World Cup Diary

Wednesday, October 6th

Training again at Clonakilty RFC. A light session; more emphasis on our line-outs; some new options. Dion took a nasty fall on the bags, and was taken away to the local hospital (God knows where!) for an X-ray. Thankfully the damage done was not as severe as originally feared. He rejoined the party late that afternoon with all limbs intact and what looked like a relieved smile. It is a sobering thought to imagine taking a knock in a practice session which forces an early end to your World Cup. A close shave for Dion.

For the rest of the lads, the afternoon was our own. The "special events committee", of which I am a member, organised a fishing and golfing excursion at Lough Slaney estate. Fishing rods, reel and fly were on offer and we took to the river. Fish were jumping out of the water and Maggsy had the catch of the day. He could hardly fit it in his pocket!

I almost feel like a tourist guide, but the place is beautiful and well worth a visit as it also hosts quite a challenging nine-hole golf course. But I fancied sitting by the river myself. That's my idea of relaxation.

Coming back on the bus, we noticed 10-foot lettering inscribed in the sand on the beach outside the team hotel: "Ireland Good Luck" with a shamrock beside it. Inspirational.

Thursday, October 7th

Last day in Clonakilty. Line-out session on the beach. By the time the session was over the beach was black with school kids in search of our scrawls. We spent more time signing autographs than training. In the end I had to flee from the beach with kids screaming after me. You gotta love it.

Our flight was at 5.00, but before that me, Woody, Tom Tierney, Danzer and Donal went to visit PJ Delaney in Cork Regional Hospital. He was in much better shape than I feared, and when we came in he was sitting up in a chair. He had been in the bed for three weeks and was finally going to be allowed to leave, and so was in good spirits. I wish him all the luck in the world in his rehab to pick up that hurl again.

We had cut it fine to make the flight, but still Donal insisted that we quickly nip back to his home. "De ting is, 'tis only five minutes away." We drop a gift which he had just received from Clonakilty Rugby Club back in his house. Such are the perks of his job. We struggle through school traffic, then he takes us down a closed road. All the time the clock was ticking. Luckily the flight was delayed.

Earlier that morning, Steve Aboud - one of the assistant coaches - had got himself locked in his bathroom. He pulled the door handle off in his hand, and heard the clunk of the outside handle hit the ground. Screaming for help drew no attention.

Surely, he thought, somebody would notice he was missing. Three hours went by. Panic stricken, he knew the bus would be going shortly and so he began to bang the door in. Denise, the heroine of the story, who was doing some last-minute physio on some of the guys, heard the commotion and came to Steve's timely rescue. Never mind his claustrophobia, the fact that no-one missed him must have hurt more.

Friday, October 8th

The sessions are winding down coming up to the game. At this session I found out I was to start against the Aussies. Obviously I was thrilled, but one man's gain is another's pain, and I felt for Jez who was forced out due to injury. Bob Casey was sitting on the bench so we had the joy of listening to his angelic rendition of The Fields of Athenry. Horrendous. (I'm not here to criticise myself).

Saturday, October 9th

Run out at King's Hospital on a hockey pitch, reaffirming our game-plan and particularly strike moves for the game. Afternoon was our own, time to focus on the huge task ahead. The work has been done. The mood is one of confidence in that we have a game-plan to break them down and score tries. Yet there is a fear factor, a fear that if we do not play with 110 per cent aggression and conviction to the cause that they will beat us.

We received a fax from Fergus Slattery, who captained the last team to beat the Aussies. "For 20 years the Aussies have been knocking us over and I hate them for that. Tomorrow is a chance for us to change that embarrassing record."

Shorts and socks are collected from Rala's room. Studs are changed and boots are polished and waxed. Time to switch off and veg.

Rala, aka Paddy O'Reilly our bag manager, ensures we know exactly what's happening and when - you can always rely on your itinerary to be posted under your door every night. If you've forgotten or lost anything and need a replacement quickly, he'll sort you out with stock from the van, ranging from underwear and socks to nail-clippers and cotton buds.

If he hasn't got it, it'll be there the next time you ask. I actually asked him how he would describe his job title, and he called himself "a butler". He's certainly the closest thing I'll ever have to a butler. More like the head butler, with a little organisation working for him as well.

Every so often I go through stages where things just keep going wrong. A series of bad time-keepings this week, which I won't go into, led to Rala taking it in hand to give me a personalised itinerary set 15 minutes ahead of everyone else's. So a new diet of punctuality was in order.

Sunday, October 10th

Morning: try and relax, keep off the feet. Line-out session, team meeting, mental build-up begins. Strong words said. Now is the time for action. On the pitch for the warm-up. Our "music committee" have taken control of the Lansdowne PA system, pumping out the team songs. An unbelievable feeling, I was practically singing along, getting seriously pumped up. Run out onto the pitch to the roar of the crowd and line-up for the photo. First a minute's silence for the victims of the tragedy at Paddington, then the anthems. The clouds opened up and unleashed the heavens on us. Paddy just said: "Perfect. Chaos at Lansdowne Road."

The whistle blew, the game was on. Within five minutes I was running off and down the pit lane for three stitches in my forehead. If I'd been wearing a second-row band it wouldn't have happened, and I normally would do but for some reason didn't today.

In the medical room. It's a rushed job, gotta get it done as quick as possible. I'm thrown onto the bed, and the stitches are applied. Thankfully I'm thick-skinned. There's a TV in the room, and I'm listening to the commentator telling us that Bob Casey has taken his first ball off John Eales. Better get back out.

It would be the first of many, as it turned out to be a bloody affair. My short absence allowed Bob Casey to get his first cap, which although brief, I'm sure he will always savour. Unfortunately the game never lived up to its potential. Our accuracy let us down and perhaps our confidence to play our game against them dropped. We defended everything they tried against us and at half-time the opportunity for a big upset was still on the cards. But we never took it and Australia pulled away.

The times of Ireland fading in the last 20 are over however, as our fitness levels saw us pressurising their line in the last few moments for a consolation. I suppose the biggest disappointment is that we failed to score a try.

We were playing a territorial game but we didn't get much possession in good territory, so we didn't really get to do anything. Then there were crooked line-outs, or scrum feeds that went wrong and our options didn't work.

We didn't perform. Maybe it was just that Australia didn't allow us to perform, or we had a little stage-fright. It was like your average New Year's Eve. You expect so much and then it's an anti-climax.

Monday, October 11th

Time to forget yesterday's disappointment, lick our wounds and set our sights for Friday and Romania. To win this would take us to Lens in the north east of France for a play-off.

Hopefully, it won't be via the Rosslare-Calais crossing. Wouldn't like that.

In an interview with Gerry Thornley