Coming out of the tunnel in Thomond Park I saw they had the banner draped across it. The one that says, Go On Bull Tis Your Field. It's fairly well known at this stage, I suppose. I have no idea who came up with that nickname. Some people address me as John. Some use the full handle when they're greeting me: 'John Hayes'. The English and Welsh lads on a Lions tour would call me 'Hayesie'. But an awful lot of people call me 'Bull'. Friends, strangers, team-mates. 'Howya, Bull.'

I never minded. I actually liked it, and it became second nature a long time ago now. I didn't have the nickname when I was at Bruff or Shannon. It only started when I moved onto the Munster scene. But I can't for the life of me remember how it started or who started it. It caught on fairly quick anyway, and took on a life of its own. I presume it's farming-related in some way or other. It might have had something to do with my build too. I suppose, realistically, no one was ever going to nickname me 'Greyhound' anyway.

The week after I retired I received the regular group text that goes out to all the players from the Munster office. It would have our itinerary for the week laid out.

Monday morning, a weights session with the Limerick-based lads in UL, about 90 minutes in total. The Cork-based players would do their weights session in Cork Institute of Technology. Lunch and then off to Mitchelstown for a full meeting of the squad. Mitchelstown was more or less a halfway house between Limerick and Cork, and in recent years a local hotel there was being used as a venue for squad meetings. The Monday meeting would be a review of the match at the weekend. Forwards would look at the performance of the set-piece, backs would look at various moves and patterns. Problems would be analysed, and we'd plan to address them in training that week.

Tuesdays the Cork boys would travel up to UL for a full day's work. We'd spend the morning indoors. The upcoming match would be previewed; we'd have information on the opposition. Forwards would have a lineout meeting and a scrum meeting; backs would have a meeting on the specific parts of their game. Lunch then, and out onto the pitch in the afternoon. The heavy work would be done Tuesday afternoons, practising defence and attack against live opposition; scrums, line-outs, tackling drills, defensive drills, breakdown drills.

Wednesday was a recovery day; you'd have a swimming pool session to alleviate the usual soreness, stiffness and bruising.

Thursday mornings the Limerick lads would travel to Cork. The forwards would finalise their lineout moves for that weekend and make sure everyone was up to speed on the calls. The backs would be wrapping up their stuff at a meeting too. Then a light session on the field for an hour or so, followed by lunch, and that would be it for the day.

Friday was travelling day if we had an away game, with a chartered flight from Shannon Airport to Cork Airport to pick up the lads there, or vice versa. Then on to England, France or wherever. Otherwise Friday was a full day off. Complete rest and plenty of water. Saturday you went into match mode. On Monday morning, repeat the process.

That was your working life, more or less, as a pro rugby player. The game itself only took up one day. The rest was your daily reality and took up most of your career. People would say it was a life of leisure, and I suppose it'd be hard to argue, compared to a lot of other jobs. You couldn't but say it was a nice way to make a living. But it was a serious business too, and it got more serious as the years went on. And if you had to face into those weights sessions every week, you mightn't consider it too leisurely. They were fairly gruelling. The games themselves, you were getting a fair old hammering any time you took to the field. You were guaranteed to be hurt and sore.

But the truth is, I'd have done it all for free. We all would, or most of us anyway. When I started out I was looking at a career hopefully as a serious amateur, like the GAA players nowadays. I never dreamed I would one day make it my livelihood. But then almost overnight the game turned professional, and I happened to be around when it started. It was the luck of being in the right place at the right time. I jumped on board just as the train was pulling out of the station.

The first week I got the group text I read it, more or less out of habit. A week later I got the next one and glanced down through it. The third week I didn't even open it. I had moved on. I wasn't missing the daily grind, not even a small bit. Then they stopped sending them.

At the start of February the Ireland squad was getting ready for their first game of the 2012 Six Nations campaign. It was always a hugely exciting time of the year. I loved the buzz and the energy coming into the Six Nations. And standing in line for the national anthem was a thrill and an honour that never diminished. I got the shivers and the emotions every single time the music started.

The first match was against Wales. I watched it at home and felt a few pangs as the lads stood in line for the anthems. It was a slight feeling of loss, I suppose, and regret that I'd never get to do it again. But at the same time, a few days earlier I'd watched the sports news on television one evening and they were doing a report on the build-up to the match. They showed pictures of the lads going through their drills in training, hitting the tackle bags and rehearsing their moves. And I thought to myself, 'Oh, Jesus, no. Couldn't go through that again. Couldn't face that again.' I was gone from rugby, in body and soul.

Between the farm and the family I'm looking forward to a long and contented life. I was steeped to get out of the game without any of the injuries that could affect the quality of your life in later years. Lots of fellas who played my position ended up needing operations on their shoulders or neck or back. The worst I can complain of is a bit of stiffness. I never needed an operation, I never missed more than a couple of weeks with injury. I'm convinced it was because I came late to the game. I hadn't suffered wear and tear while I was still developing. I had physically matured before I started taking the hits and the impacts. It helped me last longer in the game, and I was better able to absorb the punishment.

I don't think I'll go coaching rugby teams. If either of us is going to be a coach, it'll more likely be Fiona. She did three years as coach to the Munster women's team before the kids came along.

But I still would like to give something back, probably on an individual basis. I could definitely see myself doing something like that. If Bruff were to come to me with a promising young prop forward, I would like to help him in his development. A lot of people helped me. He wouldn't have to be a local lad either. If a player from a non-rugby background wanted advice on the game, I'd be happy to pass on whatever I know. Because I know from personal experience that it's harder when you're coming to it from the outside. I'd like to tell him that it doesn't matter if he didn't go to the right school, or didn't grow up in the tradition. Rugby is a great game to play, and it can open up a new world for you too. You can live it and enjoy it. It doesn't matter where you come from or who you are.

* * * * *

Before that first Six Nations game in 2012 I got a text from Donncha O'Callaghan. He was checking in, seeing how I was doing. In fairness, it was very nice of Donners, I suppose, very thoughtful, quite sensitive. I texted him back: 'Sorry, don't recognise the number, who is this? When I retired I deleted a lot of numbers I wouldn't need again. Yours is obviously one of them!' I got a fair mouthful back from him.

I decided to make a clean break once I packed it in. Part of that was making a conscious decision not to wear a tracksuit. I haven't worn a tracksuit since I retired. I'm a civilian now, I suppose you could call it. I'll probably wear one around the house at some stage, because they're comfortable to relax in of an evening. But I won't be caught dead in a Munster or Ireland tracksuit in public. I never would've done it much anyway. I have a stack of them at home but they won't see the light of day. Being a Munster or an Ireland player isn't my identity anymore.

I will meet my former team-mates many times I'm sure in the years to come. I'm more likely to meet the Munster lads, but I'll steer clear of them while they're in Munster mode. I've a fair idea where they'll be most days and there's no danger of me running into them. There's a restaurant in Castletroy where we used to go for lunch most days. I like to go there myself any time I'm in Limerick, but if I know there's a chance that ten or 12 of them will be in there, I'll go somewhere else. The first thing they'd do is slag the arse off me anyway. They'll have finished a weights session that morning or a video review or an afternoon pitch session. That's their world now, not mine.

Some of those lads, I played with them through thick and thin. I'll watch their games on television and wish them well. For the moment though, I'd prefer to meet them in a different setting, just socially, without any of the rugby baggage. It's a clean break from the environment, not from the individuals.

And when we do meet up in the years to come, I suppose we'll still be taking the mick and slagging each other and having plenty of laughs. Between us all we've a fair few yarns and stories and comical moments stacked up at this stage. That should keep us going for a while.

We'll be talking about our kids and life in general, like ordinary friends do. I certainly won't be talking about the '06 Heineken final or the Grand Slam or some famous night when we did great things in Thomond Park. I won't be hanging onto that. It's done, it's over. It's up to others to assess whatever legacy we managed to leave behind us, for Munster and Ireland.

Sunday Indo Sport