Keith Duggan talks to the Munster outhalf who believes there has been a big improvement in his game in the last 12 months
Interview Ronan O'Gara: Ronan O'Gara settled into a chair in the lush, quiet gardens of Maryborough House, a period retreat in the hills over Cork city. Nearby Douglas village was jammed with cars and people chattering outside coffee shops and children eating ice-creams and everyone wearing sunglasses. It felt like summer had begun in earnest.
The Munster and Ireland number 10 wore no shades, turning up bang on schedule in a plain white T-shirt and tracksuit and trainers. Munster had flown home from Celtic League duty the night before on a late, late plane, and with a morning training session followed by a swim, O'Gara was tired by late afternoon and content to let strong May sunshine and a fizzy water revive him.
Moments of repose are precious these days. The heavenly weather was reminiscent of Munster's most recent finest hour, the complete domination of their friends and neighbours and fierce rivals Leinster in the Heineken European Cup semi-final at Lansdowne Road, an occasion that almost lost the run of itself during the endlessly hyped build-up only to be ultimately salvaged by the ferocity and depth of Munster's performance.
In general, O'Gara is too clever and serious to be drawn in by hot talk and breathless predictions, but over a fortnight later, he was still stunned by the energy of that day.
"I get goose pimples even thinking about it now," he said with the sunny squint recognisable from the hundreds of times he has studied the goalposts in the great theatres of rugby prior to delivering yet another penalty.
"Like, we have had great atmospheres in Thomond. But against Sale, for example, it was more scary than anything. We came out on to the field and the way the crowd were, it was like lads released from the zoo. But in Lansdowne that day, the South Terrace was completely red. I came out to do my usual kick and warm-up on my own and got a huge ovation and that gave me a fierce lift. That never happens playing for Ireland. The place is dead, you know.
"Once we got out on the field, I kind of sensed it was game over. And I remembered that when I was in hospital the week before, a few people came up and asked if we had any chance at all against Leinster. And I would say, 'Ah, not too sure'. But I was fuming inside. Because I don't think there was any way we were going to leave that game behind."
As well as deepening the Munster mystique, the nature of that victory appeared like a personal vindication of O'Gara's game. Nerveless in his goal-kicking duties, he was as geometrically precise and visionary as ever delivering his kicks to touch.
But he also moved the ball with conviction and broke into open country for the late, victorious try that allowed the Munster faithful to all but combust in joy. O'Gara looked as delighted as he had ever been on a rugby field. The poise and thoroughness of his performance were the most direct response to unflattering comparisons with the mercurial Leinster 10 Felipe Contepomi.
The Argentinian's maverick running game had ignited Leinster's exciting backs all season and the implication was he knew how to get the international-calibre three-quarter line of Denis Hickie, Brian O'Driscoll, Gordon D'Arcy, Shane Horgan and Girvan Dempsey flowing in a way O'Gara could not. Some commentators all but lamented Contepomi was ineligible to play for Ireland.
The fairness or otherwise of the criticism aside, it seemed curious a man of O'Gara's stature, long-established as Ireland's first-
choice number 10, would have been bothered by what were, after all, mere opinions.
But the debate did bug him and he entered that game so intent on proving people wrong that he did not notice Contepomi's afternoon falling to pieces even as he went from strength to strength.
"No. I was very focused on that game," he said slowly. "I was keen to show what I was made of. Contepomi had had a very good season and I am not taking that away from him. But people were saying this, that and the other and, well . . . I haven't heard it since, anyway."
He shrugged at the suggestion his bristling at such criticism was grist to the mill.
"Maybe. I suppose it was down to the fact that I have that streak in me. I don't base myself on being the best in Ireland. And people may feel this is arrogant, but I kind of feel that on my day I can be one of the best in the world. And that is where I set my standards.
"And the fact that people talked about Contepomi, it stung. And I hold my hand up: I probably took the bait as well. Sometimes I maybe under-appreciate my values but that is the way I am. So I was just dying to get out there - I had a good stage and a dry day. And if they think that kicking is my game, it gave me huge satisfaction to put in a good, all-round game."
O'Gara gave a riveting and very honest television interview in the minutes after that game. The train journey south that night was raucous and happy and when he checked his phone, there were messages of congratulations from Reggie Corrigan, Malcolm O'Kelly, O'Driscoll, Hickie and Horgan. "That didn't surprise me either," he said with feeling, "because I know what kind of people they are."
As a six-year veteran with Ireland, O'Gara has a foot in both camps and regards the Leinster internationals as friends. But Munster took a grip on his soul from his early days there. He talks about his formative experiences with the club in 1998/'99, when Peter Clohessy and Mick Galwey were blackguards in the dressingroom and tough men on the field, players who managed to transcend all the traditional clichés about bleeding for Munster. Killian Keane was the resident outhalf from whom O'Gara took possession of the shirt, but he admits he spent his first season learning his trade, half in awe of seasoned rugby men like David Corkery and constantly keeping in check his liking for greeting a smart-arse remark with something twice as smart: "You had to prove yourself to those boys in order for them to respect you as a player. And as a person."
Even now, six years on, he sometimes sees the ghost of Galwey, tousle-haired and steaming, hands on hips, watching him line up a penalty. In his rookie years, every successful kick would merit a gruff, "Good man, Rog."
"Nowadays, nobody says a thing," he laughed in mock lament. "Like, it's your effin' job. But when you're starting out, to hear that from Galwey, it would give you a fierce boost. As seniors, you have to remind yourself that players coming through need that kind of encouragement."
O'Gara singled out Brian Walsh, the former Munster inside centre, as someone who was invaluable to his development, an intelligent running back who talked him through those early seasons. "I often felt like I was being carried in games then," he admitted. "Brian was a hugely under- appreciated player, and when you have experienced men around you, then you trust your judgment. I would call a lot of the shots now but back then I was more of a link man."
In truth, he was always a lot more and the arc of his career has been impressive and lit with incident. In the 1999/2000 season, he started and finished a glorious try against Toulouse to put Munster into their first European final. During that strange and emotional final against Northampton, he missed four kicks on one of those spooky Twickenham days when the wind plays tricks. The last was a killer, 45 metres out and tight against the west stand, looking good from the instant it left his right foot until the very last instant, when it tailed away the wrong side of the post.
A summer later, he was involved in a combustive Lions tour of Australia, taking an unprovoked barrage of punches to the face from Duncan McRae.
In 2003, he connected with a walloping drop-kick in the dying seconds of a thriller against Wales in Cardiff to keep Ireland's Grand Slam hopes on course.
He nailed the last-minute penalty against Gloucester in the "miracle match" and contributed all pointsin the breakthrough Test wins over South Africa and Australia.
Last summer he bit his lip as he travelled as an understudy to a broken-down Johnny Wilkinson on the disastrous Lions tour of New Zealand. He reckons now his stock would have been higher had he been playing in the English Premiership but just as quickly admits he might not be the same player if he ever left Munster; he might not care as much.
Through all this, his goal kicking improved and he worked on his overall game. Sometimes people said his kicking game was incomparable. Other days they said his tackling was a weakness. Other times they said he lacked flair or speed or imagination.
Through the praise and criticism, O'Gara toiled away, becoming one of the more voracious athletes when it came to seeking punishment and improvement in the advancing provincial and international set-ups. He has coldly reviewed those six-year-old kicks against Northampton and is unrepentant. He wished the last had gone over, certainly, but he believes he has nothing to chastise himself for, even if some guy did inform him he was "a prick" in a bar in Cork a few weeks later.
O'Gara has the classic quarterback combination of choirboy looks and a formidably courageous disposition that provokes strong opinions, but over the years, he has learned to become his own jury.
"I can understand that people say I bottled it against Northampton. That is their opinion. But I watched that video a few times, they were hard kicks and I struck them well. Just didn't go over. The only certainty is uncertainty. If I feel happy going into a game that I did the work, I can live with it. Then I can accept the criticism that comes if you miss, I accept that. If I know I've been honest, that is my whole approach."
Against that, he doesn't dwell on the highs either, reluctant to pause too long on that drop-goal against Wales, one of the great moments in Irish sport.
"That was instinctive. It was autopilot. There was no thought process going into that at all. Ah, when I hang up the boots I would like to look back but at this minute you become a bit soft if you think of that stuff. I just have that drive to keep going. I feel there has been a big improvement in my game in the last 12 months. I just feel I have more confidence on the ball and running it and that there's a lot more in the tank.
"I get huge internal satisfaction. But I have had the big disappointments and the highs so I try and keep the personality stable or you become impossible to live with. There is life outside rugby too - although some days I wonder is there. You can't let it fully engulf you or you lose touch with reality.
"You can't let that happen. All it takes is, you hear some sad event in someone's life and," he says, leaning forward to touch the table with a palm, "that will cop you on quickly enough."
O'Gara had to cop on young. Cork is a city partly defined by sporting excellence and he jumped from the relative comfort of schoolboy and university accomplishment into the bear pit of Munster rugby with his eyes wide open. Today, he doesn't behave as though he has any notions about himself, admitting with a guffaw that there are occasional situations when passers-by know they know him from somewhere and "stop for a bit of an oul look".
But he is happy in his skin, rightly and perhaps defiantly pleased with his achievements this season.
"I'm top (scorer) of the European Cup and was over 80 per cent for Ireland. (Chris) Paterson was top, but he probably had a third of the shots I had," he said casually.
Today, all eyes will be on Ronan O'Gara. That it is Munster's third final means nothing, he insisted, reasoning they could "play seven in a row and not win it".
"All I know is that we have been trying our bloody best to win this thing."
Munster may live or die by his kicks. No matter what happens, he will be able for the consequences. "It is mechanical and getting your homework done in your own head. There are some days and it is so easy," he said, scowling for a moment. "And other days you wonder what is going on. You don't know what you are doing different and that is the frustrating thing."
Then he brightened suddenly and glanced around the quiet garden of this country house, where the loudest noise was the sound of ice tinkling against the chilled gins-and-tonics on a neighbouring table.
That was a week ago in a place that could not be more different from the roaring, soulful stadium where he finds himself today, still at the heart of this deathless Munster compulsion, ready to have a go, come what may.
"Sure, I suppose," said Ronan O'Gara with a broad, good-natured smile, "that is the beauty of being a human being."
