Frankie Sheahan was looking down from the stand when the final whistle blew in Cardiff in May. He turned to former teammate Killian Keane and, as they embraced, the tears flowed.
It was a strange tangle of emotions. With the euphoria came relief. Now in his 10th season with Munster, Sheahan had been there for all the painful stuff — the missed penalty at Twickenham, the disallowed try in Lille, the back-hander in Cardiff four years ago, other games that dangled only to be whipped away. Not any more.
There was sadness, of course. And there was frustration. When Munster had finally completed the journey, he was a mere spectator, as he had been since injuring his neck the previous October. At the triumphant team’s Cork homecoming, one of the city’s worthies paid tribute to the former players who had played their part along the way — and Sheahan heard his name being called out after Peter Clohessy’s and Mick Galwey’s, and others long departed.
What he’d endured for six months wasn’t the normal frustration of being injured. This had felt like being held back against his will. He knew the rumours had been out there that he would never play again. He saw the pity in people’s expressions when they asked — as he puts it, “with their faces all scrunched up” — how he was coming along. Sometimes it was hard to remain patient.
In his gut, he was convinced his injury was nowhere near as serious as the medical opinion he was receiving in Cork or from the IRFU. He travelled to get second, third and even fourth opinions from renowned experts, who all told him they believed it was a short-term injury. But his employers insisted on a cautious approach. They even presented him with the option of walking away from the game.
“At one stage there was an insurance policy thrown down in front of me, by the IRFU, to kind of, ‘Take this and never play again,’ ” says Sheahan. “I suppose (this was based on) the information they were getting and I suppose doctors’ opinions do differ. They were only doing their job. But it infuriated me, y’know? The whole thing was just a nightmare. It really was.”
SHEAHAN started last season like someone who was aiming to make up for lost time. Two years earlier, his bid to replace the retiring Keith Wood as Ireland’s first-choice hooker was not exactly helped by testing positive for salbutamol. While a two-year ban was overturned, Sheahan had to endure a stressful three months out of the game.
Now the biggest obstacle was Shane Byrne, who had just returned from a Lions tour but was 34 and playing his rugby in the UK; at 29, and just a couple of weeks away from the November tests, Sheahan was well-set, until Munster played Sale at Edgeley Park on October 21.
At the first scrum, he felt a rick at the base of his skull, the sort that promised some stiffness the following morning. He played a full part in the match, collecting a try, a sin-binning and 10 staples to the head after a clash with Jason Robinson. He was in pain the following evening as he celebrated his engagement to girlfriend Norma Murphy but fully expected to be ready for the game against Castres in Limerick the following Saturday. He wasn’t. Instead, he was preparing to fly with his father to the Karlsbad-Langensteinbach clinic near Frankfurt for a consultation with Dr Jürgen Harms. Harms is generally regarded as the world’s leading authority on injuries to the C1, C2 vertebrae.
It transpired that Sheahan had torn alar ligaments, which play a critical role in the axial rotation of the head. The medics at Cork University Hospital believed his career was on the line. “One particular radiologist got a fright when he saw the scan,” says Sheahan. “Nearly straight away, his reaction was, ‘He’ll never play again.’ ” We can only imagine Sheahan’s state of mind as he sat with his scans waiting to see Dr Harms and only imagine his relief when the news was positive.
“It turns out Dr Harms had actually played some rugby at Oxford, so he had a knowledge of the sport,” says Sheahan. “He looked at the scans and said he could see what they (the medics at CUH) were talking about but that there was no problem. The injury needed to be rehabilitated with normal physio and I was to get the collar off immediately and get back into it. We shook hands with him. My dad said, ‘Are you sure?’ He gave us a 95% certainty, in writing, that he was totally happy with this. We came out and we celebrated with a pint. We came back, rang a few people and told them the good news, all excited.
“But I was called into the hospital at home a few days later and was told ‘No go’. I couldn’t understand it. I said, ‘You sent me over and this expert’s happy with it.’ But they wouldn’t sign off on it. The neurosurgeon said, ‘Let’s keep a collar on for six to eight weeks and we’ll see then.’ ” Six to eight weeks later, he was told pretty much the same thing. Sheahan had to reset his goals. Another month and a half later, he was disappointed again. In March, Conor McCarthy, the IRFU’s medical director, suggested a consultation with Ashley Poynton, another orthopaedic expert, based in Dublin. Sheahan got the news he wanted. Still the IRFU urged caution.
“I’d dozens of scans at this stage,” says Sheahan. “He’d a look at them and said, ‘I can’t see any problem here.’ There’s steam coming out my ears at this stage. I said, ‘That’s what Dr Harms said as well.’ He stopped for a second. ‘Dr Harms? You saw Dr Harms? He’s the best there is.’ It was as if he was saying, ‘What are you doing seeing me about it?’ So the wheels got in motion then.
“But it was all so frustrating. First, I just felt it wasn’t that serious. I wouldn’t be anyway stupid to go back playing if I didn’t think it was right. My health is the most important thing. Someone like Johnny O’Connor has had stingers, and lost the feeling down one side. If that was me, I don’t think I’d play again.
“Second, the top man in the world tells me it’s fine. But I wasn’t being allowed to move my neck at a time when I felt I should have been getting hands-on treatment. To be fair to Conor McCarthy, he came in at the end and got a grasp of the whole thing. Cameron Steele (the Ireland physio) and Gary O’Driscoll (team doctor) also got the whole momentum going, and they were eventually left with no choice.”
Also in March, Steele accompanied Sheahan to Luton, to meet Don Gatherer, formerly physiotherapist to the England rugby team and now a specialist in neck injury rehabilitation. After doing specially devised strength tests on the hooker’s neck, Gatherer also gave the green light. People raised eyebrows when Sheahan talked of returning for a Heineken Cup final but Sheahan was determined. So were his employers, however.
At one meeting towards the end of April, he sat down with McCarthy, the director of rugby, Eddie Wigglesworth, and the human resources director, Maurice Dowling.
They went through his options, which included a substantial six-figure payout if he retired through injury. The IRFU’s chief executive, Philip Browne, emphasises, however, that under no circumstances was the union trying to buy him off.
“That wouldn’t make any sense,” says Browne. “It’s in our interest to have Frankie back on the park but we have a duty of care towards our players. During our conversations with Frankie, we pointed out the implications of serious injury, all of the nuances, and all of the options. One of the options was that he might have to retire from the game. And in those circumstances, we have an insurance policy.
“Frankie did express his unhappiness with the opinion of the consultant we used. But there are no certainties in this, only probabilities. At the end of the day, it’s all worked out fine but the reality is we have to take a very responsible and what at times may seem a very conservative approach. If we took any other approach, and something went wrong, we would be castigated and rightly so.”
Not until July, a couple of weeks before his wedding, did Sheahan finally receive a letter from McCarthy passing him fit to take full contact. Up to then, there had been some scrummaging but only in a controlled environment. It seemed a contradiction in terms. He longed for a pure, full-on hit.
In the meantime, he worked at the track, and at the gym. He would wear a neck-harness with a metal chain connected to the dumbbells and they called him Hannibal. When his teammates went off on tour in June, he formed a training team with Jim Williams and professional kick-boxer Colin O’Shaughnessy, an old friend. Sheahan made sure that when the new season arrived he would be more than ready.
Last season was not easy, he admits. It is never good to be missing the year Munster conquer Europe and Ireland win a Triple Crown. When you add it to a catalogue of misfortune that began with a notorious head-butt in 2000, he could be understandably embittered. He is not. In fact, he exudes positive energy. “I still see myself as a very positive person,” he says. “I’ve gone through some sh*** y times but I’ll always back myself to come through the far side, especially with the friends and family I have. I’m blessed.
“Besides, this is only sport. There’s always a far worse story. I realised how much rugby meant to me when I was handed that insurance policy on the table. It was a lot of money.
“But I just wanted to be back playing rugby, just hitting rucks, tackling, flying around with a rugby ball, y’know? I’m not bitter and I hope I never will be. I’m 30 I’m hitting my peak. I’m going to give it holly for the next few years and I feel I have an awful lot left to give.”
His assertion is backed up by the stats. While he has 120-odd Munster caps, they’ve been spread over 10 and a bit seasons, which doesn’t amount to a high annual mileage. He had to pull out of last night’s game at Musgrave Park with a hamstring strain but expects to be tearing around Lansdowne Road next Friday and should be tearing around for some time to come.
When you add up all the controversies, he has more than enough material for a book. First, he just needs to write himself a happy ending.
