Keith Duggan talks to Australia outhalf Stephen Larkham, a player intent on getting better whatever about his "world best" accolades

It was a night flight from Argentina. Stephen Larkham slept fitfully throughout the 17 hours. Perhaps the troubled atmosphere of Buenos Aires had left an imprint. The River Plate stadium had radiated a level of hostility that ran deeper than sport. Tension and unhappiness and a mournful national pride gave the noise a curious and uneasy pitch. Objects landed on the side of the playing paddock. None of the players got hit, but still . . .

It was a strange conclusion to a strange week. On Wednesday, reserved as a free day, he went shopping with some of the others and was struck by the astonishingly low prices. Designer labels, real ritzy stuff, with everything-must-go tags. Tags of desperation, crying for purchase. He noticed how the streets were unkempt and read about how the crime levels were rising. He listened as people explained how their country was sinking as slowly and imperceptibly as if built upon quicksand and about how there was nothing left. Except sport.

"It was only five pesos into the game, so it was virtually free entry," he says. "They were saying later that the population really gets behind sports now because there is so little to cheer about. I mean, we expected that sort of reception, but until you are out there, you can't fully prepare for it. And none of us were happy with how we played but we were glad to have beaten that team and in that atmosphere."

It was scrappy for the world champions. Larkham lamented the abundant kicking. He created the only try of the game when he set his club mate Stirling Mortlock free. As they changed into the Wallaby team-suits in the unadorned River Plate dressing-rooms, the only positive thing to take with them was the victory.

So Larkham was glad to head to the northern reaches of the globe, arriving in Portmarnock late on Monday evening, when it was dark and quiet and fresh. It was sort of like arriving full circle. Three years ago, on the eve of the 1999 World Cup, he had walked along the quiet north Dublin shoreline and privately mused about this future.

To the rugby world at large, he was the latest Australian wonder boy, the changeling, the boy who switched from full back to outhalf without so much as the blink of an eye.

Two tries in 1998 against mighty England no less on his debut at number 10. To outsiders, Larkham was pure gold. But in his heart, he doubted. Injury had left him sidelined for the previous three months and with only a handful of games under his belt at outhalf, he was worried. Australia is heavy with rugby talent and light on sentimentality. Fledgling prodigies have withered in cold spells before and Larkham fretted that he might get pushed to the periphery.

His conversion to outhalf was not really his own doing. Rod McQueen, his coach at the ACT Brumbies, got the top job with the national team and was convinced that Larkham could be the heir-apparent to David Knox, who was approaching the dreaded final encore of his sporting life. McQueen is a fair man. He told Larkham he would give him six games to make it.

"I suppose there are similarities between full back and five-eight, but at first it was the differences I noticed. Just the pressure. At full back you have time to assess things. At five-eight, the defence is just metres from you and you have to make your decision and distribute so quickly. Thankfully I had George Gregan inside me and Tim Horan on the outside. Those guys just called everything at first. So I knew what I was going to do when I got the ball or if I didn't I would just have a run myself."

But he admits now that he still felt like a kid who has crossed the rope and swam to the deep end of the pool for the first time throughout that World Cup. Always felt that he was one mistake, one wrong decision away from a frightening fall.

Outsiders never saw that, of course, because Larkham possesses a yogic calm and an ice-cool exterior. When he was still a kid, he decided not to go in for extravagant celebrations on the field because sometimes he used to get embarrassed just watching other players hamming it up. Plus he reckoned that shows of vanity always came back to bite you when you least expected it.

"So you're better off saying and doing nothing."

He allowed himself break that rule just one time, in 1999 following his massive and unique drop kick against South Africa in the semi-final. In extra-time against South Africa and from 48 metres to be precise. It was his first ever senior international drop goal and its trajectory was about as straight and elegant as a drunk walking home from a late night wine bar.

"Wonky," was the memorable description from John Eales, the eminence grise of the delicate art.

"It was, yeah," laughs Larkham now. "Funny, it was always my intention to run the ball - we turned over possession from a lineout or something, but when I looked up, we had no options on the outside and their cover was good. So I was going to kick for touch and then decided to drop kick. It felt like the normal range, but when I looked out I figured no way was it going over. Then it began hooking and just turned inside. It was a really great feeling and yeah, I have to admit, I reacted that day."

When the Lions came to Oz for the tour last year, it seemed to everyone that Larkham had been born to the Wallaby number 10 jersey. As if he had been playing the position forever. Growing up in Canberra, Larkham vaguely remembers the Lions as a sort of glamorous entity from somewhere unimaginably distant.

He was a quiet kid who excelled at sport and was content in the seclusion of his parents' sheep farm on the edges of Canberra. Happy to hang out with his sister Rebecca, play with the dog, help out. The Lions were prime-time television entertainment for the Larkhams, super-star stuff beamed in from Brisbane.

To actually play against them a decade and a half later was a hugely significant moment in a life already cluttered with landmark achievements. But his memories are bittersweet. Larkham's tour ended when he went into a tackle on the thunderbolt that was Brian O'Driscoll and pinched a nerve in his shoulder, leaving him without any sensation in his arm.

"It was a weird and frustrating feeling because your brain would send the usual signal but your arm just wouldn't respond. And I was pretty worried because they told me it could last up to six months. Justin Harrison had a similar injury and he is still struggling with strength in his arm."

News that Larkham would not play in the third Test was a great blow to the host country. Confirmation from the Lions defensive coach Phil Larder that the visitors had essentially targeted the Australian playmaker enraged some of the local commentators.

"There were a few late tackles, yeah," says Larkham, a bit wearily now. "I didn't really notice them during the game but when I saw the video afterwards, yeah, there were a couple."

So the golden boy spent the electric third Test as a water runner for his team-mates, carrying the chilled bottles in his good arm. He was still down on himself for his performance in the first game. Annoyed that the mould-studded boots he had chosen left him slipping and missing crucial tackles. Angry that he had kicked so much. Angry that he let Australia down. So it was just relief, really, when we won the final game. I really would have been very dejected if the results hadn't gone our way."

Things have a habit of going the modest Canberra man's way. His Dad was a polished rugby player, good enough for ACT and began coaching his kid when he was around nine. Stephen excelled and made it onto all the ACT underage squads. A year aheadof him was George Gregan, small and bright as a button with a big Afro "do" that made him stand out.

"I dunno that it was an image or anything, just that he never bothered getting a haircut," laughs Larkham. "George used drive around in a beat up Holden Kingswood wearing normal clothes. So it's fun now to see him with his Louis Vuitton bag and that kind of stuff. But I suppose I was a bit in awe of George growing up. He was so small and just so good. And to have him around now is great. His service is just incredible but also his leadership is invaluable."

Plus the friendship. Larkham reckons the current Australian team is just truly cementing. He is not a rugby junkie and likes nothing better to escape from the game, even for a few hours. So when he goes to lunch or for a walk around the cities they are touring, they talk around their profession. Movies. Family. Anything.

His own role has shifted. He is a senior now and at 27 has already given consideration to life after the cheering has stopped. At Lansdowne Road, a ground he loves, he will literally try to suck in the atmosphere through his lungs. He loves playing away.

"When you have a close team, as we do now, it just feels like 15 guys against everyone and that adrenalin can be really enjoyable, you can feed off it."

Former analyst and Irish international Neil Francis isn't alone in considering Larkham the very best rugby player in the world, period. He is shortlisted for the international player of the year award and confesses to being embarrassed by it. And he isn't just being coy.

"No, I did okay in a few games but generally . . . I really want to improve for next year's World Cup."

There have been tensions along the way. Contract difficulties at the beginning of the year forced him to consider a move abroad. Japan was too hectic. England too wet. France looked like the best option. But the crisis was averted at the eleventh hour and thus he remains in Australia for at least the next two seasons.

Canberra is where his heart lies; the pulse and bright lights of Sydney have never appealed. Give him a farm, give him land and fresh air. When it's all over, that's what he will seek. Maybe finish his career with a stint in Canada or the US, depending on the scenery.

But for now, international defences are his panorama. Next up is the marauding Irish today. Back home, Rebecca's boy Luke will be staying up late to see how he gets on in Dublin. His sister lives close to their parents' home, so Luke's childhood is not unlike his own. Larkham is conscious of his fan at the other end of the world and deliberates in considering the Irish.

"I suppose we still see them as a typical Northern Hemisphere side. They can be exciting when they want to be. But they play to the conditions, which they have to do. I think that if this Irish team played in Australia every week, you would see them run the ball an awful lot more. But the biggest threat to us is the physicality, I would say."

And for Ireland, Larkham is the clearest danger. The five-eight at the heavenly peak of his game, the apprentice turned master. A thoughtful country boy who planned on being an engineer, at the epicentre of the best rugby machine on earth. Six games, they gave him but everyone stopped counting years ago.