Paul O’Connell’s World Cup record unjust

Even in his worst nightmare, Paul O’Connell could never have envisaged it ending like this – not in, of all places, Cardiff, Irish rugby’s home from home, writes Peter Jackson.

He had been there in the glory days and nights for Munster and Ireland and never left the place empty-handed - the 2006 European Cup victory over Biarritz under Anthony Foley’s captaincy and again two years later under his own leadership against Toulouse.

Twelve months on and O’Connell was back in Cardiff putting the finishing touches to the first Irish Grand Slam for more than six decades. He’d won about three times as many international trophies at the Millennium Stadium than at home and the one last World Cup promised so much more. His previous three having all ended embarrassingly early, here was one last shot at redemption from one final mission for his country. Ireland, the serial under- achievers on the global stage, would be going to where they had never gone before.

A semi-final beckoned as a realistic goal, a minimum target. Ireland were the best team in Europe and had the trophy to prove it. They had the smartest coach in Europe, Joe Schmidt, and an on-field commander whose iron will had been forged in the furnace of a Limerick foundry as run by Young Munster.

Instead of taking Ireland onwards and upwards before cashing in his chips down on the Mediterranean with Toulon, O’Connell fell victim to one of sport’s more savage maxims coined to describe the ‘Ambling Alp,’ ex-world heavyweight boxer Primo Carnera - the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

A fall was nothing compared to O’Connell’s fate. Carted off the Millennium Stadium one Sunday with his hamstring torn off the bone was cruel enough, never mind hobbling out of the place seven days later after seeing his country knocked out.

The pain of watching Argentina effectively stop the team he had been forced to leave behind inside the distance will leave a far more lasting pain than the one he endured at that fateful ruck against France.

Ever the pragmatist, O’Connell will accept it as part of the game. While he will not waste a second on self-pity, he may be tempted in more reflective moments to wonder whether the rugby gods had chosen to even up the score. But then why would they give with one hand and take with the other?

O’Connell will shrug that aside in the certain knowledge that many, many more are infinitely worse off. As an occupational hazard, it was always liable to happen and a recent reference to that sounds all the more poignant now that another Irish misadventure has ended in the usual bucket of tears.

‘’You need luck with injuries because we don’t have the playing numbers of other countries,’’ he said in response to a sobering home defeat by Wales in Dublin at the end of August. ‘’We’re a long, long way away from winning the Rugby World Cup.’’

The luck ran out in triplicate against France, a victory which, after yesterday, was surely too pyrrhic for words.

And so fate has decreed that, in sharp contrast to his successes in Cardiff, Ireland’s greatest forward – and that truly is saying something – will be lumbered for the rest of his days with a World Cup record that does him no justice. Three losing quarter-finals in four attempts – against Australia in Sydney in 2003, Wales at Wellington in 2011 and no this, a run-around from the riotous South Americans who had already knocked Eddie O’Sullivan’s team out at the pool stage in Paris eight years earlier.

O’Connell warranted something far better. He will argue that you get what you deserve, acutely aware that he will be back, unlike many and one name in particular springs to mind, a man whose friends say has been sorely neglected by the rugby fraternity since he broke his neck playing for Ivory Coast at the World Cup 20 years ago.

His name, lest it be forgotten, is Max Brito.