Italy v Ireland/Interview with John Kirwan: Strange times in Italian rugby. Their coach, John Kirwan, has been contracted through to the 2007 World Cup. Hanging by a thread this time a year ago, there appears to be no debate about his standing, no hint of infighting, no media criticism. For the Italian psyche and sporting culture, it is almost serenely calm, unsettlingly so.

"No, you can't be calm in Italy," smiles Kirwan, heavy on the irony. "If things are calm you're going to get the sack. I hope you haven't heard something? No, you don't want calmness at all. You want volatile, which is Italy."

Of course, in actual fact you don't. As with any team sports such calmness, patience and long-term planning, without bitter infighting, reaps a better dividend, and might actually serve Italy well.

And there are already clear signs Kirwan feels secure enough to think long term, and not just about quick fixes and short-term solutions. The Azzurri go into this championship with a relatively settled, young and indigenous squad.

"We're working hard, the president and the federation have given me the confidence to go through to the next World Cup," says Kirwan, adding the rider: "As long as you don't take too much notice of it and realise you're only as good as your last game. Don't be fooled by a long-term contract. It can always be bought out but we want to complete our job."

It helps Kirwan that he is almost as much an Italian now as he is a Kiwi. He's been playing or coaching in Italian rugby on and off since 1985. He's married to a former Italian volleyball star, Fiorella, whom he me met 1989, has three children (Francesca, 11, Niko, 9 and Luca, 5). The name Niko he had a say in (he's named after Michael Jones) but Francesca and Luca he didn't.

He speaks the language and has long since been immersed in its culture and way of life. Not only does he understand his employers, his players, his media and his supporters, they understand and accept him better than they ever did his predecessor and fellow Kiwi, Brad Johnstone, who initially brought Kirwan onto the coaching ticket as his assistant.

By way of demonstration, he simply holds his palm out flat, pointing towards the ankle boots he is wearing with an Italian shrug of the shoulders. Intricately designed, of soft leather, they are expensive, hand-made boots by a Roman shoemaker, and he has a matching pair of brown ones at home.

Point taken.

"The answer is yes. I love what I do, I love the country, I'm still a Kiwi, I'm a New Zealander at heart, but half my heart is Italian. I've got two passports, my kids speak both languages, one of them's a real Kiwi and the other's a real Italian, and the third one is a mix. And that's my life and I feel very fortunate. I'm only missing France. I'd like to go there and live there for a while but I'm pretty much an Italian now. We see each other in 10 or 15 years' time as probably living four or five months in New Zealand, and the rest of the time in Italy."

Kirwan agrees that, if not a native, then having a long-standing relationship with the country is necessary: "I think it's fundamental you understand where they come from and can think like them. They say 'Monday last', we say 'last Monday'. Their brains work differently from us. You have to marry that.

"You can't fake emotion. I'm fortunate to be married to an Italian and I am very much part of the culture so I can live it, more than understand it. When you learn another language, it's when you don't have to translate it any more in your head that you've learned the language. Although I don't speak it correctly, I don't translate it any more. I just speak it.

"And I think it's like that with the culture. When you get up in the morning, look in the mirror and think 'I don't want bacon and eggs any more, I want a cappuccino and a brioche,' you know you're there."

All of which begs the question, how different is the Italian rugby player, mentally and technically? The theory goes they are all fiery Latins, they all live on the edge, and all are one moment away from a flush of madness. Yet, despite still being victimised by the refereeing fraternity, in the last two seasons they have only incurred two yellow cards, compared to 11 sin binnings the previous two years and one red card. The clichéd perception would also be of players who are mercurial and enigmatic, temperamentally brittle and inconsistent, which Kirwan admits has some validity.

"We come from Italy, but we are sponsored by Jaguar. We come from Italy, but we're playing in an Anglo-Saxon competition. I think if you look at the Heineken Cup and you see the results of Benetton you see total Italy. In last year's Six Nations a win (against Scotland), a good performance (against France) but a bad loss against England, played Wales at the end - poor - and should have beaten Ireland. We can't do that any more.

"There's an Italian word called consapevolezza, and it means understanding yourself. And the more we play, the more they understand they can't have mental days off. We can't be Italians, we've got to drive the Jaguar, because that is what we play in."

By way of explanation, he cites an incident that at first might raise eyebrows.

"The other day I smacked my kid on the arm and he felt the pain and he nearly cried. Then he looked down and realised it was because of a mosquito and he said 'thanks'. Y'know? Unless you understand the pain you don't sometimes know the reason. They've got to play these competitions, they've got to live these competitions and they've got to understand we must have consistency."

He says the lineout, the scrum, the desire to win, are all givens.

"The first message is Babbo Natale. What I'm talking about is Santa Claus. You look in the eyes of your kids, or any kid, and say 'Santa Claus', and it brings up a whole excitement, a whole expectation. I want them to think like that. I want them to have that excitement. Santa Claus is coming to town. From my point of view I'm saying 'go to bed early', 'if you don't eat your dinner . . . ', 'if you don't do this or that . . .'

"When we open our presents on Christmas Day, that's when the expectations are realised. You've got to believe. I'm 40 and I still believe in Santa. Why? Because I want to, and I've got to, so I say to these guys, 'Santa Claus is coming to town so you've got to believe', but it's the hardest thing. It's the invisible things we can do.

"We've got to be competitive in the scrums, we've got to be competitive in the lineouts, we've got to shut down (Gordon) D'Arcy and (Brian) O'Driscoll, we all know that. It's the self-belief we're trying to create. Get out there and superarsi, play above themselves."

So, ultimately, what does the 40-year-old believer want from Babbo Natale in the 2005 Six Nations?

"I want the team to be competitive with everyone, and I want to win the Six Nations. That's my goal. Because if I don't believe in Santa Claus I might as well pack my bags up and go home.

"If I don't believe, they're not going to believe, and I do believe in Santa Claus. Santa Claus is coming to town. I hope he brings me the automatic car with all the gadgets, and not the wind-up one."