Missing jumper can't kill warm feeling

European Cup Pool Two: Brian Blaney may still be a work in progress, but at 24 he has time on his side and talent and enthusiasm to spare, writes Johnny Watterson.

Brian Blaney throws his head back and chuckles. It's his reaction to a lot of things: a "life is life" attitude. You ask him what the feeling is when he misses the first throw to a lineout. He laughs a loud har, har, har, the 6ft 1in frame shaking. You ask him what Leinster coach Michael Cheika says if he dives offside. Blaney laughs even louder and rolls his ursine figure back in the chair and looks at you in that open-book, affable way, the black beard making him look older than his 24 years. But you can detect that his overriding sense of propriety is clicking in. The Terenure College boy will not tell you your questions are those of a plonker.

Twenty-five-thousand people watching and you miss the first lineout throw. Mike Brewer is trembling, his head buried in his hands. Michael Cheika has raced from the dugout and, in his designer leather shoes, is tramping toward you through the mud, screaming, "Technique, technique."

Malcolm O'Kelly, when he picks himself off the dirt, gives you a laser look, and behind you the collective groan echoes around Lansdowne Road. All 25,000 are looking at the hooker. All of them blame the guy with two on his back, the guy who towelled down the ball and threw it.

Lineouts are always in a hooker's head. They are always part of the match agenda. The hooker might hit a series of rucks, carry the ball through heavy traffic, pick himself off the ground and then have to throw a precision ball. Lineout throws are always in a hooker's mind.

"Yeah, I suppose it's always there . . . to get the lineouts. You got to get the lineouts," he says and laughs loudly. "Lineouts," he says shaking his head and laughing, "they're such a big deal because backs can get good ball off the top of them so it's there in the back of my mind. You might have to run into a ruck and then seconds later throw in a ball. Keep a calm head. You could be fired up in a ruck and then have to switch off to throw the ball in straight. I take four breaths before a lineout, four deep breaths while I'm standing there. Then I throw.

"It's always nice to get that first one but it's good to forget about it if you don't. Next up you just go to a banker ball that you know you're going to get. Then work from there. Yeah, a miss and the hooker always gets the blame. But we know ourselves."

Cheika is the coach and the accountant with Leinster. In his office ledger he keeps the pounds, shillings and pence of a player's performance. It's all there. He marks it down and he counts it out. He'll tell you you're above or below where you should be and he'll tell you why. You might think you had a good game but in fact you had a brutal game. It's all measured. Throwing into the lineout, breakdown, hitting rucks successfully, positive tackles, soak tackles, negative tackles, hands on the ball, offsides, running with the ball . . .

"I got a yellow card against Borders for coming offside," says Blaney. "He (Cheika) went absolutely crazy at me. I wouldn't want to repeat it, what he said." Go on.

"Well, he said, 'At this stage of the game you go f***ing offside on our f***ing line. What the f**k were you doing?' He really let me have it. Then I got a yellow card against Edinburgh. Joël Jutge. It was on the ground and he gave me a yellow for trying to kill the ball. If you look at it a million times it seems to be a perfect steal.

"The game is played on the edge. All the time now. Look at Richie McCaw. How many penalties does he give away? And without a doubt he's the best player in the world.

"After Edinburgh Michael Cheika just says to me 'you were dead right. Forget about it'. If you're an eejit, then you're a f*****g eejit and if you're not then he'll tell you you're not."

At 24 years of age, Blaney is still learning. Three of his brothers, James, Dermot and David, are also part of his sporting landscape. All three are rugby players and captained Terenure College. It was a wonderfully chaotic sports household and the brothers occasionally played against each other. But that became too much.

"My mum won't go to the matches anymore," said David a few years ago. "She's had enough. She gets nervous. My dad couldn't care less. He just goes, 'Good luck. Whoever plays plays. I'm just going to watch the match'."

For the Blaney seam of talent Terenure can thank the Provos. Back in the 1970s David's father, Jim, and grandfather ran the family pub in Lurgan. It was a time when when the IRA were waging an economic war and small towns around the North were being gutted. Lurgan did not escape, and the Blaney pub was wiped from the town map. Jim left with two children, Orla and John.

"The Provos were blowing up everything. My dad's da gave him some of the insurance money and he bought a pub in Dolphins Barn and that was it. Funny the way it worked," says Brian.

But the family genes were good, and of the six children four have been outstanding rugby players. David is still playing professionally in Bristol.

The 1991 and 1994 All-Ireland medal winner Greg Blaney of Down is a cousin. Another noted Down football family, the McCartans, are also related.

"At school I just wanted to go to the backs because all my brothers were forwards. I wanted to get the ball and get running. I said to my coach, 'Listen, I want a couple of games at centre'. And he gave them to me. I think I played two or three games.

"I didn't really learn a lot. I just said give me the ball and started running. I would have liked a proper crack at it but that's the way it goes. I went back to hooker."

Blaney has had his troubles and had his breaks. In his first AIL match he lined out against Blackrock College. Brian O'Driscoll was in the centre, Shane Byrne was his opposite number and Bob Casey was in the second row. The drop-off went to Casey and Blaney ran at him, launched himself at the giant and minutes later was carried off.

The damaged shoulder took nine months to heal. During his recuperation, he explored Morocco and the US. The following season he was back.

Then, out of the blue, Leinster coach Matt Williams gave him a call and asked him to come for a trial. Blaney played and played well, enough for Williams to offer him a development contract. The next day Williams left to coach Scotland.

Blaney leans back and heaves with laughter over the close-but-no-cigar signing. Then last season Byrne left for England. Finally a door stayed open and Blaney was first to look in. Now he is in possession.

"He's a very aware footballer," says Cheika. "What he wants to focus on is improving his technique . . . technique in body position, technique in lineout throwing, technique in scrummaging. He could be a really good player because he's talented and his maturity is a thing that is going to help him year in year out."

Preparation for Agen has not been ideal. A bug kept him away from the team, and with Stan Wright arriving, scrum time was lost early in the week. But Blaney's vitality shines through, his eagerness and commitment complemented by a noticeable improvement in his play.

"It's fun to get your hands on the ball instead of hitting rucks all the time," he says. "That's the fun part, isn't it? It's a matter of getting your head in there and just going for the ball. Just going for it.

"You don't want to be going in when the ruck is formed. You want to be the first person there and stay on your feet. Get your head in there and hand on the ball. If you're not enjoying it, you shouldn't be playing it. That's the way I look at it."

With a volley of self deprecation he climbs into his 10-year-old VW Golf, "the wagon" and drives out of Donnybrook village, in the opposite direction to Gordon D'Arcy, who minutes earlier passed in his sleek, smoke-windowed BMW.

You can almost hear Blaney's laughter as he melts into traffic. But the hooker knows he's going the right way.