Graphic: Final line-ups

There have been many times in the past four years when none of this — me, fit and about to play in a second World Cup final — seemed likely. When I came back from the last World Cup, I said it was a stepping-stone to the next one, that 2003 was not enough, that I wanted to do it again. Two or three years later I had pretty much crossed that thought out of my book. Instead I was immersed in feelings that I was struggling to deal with.

It is a fantastic honour, albeit an unlikely one, to be here today. But a lot has changed to get me here, which I will try to explain.

A nutshell example of what has been going on in my life was the captaincy. I was made captain of England three years ago. It was a massively exciting prospect. I did all the press stuff with huge enthusiasm — and I think I may have officially held the title for more than a year without making it on to the field.

When the captaincy was taken away, I got to thinking: “What is the point of all this enthusiasm and desire if I have no say in what’s happening?” I was watching the captaincy drift away, having not even had the opportunity to have any input or accountability. It just came and went. It was like my career, coming and going without my having the remotest influence. Where I wanted it to go seemed irrelevant.

The injuries I had were sometimes deep-rooted. I tore my groin, for instance, in a match against London Irish. Three-and-a-half months later I was still having herbal anti-inflammatory injections — nine a week, three every other day — and suddenly a specialist was telling me it was something to do with my back. It just wasn’t simple.

Before November 22, 2003, I felt I had a say in where I was going, but suddenly I’d lost any element of control. I’d be watching great new players like Toby Flood come through and thinking: “This is getting too much.”

So, for much of the past 3½ years I’ve been dealing with emotions that I didn’t understand. I couldn’t understand how I could sit there with all these thoughts going through my mind. Nothing was going the way I wanted it to and I was thinking: “I can’t deal with feeling like this, I can’t deal with my mind putting me through this.”

That made me stop and address. I couldn’t deal with my mind. The key for me, therefore, was understanding that the mind is something you have to gain control over.

I spent a lot of time on this with Steve Black, one of my main influences at Newcastle Falcons, and I have read massively into it. Some of my reading was business-related, about the principles of successful living, some of it is understanding the brain and how it works and quite a lot has been more philosophical. I have, for example, learnt a lot from the doctrines of Buddhism.

Don’t get me wrong. Don’t think: “Jonny’s now a Buddhist.” I am not. I have just been finding a direction, learning different ways of looking at life and taking bits I could use and discarding bits I could not. It has taken me everywhere. Even down to the basics of how to relax, looking at meditation or better sleeping.

The Buddhist principles have been fascinating and there were shared principles from writers such as Robin Sharma and Deepak Chopra. How does all that impact on a game of rugby? I can’t answer that. All I know is it’s enough to help me to proceed in a way that makes me happy enough to go out there and be proud of who I am and what I hope I can bring to this team.

Undoubtedly, as the magnitude of this World Cup has risen and my expectations with it, I have slipped back into the mould I thought I was out of, worrying about things I cannot control.

In fact, as good an example of living for the moment, accepting what is happening around me and trying not to worry, is the very game itself. I will go out there for the World Cup final today stuffed with nerves and the anxiety to do well. But there is a saviour; I find solace in the whistle going because my mind is then living in the moment.

The problem for me has always been worrying about what I did in the past, analysing everything and then concerning myself with what may happen in the future. The course of a rugby match is one of the few times in my life when all that is lost — you are living each second, you are using your brain, but it is so intense. You are working on instinct, you have not got time to think. The mind clears itself. Being in the game is the epitome of living in the moment.

So it will be a blessing when that whistle goes this evening. And it has been suggested to me that it would be an awesome achievement if we win, but I just can’t allow myself to think that way now, I can’t think beyond today. Because if we lose, all we have done so far here means nothing.

Think of the heroes I had in sport: Boris Becker and Michael Jordan, for instance. How would we judge Becker if he had never won again after 1985? Or Jordan if he had lost all those NBA Finals and not won them?

All we have achieved here is a lot of work, no tangible success. I’m trying to think for the moment right now; turning my mind to the consequences of them is not the right place for me to go.