What do the words pressure and pain mean to you? Last week I had to reassess some of my perspectives. I had to get 1,000 words out in 25 minutes literally two minutes after the game ended and make perfect sense of a match that wasn't decided until the last second of the game. God bless my gentle soul – I think that's pressure. I do not know what pressure is.

Last week on an unlit, carpeted stairwell at two o'clock in the morning I put my full weight, in bare feet, on my son's Thomas the Tank Engine which had been left on the fifth step. It was hard to believe how a metal object of less than three by one inches could cause such excruciating pain. Do I know about pain? I haven't got a rasher's.

I have played in three separate World Cup quarter-finals, a Heineken semi-final and a few Five Nations championship matches with various degrees of pressure attached. In all those matches there was expectation, team responsibility and pressure – at test level there is always pressure. The steely hand of pressure weighed on your crown pressing for deliverance. I am not qualified to speak about the pressure that was put on the team that took the field in Cardiff last week, only those who played can tell you, because no team from this island has ever had to cope and compete against it before. Collectively they dealt with it and jumped onto a new plane. The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible. Four million people held their breath as metamorphosis took place in an arena as unforgiving as any in the sporting or unsporting world as champions crystallised. None of us know that pressure.

If Stephen Jones had clipped that last kick over the bar, an inexpressible sporting agony would have left your sporting soul scarred for life. But God was good and Ireland prevailed. But we have no concept of pain. As a rugby nation it would have taken generations to try to heal. The unspoken thought of a loss at the death.

Wales came second because Ireland were coached by a man who was shaking hands with the touch judges somewhere in the back field when his team were celebrating. Fast Eddie would have been lifting both trophies over his head before crowd-diving the west stand where all the Irish fans were situated.

A little parable about Deccie to illustrate maybe why Ireland prevailed. Years ago I played in an annual fixture against Dolphin RFC. The man wearing the number 12 shirt was Declan Kidney. A most unlikely looking centre, he looked exactly like he looks now: balding, a little pudgy and no pace. We'd send some artillery down his channel, myself included. As the game took its course it became obvious to me that he never missed a tackle. It also struck me that his twin brother was playing as well. The two of them did a huge amount of covering, tackling, support work and chasing. The guy in the centre – although he had no pace – could pass pretty well, always seemed to be on the ball, could distribute well, always seemed to do the right thing at the right time and got on the score-sheet regularly. I never found out what position his twin brother played in. Here was a guy who didn't look the part and didn't have the pace but played to 95 per cent of his maximum ability every time he took the pitch. He outperformed against his opposite number every game and never let himself or his teammates down.

His secret ingredient has been his ability to pass his playing DNA on to his players and purely encourage them to get the best out of themselves – can you name someone who played badly in the whole series of five games?

The England, Scotland and Wales games were horribly close – is it a coincidence that he manages to pip them every time? Ireland won in Cardiff because they have exerted and coped with pressure better than their opponents. Unfortunately for Wales their most consistent player and one of the nicest fellas in their squad failed to deal with pressure, when for all the world all he had to do was execute something he does a hundred times a day.

Two minutes from half-time Luke Fitzgerald accidentally ran in front of Ronan O'Gara near the halfway line. At no stage was Fitzgerald crossing or running a lead block. The sanction for accidental off-side is a scrum to the opposition – Digger Barnes decided to give Wales a full penalty 49 metres from Ireland's posts. The ball was given to Stephen Jones. A six-point lead going down the tunnel would be nice. Auto-routine time, just like his kicking coach Neil Jenkins. Jones places the ball at a 45° angle on the tee with the axis/cap of the ball the first point of contact. The other axis/cap is pointed directly between the posts. Jones walks back, takes three steps to the side, studies the kick, lets his arms drop and takes a five-step run straight to the ball. It's not a slow, deliberate run like O'Gara's, Jones actually accelerates into the kick. The 49-metre penalty was beautifully struck. As the Welshman side-footed the ball his right leg was absolutely rigid, it just brushed the grass as the contact came with ball and his right leg followed through and across his body – leg still straight. The good golf shot requires that you follow through and bring the club up over the shoulder. Jones struck the ball wonderfully, his timing was sweet and the ball travelled in reverse mode, end over end. As it travelled when it broke the plane over the posts it was four metres higher than the posts. If it had been a 56- to 57-metre kick it would have gone over. Wales led 6-0 at half-time. Jones was kicking well.

Fate decreed that in the 79th minute Paddy Wallace, who when he woke up on Saturday morning found that his brain was working as usual, but would suffer a brain-fart at about 7.30pm later that evening, and concede what would be a fateful but not fatal penalty. The ball was 48 metres away from the Irish posts, a metre less than Jones' second penalty kick. Auto routine time again. Pace back, three steps to the left, five steps accelerating into the ball and bosch over she flew but she didn't make it.

What happened? Why didn't it go over? All sorts of theories. At 7.30pm the air was a lot colder and the ball wouldn't travel as far, he got under it a bit and it went too high etc. Skills breakdown under pressure and Jones' technique failed him at a moment of absolute need. His kick was, in golfing parlance, like a punch shot. He tried to steer it through the posts, the leg was straight but it didn't follow through – he was never going to get the required distance. His leg never came across his body. To illustrate how badly he kicked it the ball travelled in forward mode end over end, a sure sign that he had got it wrong.

Jones got his kick from 49 metres in the first half because he knew he had another 40 minutes to go. When he was handed the ball for his fifth penalty he knew it was the last kick of the game with a match to be decided. Then Shakespeare whispered into his ear, "our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt". Jones' technique failed him because pressure brought doubt to his mind.

Old juggy's tug of consolation scarcely concealed his look of disdain. Jenkins would have nailed it but he wasn't taking the kick. It was his pupil and in the white-hot furnace of competitive test rugby pressure tells and there is nowhere to hide. A thousand barefooted Thomas the Tank engine stampings wouldn't come close to the agony Jones felt after the game.

How was it so close? Unless you were watching it through the eyes of Stephen Jones' of the Sunday Times. Ireland should really have pulled away in the second half. Digger Barnes had a part to play in this drama. Readers will know that this column hasn't got an awful lot of love for referees – I've always thought that their ideal weight should be about 3kg… including the urn.

I have always felt that a fair penalty ratio for an away team is to concede just under twice as many penalties as the home side. A ratio of three to one – well, there has to be an inquiry. Anorak that I am, I counted them and it was 15 to five against Ireland.

It has to be said that Wales were very good at the breakdown and their discipline was excellent in pressure situations. Ireland gave away some really stupid penalties – O'Callaghan in the 48th and unbelievably, 49th minute. That said, I was always of the impression that a foot or ankle trip was a yellow card and I've never seen Martyn Williams play and not commit less than five or six penalty offences and not get pinged even once.

The penalty count against Ireland in the second half was eight-to-one against. I just have this overwhelming feeling that Digger was only refereeing one side. Wales, particularly Ryan Jones, were offside all day against a team that were bringing the game to them. I just hope he can reverse the count when Munster are playing Ospreys in the Heino in Thomond in a few weeks time.

Fair's fair Digger.

nfrancis@tribune.ie