A day in the life of Brian O'Driscoll

Downtime

Part 1:
3am: Awake in a cold sweat; falling, falling, dreams of virulent death haunting me.

4am: Woke up after a nagging feeling and was compelled to check that the batteries in the smoke alarms in the room still worked. You can’t trust these foreign hotels.

5am: Got up and reread the evacuation procedures on the door of the room. You never can be too careful in unfamiliar places.

6.55am: ARRRRRGAAAAAAAHHHHHH! State of absolute sheer panic.

6.55.10am: Luckily it was just the bedside alarm and not the fire alarm.

7am: Get out of bed into sanitised bio-hazard suit and slip into tissue box slippers, death is everywhere you know.

7.10am: At breakfast with the rest of the team. A 5 year old brushed against me on the way to the toaster, causing me to fall to the ground clutching frantically at my leg, making wimpering noises until the nearest waitress came and sent the child off.

7.15am: Typical Kiwi’s, hotel management refuses to release security camera footage of the incident.

8am: Vibrations in the hotel lobby trigger my finely tuned survival instincts.

Immediately surveying the scene I discount the nearest doorframe as too close to glass and instead dive under the duty manager’s desk. He makes the ridiculous claim it was just a freight train in the distance, but I know an earthquake when I feel one.

8.30am: Leaving the hotel for training we discovered the revolving door was being repaired. Luckily Ronan O’Gara was able to fill in temporarily.

9am: Heading to Eden Park for a training run, but not much chance of
being killed in this traffic flow.

9.30am: Reading the Herald, I decide that the junior doctor’s strike is a ploy to ensure there is no care for us if we get injured. Make formal complaint to the UN but accidentally CC it to the Irish media and my book publisher.

10am: Finally arrived at Eden Park, where a little old lady helped me cross the road.

10.05am: RAF Red Arrows team flew overhead and drew "I’m Really Sorry Brian, Regards, Tana" in the sky. Really, I just wish the bastard would apologise.

10.10am: Began warm-up drills by practicing flapping our arms wildly and screaming loudly at the trainer who was carrying a whistle.

10.15am: Fell in a screaming heap after hitting the tackle bag. I’m sure it was engaging in foul play.

10.30am: Set a new sprint record for training after hearing someone yell out "Look out, here comes Kevin". Discover from the far end of pitch that it was Kevin O’Keefe he was talking about.

10.32am: Further sprint record heading back from the other end of the pitch after spotting Saint John’s medical staff, who after all in this backward country seem only intent on ripping the shirt off my back and damaging my shoulder even more.

10.45am: Decide to spend rest of training taking it easy on my shoulder in the form of spending it inside a Zorb. While being inconvenient for the rest of the lads while doing backline moves it does at least meet my strict safety standards. It also gives the tight 5 some extra work to do pushing me around the field.

11.15am: Disaster, we’ve run over Peter Stringer, hardly felt the poor wee chap go under the Zorb, thankfully the water-logged conditions meant he didn’t get trampled underneath the boots of the tight 5 pushing behind me too much…

11.30am: Spot a reporter – Immediately start yelling "I don’t want to hear about it any-more, stop bringing up that spear tackle – I’ve said over and over again don’t bring it up. I just want to move on with my life and leave the whole incident behind me – why can’t you media types just let it go!!!!" Feel rather gratified. Of course as you’d expect from this ignorant country he just offered up the feeble excuse that he was only here to get the starting line-up for this Saturdays test, but I know better…

11.45am Spent last 15 minutes rinsing my mouth out with Listerine to kill any bugs that might have forced their way into my system after that shouting bout – death is everywhere you know.

12pm. Training session ends and we’re back on the bus heading to the team hotel.
Got the lads to tie me into the seat for safety, unbelievable that buses here don’t have seat belts.

12.05pm. Panic attack, got the lads to cut me free incase there is a fire onboard.

12.30pm. Back to the hotel to find O’Gara still doing sterling service as the door.

12.35pm. Busy feeding parts of my lunch to Isaac Boss as my official taste tester. Since seeing old photos of him on the bus looking like a leprechaun with a beard I’ve decided he’s my lucky charm and that he must test all my food.

1pm: Isaac not dead yet but looking decidedly fatter as I couldn’t decide which parts of the buffet I wanted. You never can be too careful you know. Had him assessed by a doctor before starting to eat my lunch.

1.30pm: Team tactics meeting. Eddie O’Sullivan begins by listing the All Blacks starting side for the match.

1.30.15pm: Set new unofficial vertical leap world record after the name of the All Black hooker was read out. Must write about the malicious psychological ploys used by the All Blacks on my return to NZ to unsettle me and the team in my new book.

1.31pm: Refuse point blank to agree to any moves where I crash back near the All Black forward pack. Insist on a new move whereby inside centre skip passes to the wing or the fullback hitting the line. Furiously reject suggestions it be named "Tana".

2pm: Media Press Conference. Talk at length to a reporter from the Irish Times about foul play in New Zealand, my book, the cheekiness of hotel staff, my book, poor safety standards on buses, and my book, oh, and my book. Noted that Peter Stringer was mistaken for a side table at lunch and is still walking around with a pot of rice on his head.

2.15pm: Began berating NZ Herald staff after showing them previously unrecorded footage of the vicious, premeditated, and cowardly tackle by Umaga and Mealamu.

Mentioned that a sequel to my book is on the way.

2.45pm: Message received from National Geographic declining my suggestion to profile that tackle on their Seconds from Disaster series. Clearly they don’t realise that I could have died.

3pm: Team pool session. Ronan O’Gara pushed in by a five year old.

3.10pm Abused by O’Sullivan for being lapped by the props, but then they recklessly refuse to swim wearing a life jacket, water-wings and an aqualung.

Use my positive buoyancy to rescue Peter Stringer from drowning in the shallow end.

3.20pm: "Sorry" by Tracy Chapman piped in on the centre’s audio system. Bloody Kiwis!

3.30pm: Freetime. Decide to go and explore the nearby shops with Ronan.

3.45pm: Disaster: Ronan is mobbed by three small children looking for autographs and is pushed into the path of oncoming traffic.

3.55pm: Double disaster. Came across a CD by Megadeath and promptly fainted.

Revived quickly and fled when approached by a Kiwi with a first aid certificate.

3.57pm: Heaven’s be praised that Ronan’s gleaming white complexion is so easy to pick up as I was able to navigate my way to safety with-in minutes. Considering adding this to another chapter in my new book titled "Imminent death on the streets of NZ".

4.05pm: Ignore lady trying to get donations for the children’s cancer society; surely they know that imminent death can only come in the form of vicious spear tackles and not this namby-pamby cancer stuff. I mean really, they should be paying me to come here not the other way around.

4.10pm: Realise shortly afterwards that I am being paid to be here.

4.12pm: Bloody Kiwis. A couple of blokes got me to sign my autograph on a sheet of paper next to Tana’s…

4.15pm: Spot an amateur dramatics society giving free lessons, pop in for awhile to get some new material for Saturday’s game.

4.45pm: Apparently I’m a natural with swan dives and also dramatic pleading looks to authority figures in vain pleas for help. I turn down an offer for a starring role on Shortland Street as the new immigrant doctor.

Downtime

Part 2:

5.00pm: Back to the hotel. So perky I’ve almost forgotten that I’m surrounded by imminent, brooding death. Though in order to be safe I send the entire tight 5 row up and down the elevator 7 times to ensure it wont suddenly collapse.

5.15pm: Almost board the elevator but then realise I have a small parcel on me and I didn’t take into account the weight of luggage in my experiment. A further 15 minute delay waiting for the lads to get their suitcases out of their hotel rooms and go up and down the lift another 7 times.

5.30pm: Decide it’s simply not worth the risk and instead settle for sending Issac Boss up the fire escape in front of me. He does seem to be moving a lot slower after I requested that he test every item on the hotel’s dinner menu.

Obviously food poisoning flowing through his system - must check with the team doctor room to get his test results.

5.40pm: Place call to the team doctors room asking for him to bring the test results over, rather hard to do when you’re trying to dial the number with a stick and having to bellow at the phone from arms length whilst holding it with tongs to avoid picking up any germs from the earpiece. Death is everywhere you know. Consider writing a chapter about it in my new book.

6.00pm: Berate team doctor for knocking on my door much too loudly – what’s he trying to do, give me a heart attack??

6.10pm: Dinner time, I hope Isaac Boss is still up to double testing all the food I’ve ordered and malicious brooding death hasn’t overcome him in the 30 minutes since I last saw him.

6.15pm: Trimuph!! He’s still alive!! Though his increasingly rounder size is making it hard for him to get inside my specially designed air bubble that I use whenever I’m eating dinner with the lads, located inside a specially cordoned off area, guarded by men in biohazard suits with antiseptic spray and Geiger counters. While they say the country is nuclear free you never can be too sure.

6.25pm: Bugger, I forgot to get the desert bar tested, where has Isaac got to?

6.26pm: Too late, Ian Smith has arrived. Are they trying to starve me as well as kill me?

6.30pm: Marching band strolls through the hotel and a note is delivered from Tana saying sorry. This is outrageous, not only won’t he apologise but now he’s trying to deafen me! Start making book notes on the incident using hammer and stone. You never know what chemicals they put in the paper in these parts.

6.32pm: Realise with horror that the chisel is sharp. Resort to using a disinfected dictaphone.

7pm: Video review session. Point out to the whole team the vicious illegal tactics used by the All Blacks such as tackling, rucking, mauling, and scrumming. Ronan faints yet again and Peter Stringer appears to have fled the room in terror.

7.01pm: After a brief search we found that Stringer had been mistakenly used to sit the computer and projector on.

7.10pm: We practice yelling and screaming while one of the trainers puts on a Black jersey and pretends to make lineout calls. I refrain from waving my arms in this session to avoid putting out my shoulder.

7.10.10pm: Isaac Boss brushes his arm against my hip. Reflexes take over and I dive and sprawl out on the floor, beseeching the referee to send off Boss and calling for a liver surgeon.

7.30pm: Team session over. Stroll out into hotel lobby… one of the staff over there looks suspiciously like Kevin Mealamu.

7.30.02pm: Cowering behind a pot plant before being rescued by Paul O’Connell.

8pm: Join drinks session with team prior to catching a movie together. Refuse to have a drink as pre-game our alcohol content has to be kept relatively low, and pure alcohol is the only drink I can be sure is free of germs.

8.10pm: While idly changing channels I discover that Air Crash Investigations is on. Furiously take notes for possible survival tips and decide to never fly with Aeroflot.

8.30pm: Movie is starting.

8.32pm Its Alive! No, the name of the movie, perilous death everywhere, I feel quite at home.

9.00pm: Humph it’s about a pathetic bunch of Argentinean rugby players whose plane crashes in the Andes and they’re forced into cannibalisation in order to survive. Bah and they make a drama about this – it’s not like any of them were viciously spear tackled. Must launch a call with my agent to see if we can stretch the first 46 seconds of the Lions test and Sir Clive’s subsequent press conferences into a 3 hour epic of TRUE survival. In fact, come to think of it we might have to trim down Sir Clive’s press conference to make sure we can fit in the 46 seconds of footage...

9.15pm: In a state of wild excitement I reach for the phone to call my agent without the use of tongs, and have to spend the next 45 minutes in shower furiously cleaning myself. Spend a further 15 minutes drip-drying as I refuse to use a towel in this backward nation. Far too much wool from disease infested sheep in them. I’m no fool, I’ve seen the news reports about mad cow disease in the UK and a number of Hollywood movies which all say how easy it is for viruses to cross the species barrier.

10.15pm: Catch the end of the movie – immediately request that all the white sheets be removed from the bed in case I wake up in the middle of the night and think that I’ve been engulfed in an avalanche.

10.30pm: Dear God!! That Tana’s a madman!! He’s sent a large bouquet of flowers and a card!! Doesn’t he know that the pollen could cause a massive allergic reaction and imminent death!! The thorns could prick me and cause all sorts of diseases to enter in through to open wound, and I’d also stand a good change of bleeding to death. I dispose of the card without opening it, no doubt it’s a letter bomb. Bastard still hasn’t apologised and seems to only delve further into his fanatical plan to kill me.

10.35pm: Place call to the SIS agents I’ve got tracking Kevin Mealamu’s movements. Currently he’s in bed resting for the game tomorrow, but I just think he’s biding his time waiting to strike. Request that Paul O’Connell is made to sleep in the hallway yet again to ward off any attackers.

10.40pm: About time to go to bed one supposes, hopefully not my death bed but one can never tell in these backward foreign nations. Delighted to see the polystyrene suit that I recently ordered has arrived in case I fall out of bed and break my neck. Death is everywhere you know.

10.45pm: Drift off into fitful sleep after taking half a bottle of codeine.

10.55pm: ARRGAHHHHH, falling, FALLING! DEATH IS EVERYWHERE!!!!

daveirl

This post has been deleted.

Downtime

Quite possibly

youcancallmeal

meh...

Chucky the tree

haha briliant.

Crash

It'd be good if it wasnt so ****ing long - whoever it was decided to rant for waaaaay too long to get the joke across

PAIMEI

Thats the greatest load of s***e I've ever read. Fair enough O Driscoll made the most of the tackle to further book sales and made a bit of an arse of himself while doing so but to suggest he's some sort of nervous windy clown is a bit much. Hes the best centre in the world at the minute, I'd understand it if he was a useless tackler or was prone to avoiding the rough stuff but he's not. Am I missing something.. maybe I just needed a monday morning rant..

Tyrone Boy

PAIMEI wrote:

Thats the greatest load of s***e I've ever read. Fair enough O Driscoll made the most of the tackle to further book sales and made a bit of an arse of himself while doing so but to suggest he's some sort of nervous windy clown is a bit much. Hes the best centre in the world at the minute, I'd understand it if he was a useless tackler or was prone to avoiding the rough stuff but he's not. Am I missing something.. maybe I just needed a monday morning rant..

Here I wouldn't worry about that. That's just typical kiwi "Handbags Stuff"!!!!
As if they'd a leg to stand on :rolleyes: