Independent, The (London): RUGBY UNION: Humphreys perfects the art of kicking the critics into

THE BRUISE beneath his right eye is no more than a slate-grey smudge now. David Humphreys blithely dismisses the mark. Can't even identify the culprit. "Someone wearing blue," he shrugs impassively. There were so many jarring hits in the game against France, the players just felt like pack-horses in a tunnel. Heads down, backs aching.

All day, the French played in their faces, ball and man arriving simultaneously. Humphreys spent the afternoon trying to find a glade in the forest. But there was nothing.

He ended the game with an eye ringed in charcoal and an arm in a sling. Just superficial stuff, though. International rugby is a house of hard knocks and the outside-half sits in the front porch. Humphreys survived against France. No more, no less. He wasn't the man-of-the-match, though, surprisingly, he got the gong. But neither was he in trouble.

Things have been said and written since that may imply otherwise. That comes with the shirt. Some in the media don't rate Humphreys as an international out-half. They say he kicks too much, sits too deep and tackles limply. Humphreys swears he no longer reads newspapers but it's hard to avoid their content when you exist in a 30-man capsule.

Ronan O'Gara would probably have the No 10 jersey today in Cardiff but for Brett Sinkinson's indelicate use of studs in the Celtic League final seven weeks ago. O'Gara's injury put Humphreys in the paddock and he has, since, mixed the brilliant with the tawdry.

Not brilliant enough to douse the Irish outside-half debate. Not tawdry enough to justify O'Gara's re-selection. He knows that. Funny thing, he always knows. He has two eyes, two ears and enough intellect to be in possession of a law degree. And he is also bluntly honest.

You had a pretty ropey first 10 minutes in Rome, David. "Absolutely." So how did you bring yourself round? "It wasn't so much a ropey 10 minutes as one passage of play where I made three mistakes." Three in one movement? "Yeah and the third one was dropping the ball. I remember just looking across at Stringer [Peter] and thinking to myself, `Right, I've been here before. This is not going to happen'. I just concentrated on doing the basics for the next five minutes. Stopped trying for the 50-metre kick or the 30- metre pass.

"Just got myself back into it. And I got a couple of lucky breaks, like the ball bouncing kindly for me into touch." He is not painting himself as a modern-day Barry John. Humphreys' career has been a spiral of extremes. One day, his world is filled with the sound of larks, the scent of honeysuckle. The next it is all smoke and sirens.

He gets on easily with O'Gara, both men slightly distanced from the debate now fizzing about their respective talents. The O'Gara supporters argue that he takes the ball closer to the advantage line. That, in doing so, he draws the opposition cover. That he creates room for his centres. In layman's terms, they argue that O'Gara would be better for Brian O'Driscoll. And that is a beguiling argument.

Humphreys' backers see more certainty in his pragmatism. He sits in the pocket, picking methodically at the opposition. Humphreys closes out games, O'Gara hacks them open. Humphreys plays percentages, O'Gara spins the roulette wheel. Caricature polarises and sometimes, in Humphreys' case, demonises.

Paul Dean, Ireland's outside-half for the Triple Crown win of '85, is disdainful of the populist line. He is a fan of O'Gara's and would - were both players fully match-fit - side with the Cork Con man for the Irish shirt. But Dean believes Humphreys is the right man for Cardiff and suggests that questions about his tackling are misplaced. "To tarnish somebody with a brush like that just doesn't work for me," says Dean. "When people say that Humphreys can't tackle, I don't accept it. It's completely over- stated. I believe that, if Ronan played in Cardiff, you might see a very exciting game. But, if you want to be methodical and clinical about it, David Humphreys is the man. Now, if you ask me who I'd like to play against England though, I'd be inclined to say O'Gara."

So step into the world of Ireland's current outside-half. Humphreys' detractors paint a picture of someone slightly grey, slightly cautious, slightly brittle. Mister Safe. The wonder is that he doesn't arrive for the interview wearing a scrum-cap. Actually, Humphreys is a hugely warm, engaging man who betrays little apparent distaste for those inclined to judge him spitefully.

He did, briefly, refuse to speak to RTE television prior to the French game after one studio panelist over-stepped the boundaries of fair comment. But it's forgotten now. "I've been playing senior rugby for 13 years now," he smiles. "And, in that time, I've had as much criticism as I've had praise. So it doesn't bother me."

Humphreys never imagined he would get this far in rugby. He grew up just outside Ballymena, devoted to every sport his dad George would challenge him with in the back garden of their home. When David lists the people who have influenced his career most, former Ireland and Lions centre - Mike Gibson - always figures high. But no-one shaped his love of sport more profoundly than George Humphreys.

David doubts if his father has missed a handful of the games he has played since taking up rugby at the age of 12. In his childhood, the back-garden was a window on the world. One day, it might be Anfield. The next day Wimbledon. After that, maybe Windsor Park.

His earliest sporting memory is actually of being at Windsor for a Home International football game in which England beat Northern Ireland 5-1. It was at grammar school, Ballymena Academy, that Humphreys found rugby. He played his first season at inside centre - "can't imagine anything worse now" - but soon found his niche at No 10. Humphreys developed fast, captaining the Irish schools to a Triple Crown in 1990, scoring 19 points in the '95 Varsity match for Oxford and winning his first senior cap for Ireland in February of 1996. That came in the Parc des Princes and resulted in a 45-10 drubbing. Quite a baptism.

Two weeks ago there was pain of a different sort in Dublin as the French chose to stand on Humphreys toes. Serge Betsen especially. They made it tight and they made it primal. Humphreys missed some tackles and made some. He chanced few breaks. The sceptics howled with disapproval. They thought they saw him hide. He re-traces the game with easy candour. "The pressure coming from their inside defence was probably the greatest that I've ever felt on a rugby field," he reveals. He is painfully aware of the tone glazing the bulk of the criticism. One driven by that illusion of timidity. "For me, rugby has changed totally," says Humph-reys. "When I first started, I didn't like the physical side. But it's something I've enjoyed much more as I've got older. Probably because you're forced to."

Like every one of his colleagues, the Irish outside-half has never lost a game in Cardiff. On each of his last two visits, he has accumulated a personal tally of 19 points. The statistics make him wary. He mentions England's experience of being held virtually scoreless at Twickenham by Italy for an hour as a kind of reality check.

Wales, today, are coming from a place Humphreys understands. He knows what it is to fight the shadow of a Championship whitewash. He has been among those who dined on the fabled wooden spoon.

Here, after all, is a man on intimate terms with the twin imposters of triumph and failure. Remember, he played in Lens that awful night Ireland tumbled out of the 1999 World Cup. Lens was the low-point of his career. He can't remember enduring a deeper sense of under-achievement anywhere. The World Cup, he says, is "unfinished business," for the Irish.

Still, he knows his blessings. That night in Lens, Humphreys could not have imagined he would still be playing competitive rugby in 2003, let alone marshalling the international team in pursuit of a possible Grand Slam. Seven years ago, on his debut, a team-mate told him never to let these occasions pass him by. And he doesn't. "When you're standing there, looking around a big stadium like the Millennium, you really realise how privileged you are.

"So, whenever there's a lull in a game, I always like to just take the whole thing in." He is on his feet now and heading for the stairs. "A prediction?," you venture limply. "Put it this way," he smiles. "I'd rather win a terrible game 3-0, than lose 54-55 in the greatest game ever seen." The right man in the right place.

Vincent Hogan is the Chief Sports Feature Writer of The Irish Independent