From purely a rugby perspective it was hard to gauge the man. I figure that I had a better understanding of him than he of me . . . hard to reconcile that when he was the sports psychologist. Jimmy did not have a successful tenure; his Ireland teams played 16, lost 11 and won five.

Wales (2), Scotland, Italy and Western Samoa being pretty much standard fare in the 'W' column for a coach of that time.

All the obits made mention of the fact that he was ahead of his time and a rugby prophet. It is true that the IRFU did not really fully back the coach either financially or accede to his requests for more resources or properly promote the provinces. This certainly did hamstring his ambition and fuelled a gnawing disillusionment as his teams failed.

His understanding of the game was spot-on.

He was an intelligent and articulate commentator.

He was a good motivator and projected his ideas with a good blend between the head and the heart.

He succeeded with Ulster but he failed with Ireland, principally because he couldn't convince the majority of the players that what he had for them was the way forward, he isolated many of them before he isolated himself. I think that when your career ends a mature retrospective will tell you that you certainly could have done things better. He knew that too, I don't think he would have been a good head coach in the professional era either.

Too much Corinthian inside.

I do regret that we never understood each other, that there was never any positive energy and that some of my experiences with him reached into the twilight zone.

In 1986 I was selected to play on the Ireland under-25 XV against Canada. There was a long lead-in time to this game. In the interim my father passed away and I was whisked off to the Greek islands for grief therapy: 20 tequila slammers a night, fall over, go to bed and do it all again the next night. Standard fare for a gormless 22year-old. I managed to fall over a cliff, break a bone in my thumb and split my head while on that holiday. When I flew back from Athens Jimmy wasn't impressed, but insisted that no matter what happened I would be playing in that match. He located a boxing glove and I trained with this for two days. Prior to the match I had a local anaesthetic and strapped up my right hand. The anaesthetic wore off after about 50 minutes and it was agony. Ireland won handy, Jimmy came into the dressing room with a "well played, cub". I proffered my left hand which was refused and he grabbed my right hand and shook it vigorously. I hit the roof, pushed him off and let him know what I thought of him. Didn't see Jimmy D for two years in between the 1987 World Cup and an extended stay in Australia.

In 1988, we had our very own tour de France . A number of the senior guys didn't go but it was still a strong squad.

The itinerary didn't look too demanding so off we went.

We were to play a Basque selection in Biarritz for the opener. Didn't recognise any names. It wouldn't be that difficult and we should put them away easily, or so we thought.

I got picked at five and was walking the pitch before the game when I was interrupted by Jimmy D. The encounter was the most bizarre of my rugby career.

"Neil, Niall, Frano, whatever your name is. I want to tell you something: I don't like you, I don't like your attitude, I don't rate you as a player, I didn't want to select you for this tour. I wouldn't have picked you to go to the World Cup. I'm disappointed that you have become a senior international."

I was waiting for the challenge to come to prove him wrong, but it never did. We got wiped by a Basque side that scored when they felt like it. I didn't play well.

We travelled to Auch to play an Armagnac-Bigorre selection. The squad was rotated and announced. Ken Reid came running into the press room and grabbed the Irish team selection and tore it up.

Next he put down the Armagnac-Bigorre selection on the table . . . Blanco, Lagisquet, Sella. . . it was like the French team. Ireland's strongest side would have to be put out to try and limit the humiliation.

Ireland won by a point or two in one of the most dramatic upsets at international level. In a game of savage aggression and physical barbarity we faced them down and we were the last men standing as the final whistle blew. It was Jimmy D's best result as Ireland coach. It was far and away the best game I ever played in a green shirt, a complete performance. I got a phonecall from nearly every French first division club after the tour.

Jimmy D never said a word to me after the game.

The following Saturday we had to play them again. Near enough the same teams took the paddock. It was more of the same. Coming up to halftime the teams were no more than a few points away from each other. We had a line-out near the half-way line and as I went up one of the French props came in underneath me and up-ended me. As I was coming down I got a box or a knee on the side of the head. I landed from a height and lay unconscious on the ground as a fight developed. I was eventually stretchered off in a neck brace. A few minutes later I vomited my guts up and was taken to hospital.

My head was thumping as Jimmy D entered the room.

We'd lost, did I really have to leave the field? I got upset, then he said we'd talk again.

The French Barbarians were up next. I couldn't play for two to three weeks, but I was to tog out and assist with training. Carry water cans in the 30degrees heat. No problem. Eh, could I scrummage? A day out of hospital with concussion and he's asking if I could scrummage? Another argument.

Training lasted all day and myself and a few injured players were messing around with a few balls. A bet! Drop-goal from the half-way line. It sailed over . . . I didn't miss . . . a couple of hundred francs later, they gave up. Jimmy D came over, the squad were dispatched to the hotel. "Do that again, " he said. It went over, they kept going over. He asked me to punt the ball to touch, to get as much distance as I could. I was a big fella, I had a big boot on me and the ball spiralled into touch. Do it 20 times.

What was the point of all this? Well, I was going to be Ireland's new kicker. I was to kick all the penalties to touch.

There was a new penalty move which he had named quarterback where if Ireland were awarded a penalty, I was to get on the ball, tap it and zap it over to Keith Crossan on the far wing. I met Jimmy for a late lunch in La Rochelle the next day. I thought that this was madness. What would Mick Kiernan think if he was no longer Ireland's place-kicker . . . replaced by a donkey. I decided to say nothing and listen.

The lunch was good fun.

The coach had a sense of humour, his enthusiasm was infectious and he had a vision for the coming season. I had proved myself . . . the bad stuff was purely motivational and I would be the ball-winning cornerstone of his pack. I was also to practise my kicking over the whole summer and report to him. I went down to the club once, slotted about two out of 20 and skulked off fast in case I had the embarrassment of meeting someone. Early next season the Irish squad was announced and there was no place-kicking quarterback. The whole kicking thing was never mentioned again. I thought it was absolutely bizarre.

In the summer, Ireland toured Canada and the good old US of A. Socially, it was a great tour. We kicked off against BC in Vancouver. OK, maybe the local papers hadn't a rashers about the game but the two leading papers had given me man of the match . . .

one of them had turned up to do an interview which would focus on a line-out duel with the very able Norm Hadley and myself. Something was afoot though and I was dropped for the test. The hack went home empty-handed.

Jimmy came out with the classic line "you haven't been dropped, you've just been omitted". I wasn't able to fathom what was going on . . . was this more psychology or reverse psychology. Either way I couldn't take it and the list of discontented players began to grow.

The squads were brought up to Belfast and subjected to a battery of tests which never had any follow-up. There were no conclusions and players never got any notion on how to work to improve their weaknesses and maximise their strengths.

At one squad session we were instructed to take our tops off and someone videoed us sprinting past the camera . . . no one told us why we were doing this and there was no constructive follow-up.

A lot of Davidson's strategy was well intentioned but lacked substance. He could analyse a game brilliantly yet could not tell us how to apply this information to a game plan. If any new logic was imparted it changed at the next session.

One session we had was geared to playing the crowd.

When we got a penalty in the opposition half the whole team was to gesticulate to the crowd, wave their arms to get a buzz going and then all of us were to point to the sky. Then we would put a Garryowen (not kicked by me) into the air. The ploy was to put the fear of God into the opposing full-back. We spent hours in practice waving our hands to the empty stand and then kicking and chasing the ball. It never happened in a test match.

The team at this stage was going nowhere and a change came quickly. I felt sorry in the sense that although he had success with Ulster as a head coach he could never properly apply his knowledge on the international scene. Nowadays he could have been an excellent video analyst or clinic or specialist coach. His Ulster experience didn't translate effectively . . . no more than anyone who went before him.

It's unfortunate his talent and ability didn't prosper at the stage which mattered most for him.