House of pain after World Cup cull

HAVING visited Carton House in recent weeks, where the Ireland rugby team has been stationed for its pre-World Cup training, I can say this.

It’s a beautiful place for an execution.

This morning a few players will see their World Cup dreams perish in a brutal scene, as Declan Kidney shakes his head in brisk, business-like meetings: pack your bags son, you’re off, and not to the land of the Long White Cloud.

Just kidding. It doesn’t really happen like that at all. Our notion of the World Cup cull, which is scheduled in Ireland’s case for today, probably leans a little on stories from the soccer world such as Paul Gascoigne wrecking the fittings in Glenn Hoddle’s hotel room when the latter left him out of the England World Cup squad for the 1998 tournament.

(Note to any enraged Irish players: don’t think of that this morning. Those lampshades and coffeetables in Carton look nice, and are probably very dear.)

That doesn’t mean exclusion is painless. As recently as last week Leo Cullen spoke about the shock of not making the 2003 World Cup squad — how he didn’t see it coming until he got a phone call which more or less told him to put away the big suitcase he had packed.

But it’ll be different in a lot of ways today.

For one thing, a lot of the players will know already. The shock of being told makes for good dramatic reading, but in most cases it doesn’t exist.

“Declan (Kidney) would explain to individuals where they stand,” says former international Alan Quinlan.

“He wouldn’t blindside players like that. You can be sure some guys have been told already, while others were playing for their places last weekend against France. But they know that, they’ll know that’s the scenario.

“You wouldn’t have players being completely shocked. That won’t happen, it might have happened in the older days, but Declan is too good with people, too good with his man-management skills, for that to happen nowadays.”

That doesn’t mean there isn’t a particular atmosphere in the Kildare hotel this morning.

Quinlan went through it a couple of times and can envisage a certain quality to breakfast-time.

“Everyone’s just tense and nervous — a certain number of guys know they’ll be on the team but there’s a good few guys who are close — they had a chance with the games this weekend, say, and they’ll know how well they’ve done or not, whether they’ve helped their chances with their displays.

“But you’d notice the tension, certainly, on a morning like this.”

It’s hard when the players who’ve been culled leave the hotel, also. Those who’ve been told their seats on the plane are safe are delighted, naturally, but as Quinlan says, there’s a reluctance to rub it in.

“Everyone on the plane is sad for those who haven’t made it, which makes for a strange enough atmosphere — you have guys who are elated but who can’t show it because there are friends of theirs who aren’t going.

“They just pack up and go and though they’re on standby, which is the next best thing, it’s difficult for them because they’ve worked really hard. There are always certainties but the lads who are on the edge . . . in 2007 it was very difficult for the likes of Jamie Heaslip, who would have been very close to making the final squad.

“You’d feel the pain of the lads that don’t go because playing in a World Cup is such a massive opportunity, it’s what you’ve worked so hard for, and then you lose out at the last possible moment.”

Irish Examiner rugby columnist Donal Lenihan has seen the final cull from both sides — as player in the 1987 and 1991 World Cups, and as manager for the 1999 tournament.

He echoes Quinlan on the build-up to today.

“I’d imagine anyone who isn’t going either knows or has a fair idea at this stage, it won’t come as a complete shock to them. There’d be a fair amount of consultation going on in the run-up to this morning.”

It wasn’t quite like that in 1987 ...

“No, there was the old system for that first World Cup — a letter, and if you weren’t at home for the post you might have heard it on the radio. There were certainly a few anxious phone calls flying around between fellas that morning, because there would have been a 26-man squad — tighter numbers, which meant fewer places.

“On the one hand the best part of being a manager or a coach is telling someone they’re getting their first cap, World Cup or not. The hardest part is leaving them out, but there’s a right way to do that, too.”

Scant comfort, maybe, to those whose cars are nosing over the speed bumps on the driveway out of Carton House this morning. But there’s always 2015.

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