On The Irish Times Counter Ruck podcast this week, I spoke about written feedback I received from my Leinster team-mates shortly after my 21st birthday. It was a fairly honest reflection of who I was at the time, someone full of good intentions but a bit like Homer Simpson, easily distracted.
I was failing badly at some of the fundamentals of professionalism, punctuality, self-discipline, and apparently, laundry. One team-mate even wrote that I should buy a washing machine because my gear was always filthy. They weren’t wrong.
I was getting by on a decent skill set and natural ability to beat players one-on-one, but tactically I was naive and still a long way from understanding what being a professional truly meant. Back then, all I could think about was playing for Ireland, which up to then had amounted to a brief cameo at 19-years-old in a 1999 World Cup pool match against Romania.
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That was my singular focus, but I never stopped to consider that I hadn’t earned it yet. I got there on reputation, not form. Girvan Dempsey’s injury opened the door. Girv was one of the best I ever played with. He gave Denis Hickie and I the freedom to roam, safe in the knowledge he’d be there to sweep up behind us.
I viewed being picked on the wing for Leinster as a demotion, a failure to nail down the fullback shirt. I was blinkered to the opportunity in front of me, instead pining to play another position.
In that same feedback form, one of the lads mentioned an interprovincial game in Cork (2002) as the performance I should aspire to replicate. It was one of the rare times I started at fullback. We drew 6–6 and I borrowed a few tricks from the Girvan Dempsey playbook in showing Ronan O’Gara space and then racing to close it down before the ball bounced or went out of play.
It was one of the first times I truly began to appreciate how tough it was to be consistent at that level. I played through an injury that day. Matt Williams asked me to strap it up, get through the game. He wanted to win; I wanted to prove people wrong.
The irony given my injury issue was that I played well enough to be called into the Ireland squad for a New Zealand tour, but by then, I could barely walk. So, I watched from the stands with ice on my ankle. Brian O’Driscoll and Geordan Murphy were outstanding on that tour.
Ireland had the All Blacks rattled in the first Test, but they let them off the hook. Once bitten, twice shy, a week later, New Zealand ran in 40 points. We had the players to trouble the best sides for 60-minutes but sustaining that level was another matter.
I played in most of the matches against the All Blacks during my career, home and away. Only twice did we really come close to beating them, and even those would have been one-off wins, moments to cherish, not foundations to build on.
The 2013 loss in Dublin changed something, though. Defeat was agony, but it felt like a turning point, the day Ireland realised they could compete with New Zealand. That belief carried forward to Soldier Field in 2016. Since then, this fixture has evolved into a genuine heavyweight rivalry.
Five wins each now since Chicago. They have back-to-back World Cup victories over us; we have a series win in New Zealand. If I’m being honest, I never imagined we’d stand shoulder to shoulder with them.
I believed we’d beat them eventually. Sport always gives you one chance if you’re patient, but I never thought we’d reach a point where Ireland and New Zealand would share the same breath of expectation.
Every now and then, I stop and try to appreciate how hard-earned this position really is. It doesn’t happen by luck or momentum. It takes generational players peaking at the same time, a collective mindset that refuses to settle, and a sprinkling of belief.
But whether we like it or not, we’ll always have to defend that ground. We’re a small playing population punching far above our weight. To stay among rugby’s elite, that overperformance has to continue.
The financial success and emotional weight of that 2016 win made a rematch at the same venue inevitable, and here we are again this weekend. It’s a brutal way to open the November Series. Most of Ireland’s frontliners have had limited game time after heavy summer workloads. Many will have played just twice since the Lions, and for the Leinster contingent one of those outings was a humbling experience.
There will be plenty of nostalgia wrapped around this fixture, but beneath it lies a serious agenda. The World Cup draw takes place in December, and trying to stay in the top four rankings has shaped the way Ireland approached this block of matches. Pragmatism and results trump experimentation.
Ireland’s squad is settled, some might say conservative, but that’s not a bad thing. There is continuity there from the summer. Some big personalities stepped away making room for others to grow into leadership roles. Dan Sheehan has been outstanding and could be the player to fill the void left by Peter O’Mahony. Responsibility suits him.
Ryan Baird has the athleticism to make blindside his own, and Jamie Osborne is one of the most creative players to emerge in years. If he’s backed at fullback, he has the skill set to thrive there.
The outhalf debate continues to dominate, Jack Crowley or Sam Prendergast? Both have strong cases. Crowley is more battle-hardened, Prendergast perhaps more instinctive. Andy Farrell won’t rush the decision, but it’s one that will define Ireland’s attacking shape over the four games.
Farrell will likely feel rejuvenated after achieving what few coaches have done with the Lions. There’s plenty to be optimistic about, even if it’s tempered by realism.
Contrast that with New Zealand under Scott Robertson. His win rate of 74 per cent just about eclipses that of his predecessor, Ian Foster. But if you pause for context, Robertson was supposed to be the solution to a perceived slide in New Zealand rugby. Yet after their heaviest-ever defeat to South Africa in September, Foster’s era suddenly looks less bleak.
Robertson selections have proven tricky, trying to find the balance between picking on form and reputation. Jason Holland will become the second assistant coach to resign his role when he steps away at the end of the year.
Despite that turbulence, New Zealand still possess the ability to conjure game-changing moments. That’s their DNA, to turn 70-minutes of parity into victory with one flash of genius. Ireland, by contrast, have built their success on cohesion and relentless consistency.
It’s the difference between individual brilliance and collective mastery. If Ireland can rediscover a spark, that crisp tempo, the clarity of execution that defined their best performances then this contest is fought on even terms. Because make no mistake, the rivalry is real now. It’s not built on envy or history but on hard-earned respect.
When I think back to that 21-year-old with dirty kit and misplaced confidence, I can trace a straight line to where Irish rugby stands today. The standards that once felt unattainable have now become the foundation of a national team that no longer hopes to compete, it expects to.
Ireland’s place among the best didn’t happen by accident, and it won’t stay by luck. It will need to be defended the same way it was built, with humility, hard work, and a refusal to take a scintilla for granted.
