PAUL O'CONNELL suspected last week's missed calls by Lions chief Ian McGeechan were a hoax, but when he eventually did speak to the softly spoken Scot – whose monotone accent lies somewhere between Edinburgh, Yorkshire and nowhere I've been – it's not surprising that the "Ginger Colossus" remained unconvinced., writes RISTEÁRD COOPER

POC: Hello

IMcG: Hello Paul this is Ian McGeechan.

POC: Would you ever go and f*** off Quinny ya muppet. (Hangs up).

It’s probably a good job that the Lions places were announced well in advance of this little provincial encounter on Saturday. The additional tension of these old foes battering each other for a pop at the Boks might have been too much for us all.

There’s certainly enough resting on this game as it is, old scores to settle, points to prove and irritating name-tags like “pretty boys” to be shed.

Although whether Leinster win, lose or draw, with players like Leo Cullen, Bernard Jackman and Stanley Wright in the side, that label surely can’t stick around for too much longer.

However, despite the spirit that existed during Ireland’s Grand Slam – or as the boys down south are calling it, Munster’s Grand Slam – there is perhaps, now more than ever, the motivation for Leinster to knock the champions off their perch.

The most recent humiliation in Thomond Park where Felipe Contepomi looked like he’d prefer to be anywhere else – probably Toulon – was the kind of display which justifies all the insults traditionally fired in their direction.

Having endured this fixture in 2006, sitting beside a large Leinster-clad lad whose face glistened with the ketchupy goo from his jumbo hot dog while his enormous blue flag flipped and flapped in my face as often as Denis Leamy was in Contepomi’s, I’m hopeful the 2009 version will be different.

With regular bouts of Allez Les Bleus and of course the brilliantly conceived chant Leinster, Leinster, Leinster ringing in my ear, Munster teased, toyed, bullied and finally stuck the knife in.

The final straw was 13st Ronan O’Gara handing off 18st Malcolm O’Kelly to score under the posts and leap into the maniacal sea of red. Game over, cue stunned silence, hanging heads and a clump of my neighbour’s soggy onions landing on my shoe.

“What a squirm fest!” he declared. He was right. In fact, I doubt in the long and distinguished history of Lansdowne Road if any seat had endured such friction. His poor pants. Not to mention my shoe.

Of course – as if to rub it in – we were slumped in the drab shade of the Lower East stand while the red fellas wallowed in the glorious sunshine of the west. Such is life for Munster opposition.

This time, though, it has to be different, hasn’t it?

Well all right maybe not the result, but the manner in which the pack of grizzly grinders pave the way to their fifth European final.

The common wisdom seems to be that Leinster need to attack to win. Now I’m no expert (as a certain silver-haired sports anchor might say) but that’s about as insightful as Jack Charlton’s assertion that “you can’t score goals without the ball”.

One senses that even if Leinster do manage to match Munster up front and win some ball, it’ll take too long for the backs to get it. I’m not saying Chris Whitaker is slow, but he arrives at rucks like he’s walked into a room and can’t remember what he went in there for.

Whatever about the outcome, we know that Irish rugby really can’t get much better than this.

And amid the hype, the pressure, the intense rivalry and the frenzied hullabaloo of Lions selection, it was left to the Ireland captain to provide the noblest gesture of them all when he made that call.

BOD: (AT HOME ARRANGING FLOWERS) Hi Paulie!

POC: Who’s this?

BOD: It’s Brian.

POC: Is that you messing again Quinny ya b*******.

BOD: Paulie it’s Brian.

POC: (CAUTIOUSLY) Brian who?

BOD: It’s me I’m telling you. It’s Drico!

POC: How come I didn’t see Brian’s number come up on my phone so?

BOD: I had to change it again. You can’t be too careful, you know the press. Listen Geech was just on the blower to fill me in. Just wanted to say best of luck with it.

POC: Is this you Marcus is it?

BOD: No I swear it’s me Paulie.

POC: Who’s “me”? Listen Donners that’s the worst Leinster accent I’ve ever heard, sure nobody talks like that ha! ha!

BOD: Jeez what’s wrong with you. IT’S ME. BRIAN O’DRISCOLL. IRISH RUGBY PLAYER, CENTRE, CAPTAIN . . . what more can I say?

POC: You didn’t say Lions captain did ya? Weyhey!!!

As Leinster rugby supporter’s chairman Tarquin Barker-Caven subsequently put it. “Irish by birth, Munster lack the grace of BOD.”