Pride will replace pain over time

I WOKE on Monday morning without a tricolour, an Irish jersey or a Munster top to be seen anywhere.

After four weeks when it was virtually impossible to go without meeting someone from home, the streets were deserted. The Irish team were preparing for their return journey and even my media colleagues were abandoning ship.

The worst part of a global tournament such as this is the immediacy of sudden death. One minute you’re on the cusp of greatness, the dizzy heights of a possible first World Cup semi-final to contemplate and the next — it’s all over. The morning after a night experienced by the Irish players in Wellington’s ‘Cake Tin’ last Saturday night yields nothing but regrets, emptiness and a hollow feeling that lingers for a long time.