Meeting the Pope before a Six Nations debut like few others
Rome will always be a special place for me because of my first visit 20 years ago
THERE aren’t many places in the world more special to me than the Eternal City, the enchanting ancient hub that made my dreams come true. It was a breathless six-day spell 20 years ago that threw me into a dizzying succession of highs, a week that began – where else? – on a Sunday afternoon in Thomond Park. It was one of those exhilarating days the Limerick venue was quickly becoming known for; a full-blooded Heineken Cup quarter-final that teased and entertained – one that, thankfully, saw us come out on the right side of a 38-29 result, owing to an Anthony Foley hat-trick and 23 points from Ronan O’Gara’s trusty right boot.
I played well against Biarritz, and on the eve of the 2001 Six Nations – a tournament that would ultimately be severed by the foot and mouth crisis – I was hopeful that a first appearance in the competition was on the cards.
I grew up dreaming of playing for Ireland in the Five Nations, as it was then. I was 26 in early 2001.
It was nearly 18 months since my solitary cap – a 1999 World Cup game against Romania – and I was starting to fear those childhood goals of mine were slipping through my fingers.
But 24 hours after we were roared off the Thomond turf by the Munster faithful, I was sprinting down the corridors of the Glenview Hotel in Newtownmountkennedy, desperate to tell my mother I would be starting for Ireland against Italy in just five days’ time.
It was an emotional call, it had been a long road. Spikes of elation, bewilderment and panic combined during that chat as my mum and dad considered whether it would be wise –formeandforthem–totravelto Rome for game the following Saturday afternoon.
Any reluctance they had about making the trip soon subsided and by the next afternoon there was a party of five – my parents, my cousin Ian, a neighbour and a friend of my father’s – heading for the Italian capital to see Ireland play their maiden Six Nations game in Rome.
I flew out with the team on the Tuesday, two days ahead of my support network, to see the magical city for the first time.
By Wednesday, I had met the Pope. It still feels surreal writing those words.
If it wasn’t for the picture of myself and ROG, awkward and fresh-faced in St Peter’s Square, on the wall at home I’d probably need convincing it actually happened.
Spirits were high in the camp ahead of a fresh Six Nations campaign but the nervous energy and the inevitable slagging that comes with it was simmering away too.
The fact that some of the Ulster lads were about to meet the head of the Catholic church was a great source of entertainment for everyone, no matter their beliefs, with the boisterous David Humphreys in the thick of the ribbing.
We were all suited and booted for a short mass with Pope John Paul II at The Vatican – none of us really knew what to expect.
As we made our way across the square to meet the Pope in St Peter’s Basilica, ‘Bull’ Hayes, with impeccable comic timing, announced to Humphreys that the fly-half ’s sightseeing tour had come to an end and it was probably best for him to head back to the hotel.
When the laughter subsided. we all made our way inside the church for a short mass, during which the pontiff wished us well in our game at the weekend, and afterwards we went to meet the Pope to take a few photos.
It certainly took my mind off the match, and besides, with the Pope’s blessing what could possibly go wrong?
Whirlwind
Nothing, in fact, as I continued to float on the breeze through the rest of a whirlwind week: immersing myself as a tourist in one of the world’s great cities, meandering around seemingly regular urban streets only to be confronted by yet another stunning ancient building; and lapping up the incredible dimensions and history of the Colosseum.
On the Saturday afternoon we were in an amphitheatre of our own, the picturesque Stadio Flaminio, in the city’s north-west, an intimate place to play rugby with the majority of the seats uncovered and the perimeter of the grounds surrounded by dense trees.
Even the game went well: it was tight early on but we pulled away in the end in a fixture that is best remembered for a Rob Henderson hat-trick and a red card for Italy scrum-half Alessandro Troncon, issued for a haymaker that floored Peter Stringer.
I kept my head down for much of the game, my fear of making mistakes getting the better of me. But after the game, having achieved a lifelong dream, my sense of post-match relief transformed into a deep sense of contentment.
I met my mum and dad that evening for a meal and a few drinks. I could breathe easy again with a winning Six Nations debut in the bag, I laughed and joked with the people I loved and smiled as the Saturday night festivities started to hum around us. Life doesn’t get much better.
It’s funny, even the word ‘Rome’ brings back such wonderful memories.
Thankfully, I’ve been able to return to the city to build on that life-chang- ing introduction, in a playing or commentary capacity, many times since it first hooked me in 20 years ago.
Today, due to obvious travel restrictions, I will miss the buzz of Rome on a match day; the morning sun warming your neck as you sit on a café terrace running through your notes on the teams.
Instead, I will be working ‘off tube’, as it’s called in TV jargon, calling the game from my own private cubicle at Virgin Media’s studios in Ballymount, just off the M50.
Plenty of people have been asking me in recent weeks how it works, so I’ve included an inset picture (left) to give you a better idea of the set-up.
It’s peculiar not being beside the lead commentator, Dave McIntyre – who is boxed away in another Ballymount cubicle – but that’s the nature of the world we are living in for now.
We have a few extra camera angles, audio of the referee and a screen delivering live statistics, but otherwise I am calling the game from the same pictures you are seeing at home.
It’s only when you are forced into remote commentary work that you realise how much you get, professionally and personally, from being there: talking tactics with travelling supporters, seeing the teams warming up, and getting a sense of the atmosphere on the ground.
I’ll miss that today, but we’ll appreciate all these things that bit more when we have them back.
Excitement
I was thinking this week about the likes of Craig Casey (below) and Ryan Baird, and how different their first Six Nations appearances will be to mine. I’m sure there will be plenty of excitement among friends and family but I bet both men would love to have their nearest and dearest in Stadio Olimpico this afternoon.
The stadium and the match build-up may be different to what I experienced in 2001 but the emotional roller-coaster that comes with a Six Nations debut remains the same. Some players take it in their stride, others, like me, find themselves overcome with nerves, irrational as it may seem to someone who has spent their athletic lives working towards this point.
I needed the Pope’s blessing to put me at ease in 2001; hopefully they manage just fine without the same divine intervention.