Real knockout leads to a sojourn home

Trevor Brennan's Diary: C'était dur trois semaines sans internationaux. It was a hard three weeks without our internationals, and it got worse when I decided to get rid of the scrumcap against Castres.

Before those three weeks we had Stade Francais on November 6th at home.This was the game everyone had been waiting for all year. It had been a sell-out for two weeks. Since I've been in Toulouse, we've met them three times and lost three times: in the first year in the final of the championship, and then home and away in the championship.

The lads had been going crazy all week. The normal laughing and joking that's there on a Monday and Tuesday just wasn't there. You could see that this was going to be an all-out war, and come Saturday that's what it was.

We won 32-16, picking up a bonus point when Vincent Clerc scored our fourth try in injury time.

The next three games would be Narbonne, Castres and Agen, but a week after beating the champions, we lost 16-9 at home to Narbonne. There just wasn't the same feeling going into the game. The laughing and joking was back, and we turned up on the day not focused enough. It was like we'd won the championship against Stade Francais.

There were two changes against Castres the following week, with myself and Isitolo Maka both starting. Brendan Burke, Brian O'Meara and David Quinlan came over to meet up with Benny Willis, who has just signed a new two-year contract with Beziers, on the Thursday.

We had lunch in the Place Capital, followed by a few pints in De Danu. Again I was on the orange juice watching the four lads getting stuck into a couple of creamy pints.

I organised a few tickets for the match away to Castres and arranged for someone to give them a lift.

But that was the last I saw of the lads for the weekend, as I got knocked out against Castres. I was told it wasn't a bad game. In the 66th minute they had just kicked a penalty to move 18-17 ahead. In a temper, I took off the head gear and threw it into touch, and I said to myself that from this kick-off I was going to make a big hit on somebody. That was the last thing I remember when I woke up in hospital.

Luckily I had all the best medical treatment on the pitch at the time. I was knocked out for 15 minutes and swallowed my tongue. Guy Noves came onto the pitch and tried to force my mouth open with our physio, and I bit two of his fingers nearly through to the bone.

That night Christian Gajan, the coach of Castres, came to visit me and arranged to pick me up the next morning and drive me back to Toulouse. On the way back we stopped off in his house and he asked me if I wanted to see the incident. (The match had been live on TV). I said I wasn't too sure, but why not? So we watched it as his wife made us breakfast. I have to say I haven't seen too many knock-outs like it, and seeing it on the video made me appreciate how lucky I was to be there having breakfast in his house.

Jacques Deen, Castres' South African number eight, had gathered the restart. I was the first one up to make a tackle. He didn't slow down, and I didn't slow down. At the last second he dipped his shoulder, which caught me on the bottom of the jaw, and his forehead caught me on the side of the temple.

The two of us dropped like logs. He was out for a minute, and when he got up he was a bit shook as well. As for me, picture the scene in the Jerry Maguire movie, when the "show me the money" fella gets a touchdown but lies on the ground, apparently unconscious. The only differences were that I was out for about five minutes longer and when I got up there was no dance.

It turns out we lost the game 21-20. They kicked a drop goal in the 14th minute of injury time. We'd also had our prop Patrick Colazzo sent off. This was for a real eye-gouging incident on Mauricio Reggiardo, who suffered a damaged retina.

As I was ruled out of the game against Agen, I booked a flight home for myself, Paula and the two boys, Josh and Daniel, last Thursday. It was a great sight flying in over the city seeing all the changes. Houses being thrown up everywhere. I'd last been home on November 6th last year for my brother's wedding.

My good friend Alan Graham picked us up at the airport. We had a busy day ahead. Lunch in the father and mother-in-law's, Paddy and Kate. The mother invited me home for dinner later that day. When I told her I was coming home she said, "Son, what do you want for dinner?"

"Me favourite ma, bacon and cabbage."

Well, the ma didn't let me down. It was like Christmas Day. The good table was set, crystal glasses out, the good knives and forks, and a couple of bottles of vin rouge from her last trip out here.

The house hasn't changed much, except that downstairs is now like a Trevor Brennan museum. All that's missing is a plaque outside: "Trevor Brennan born here, 22/9/1973, weighing in at 10lbs . . . "

The last time the father was out here he picked up a poster about the size of a bus stop sign, of me catching a ball in a lineout. The fanatic took it from a sponsor's tent and he has it framed, about 4 ft by 3 ft wide in the middle of the sitting-room. The poor mother is driven mad.

I also met up with a few friends in one of the local bars that night. Someone started singing after a few pints. The rest is history.

GREAT NIGHT. On Friday morning I was woken up early by the two kids and I'm dragged out shopping on the pretext that the kids need some clothes. After the shopping, we went to the Coombe hospital to pick up the sister-in-law, where she had a baby girl called Shiog. Six weeks premature and weighing in at just 4lb. Congratulations Jacinta and Lofty!

Driving up Meath Street and turning the corner toward the Coombe, the two boys are going mad in the back. I tell them: "Listen lads, this is where it all started for you. This is where you were born. Two of the great days in my life."

While Paula went with the sister to see the baby - immediate family only - I had a coffee in the canteen while the two lads had two cokes and two bars of chocolate. I swore them to secrecy, as Paula has them on a strict diet of fruit and juice, but when you're suffering from a hangover you'll do anything for a bit of peace.

After a while the cokes and the chocolates were kicking in. I ended up in the car-park getting some strange looks as myself and the boys were simulating live scrums and tackling, and thanking God I was not here to pick up another one!

I got a warm bienvenu in Kielys in Donnybrook for lunch, as I used to do every day in my time with Leinster. People sitting in the same places that they were two years ago, the Die Hard poster still up on the wall and a Toulouse jersey as you come in the door.

On parting, Steve gave me a Die Hard poster and a crate of old Guinness bottles to decorate De Danu.

On Friday night we decided to have a quiet meal with a few friends in a new Indian restaurant in Maynooth, saving myself for the Big Day on Saturday.

The trip down memory lane started by watching the nephew playing for Barnhall under-eights. We headed off to the match at about 3.0 and met up with my agent and friend John Baker in Ryans in Sandymount. I'd made a few calls earlier in the week looking for tickets and John got us nothing but the best. Two tickets in the West Upper. Fair play John, you've never let me down.

We also met Twiggy Miller, Eric's dad, and his mother Trish, John McWeeney and numerous other people. It was one of the nicest feelings I had for the hour-and-a-half we were there and then walking up from Ryans, meeting so many familiar faces. The last international I'd been to see was Ireland-New Zealand three years ago.

I GOT A BIT EMOTIONAL watching the lads during the National Anthem. It brought back memories and I thought to myself, "I'd love just one more chance to put on that jersey and stand there for the anthems."

After about 20 minutes I swore to God I'd never drink again. I couldn't go to the toilets then - "look at Trevor Brennan, drinking before the match." I held out until the 39th minute, made a dash for it and luckily ended up in the press box, where I picked up a couple of coffees and chocolate bickies to warm the old cockles in the second half.

Myself and Paula went to Roly's Bistro for a first ever meal there, and despite no booking on the night of an international the management were very nice, the service was top class and the food was great.

We met up with Victor and a couple of old friends in Smyths in Haddington Road, and then headed into the Shelbourne Hotel to meet up with a few of the lads. They closed the bar at 11.0, but we bumped into Omar Hasan and wangled our way through the door to where the post-match meal took place.

It was great to meet up with everybody. Eddie O'Sullivan came over to me and we chatted for about 15 minutes. We spoke about the French being hammered by New Zealand. He said he wished they'd play like that in the Six Nations. He asked me how I got my two tickets and I told him that they were actually in his name. He laughed, so I told him I wouldn't mind the same two tickets again for the next match.

Actually, he may give me a few runs in the Six Nations next year. I don't want to be going on a Lions tour without having some international matches under my belt. The All Blacks seem to be really on fire at the moment.

(Trevor Brennan's regular European Cup column can be read on the ERC website, which is at www.ercrugby.com)