Saturday, April 28, Worcester Warriors versus Harlequins will be my last game as a professional rugby player — if selected. Two dozen of my extended family are flying in from Cork so there will be discontent in the stands if the name D O’Callaghan isn’t somewhere on the centre spread of the match programme!

But this is elite sport, not The Mighty Ducks. Some players get the Hollywood send-off but most of us exit through the side door, the eyes of the crowd on the next generation, not you. That’s OK, though. It’s the cycle of sport, of life itself, and I leave this game with a profound sense of gratitude for all it’s given me. I barely know where to start in that regard,