work-rate alone is staggeringly bad. So in Cipriani, Paul Sackey and Lewsey we have a back-three team, not three dislocated individuals, as we had in Rome.

The bold Richard Wigglesworth must at least be given the chance at scrum-half, because the estimable Andy Gomarsall is making no inroads. I would keep Wilkinson for his presence and goalkicking, but would retain Toby Flood and Jamie Noon in the centres only because Mike Tindall is injured and Olly Barkley involved in a court case. Nothing I have seen persuades me that Flood is the confirmed answer at inside-centre. Compare England’s midfield in terms of combination, passing, power and vision last weekend with that of Wales. Wilkinson, Flood, Noon or Hook, Henson, Shanklin? Night and day.

One of the most disturbing aspects of England’s season to date is the lack of forward authority. They must be true to their heritage. Let’s see. Andrew Sheridan and Phil Vickery must return to the front row — Vickery is still more effective all-round than Matt Stevens.

But how bold will Ashton be at hooker? Mark Regan has made little impact on this tournament but George Chuter, the alternative, is not an earth-moving player. I would throw in Dylan Hartley of Northampton to take it up French noses. Hartley is bold, belligerent, very big and, at nearly 22, he is older than Dimitri Szarzewski, the supercharged France hooker, was when Szarzewski was first capped. Hartley makes things happen.

While we are at it, and having changed all the front row, let’s change all the back row too. Nick Easter’s lack of impact and pace in Rome suggests that the meteoric Tom Croft, who is taller, faster, a much better lineout option and more dynamic, must come in at blindside.

That would see James Haskell moving to No 8. Haskell made a great fist in Rome of trying to be bubbly when the team around him were flat. As Lewis Moody is still struggling with injury, Joe Worsley must be brought in at openside, although if he is still deemed short of full gallop, Magnus Lund must succeed the competent but rather uninspired Michael Lipman. Lund has pace and passion, and he has been misused for too long. Steady Eddie has left the dressing room.

The pre-match week is vital. England are welcome to burble on in public about how glorious the French are and how much they themselves would like to emulate the broad sweep of the French game. Just as long as in private they do not believe it for a second and are preparing, with strong arms, to shove French progress where the Parisian sun has never been known to shine. We want new faces and we want old and harsh realities.

Stephen Jones’s XV for Paris: D Cipriani; P Sackey, J Noon, T Flood, J Lewsey; J Wilkinson, R Wigglesworth; A Sheridan, D Hartley, P Vickery; S Shaw, S Borthwick; T Croft, J Haskell, J Worsley