He hardly ever grabs the headlines, others such as Keith Wood do that. But when Wood had his contractual tiff with the IRFU last November, the SOS was duly sent out to Allen Clarke. Along he came, reliable as ever.

He's a pretty honest toiler, who's made the best of what he has. At 5ft 9in and just over 14 stone, Clarke is still small by modern rugby's gargantuan standards, and like most little guys he can be a feisty enough fella who's had to fight for what he's earned from the game. In the Ulster set-up, the manager John Kinnear calls him the Wee General.

Clarke's improved body shape over the last couple of years since turning professional shows how hard he has worked both on and off the pitch. With regard to the latter, Clarke is also generally regarded as an excellent team member and a good tourist. He takes an interest in, and is supportive of his team-mates in a way that possibly helps him sway 5050 selectorial decisions.

"I've been criticised for my size, and one thing and another, but I try to make up for that by working hard for others. I'm not the type of player who'll maybe make a 20-yard break, but I might create that for somebody else by working my nuts off to get to a ruck and clearing the ball away."

The epitome of the Ulster team and their work ethic then. Furthermore much of his best work is done in a destructive way. He is usually in at the coalface or on the dirt, either helping to tidy up his own team's ball or delay the opposition's, and is generally regarded as a good thinker - reading the game, adjusting tactically and varying the line-out calls. And though there have been the odd glitches this season, Clarke is considered a pretty good thrower - hence Ulster's smooth line-out. "There are always times when you look back and think `I could have done that or I could have done this', but having played for Ireland, and having played for Ulster and getting to big games at this level, I'm happy with how far I've gone."

Ask him what it is that makes him tick and he says: "I enjoy the competitiveness and I love winning. You can't do this for the rest of your life, so enjoy it while you're able to. I've always been competitive in whatever sport, be it individual or team sport. It's probably been a criticism of me. I get upset during Christmas party games and stuff like that."

Now 31, Clarke has possibly never had it so good. Though still to feel the full benefits of a return to his home-town club (he's only had three training sessions with Dungannon) playing and training professionally with an Ulster team in the last four of the European Cup would have been little short of a wild dream during his seven-year stint at Northampton.

Sounding a bit like a wily old pro - which, come to think of it, he's not far off being - Clarke says: "I think it's great from a personal point of view but also for the young boys in the Ulster team in their first year of professionalism. I think we've surprised a few people, although to be honest we've probably surprised ourselves as well."

Especially compared to the dark days of September when they went four games without a win - conceding over 30 points in each game.

"I remember being down in Cork after getting comprehensively beaten by Munster - we didn't really put up much resistance - and thinking: "Jeez, what have I come back to?' And then suddenly we went what I would call `more professional'."

Endorsing Harry Williams's verdict that the decision to train like pros during the day was the key, Clarke adds: "I think professionalism isn't just about training, it's about managing your time. It's about doing the little things better, time and time again. It's not about money. That includes managing your life. Whatever profession you're in, you also have a life outside that. Before that, we finished training at 12.00 and just hung about until 6.30. It wasn't really much of a life, and it's helped form a good togetherness."

Clarke, along with the other prodigals from the Allied Dunbar League in England, was credited with imbuing some of their professionalism into the Ulster squad, and it's still hard to believe that he was away seven years - longer than any of them.

Indeed, for a spell after his prodigious schools career, which included appearances for Ulster schools and the Irish schools, like so many others Clarke's senior career threatened to stall before it took off.

After a year with Dungannon, he went to Northampton University to study law and sociology, and "I sort of went AWOL for a couple of years" from rugby he explains. "I had an Achilles tendon injury and played a bit of soccer, believe it or not, for the university." He was a left-back, reviving some of the footballing skills which were utilised at back row and full-back. Occasionally, even now, you'll see Clarke unveil a little grubber up the blind side if it takes his fancy.

"I sort of lost a bit of interest in it (rugby)," he recalls, thinking back. "There were other things I was opening my eyes to, you know that sort of way."

At 22, he caught the bug again, joining Northampton in the days of John Olver and Wayne Shelford and spending seven years at Franklin's Gardens where he played in over 100 league games. To this day he still thanks Glenn Ross, then Northampton coach and now with Connacht, "for giving me my first break".

"It was a club with a lot of good history but sort of under-achieving. We could always pull a big one out of the pan but, a bit like Ulster, there was no consistency and that's something they seem to have developed this year."

Nevertheless, pulling on the green, black and gold of the Saints doesn't compare to "the sense of pride when you pull on an Ulster jersey. You're playing in front of people who know you, such as your family. It's a smaller area, people know more about you and you feel a sense of pride playing in front of them.

"I mean, pulling on a provincial shirt and an Irish shirt means more to the Munster, Leinster and Connacht boys than it does to be pulling on an English club shirt. And it should do, because that's where you come from. You're playing for your province, or your country, or your heritage."

Winning his first full cap, and second of eight, at home to Wales in 1996 remains the high point of his career, even if the build-up sounds as if it was anything but.

"I remember waking up at 6.00 in the morning and going out from the Berkeley Court for a walk and thinking to myself: `Jeez, I wish I could just go home now'. I just wanted to get away from the place. The fear of losing and not performing was churning me up inside. I just wanted to run home to Dungannon and see my folks. I'll always remember it," his voice almost trembling at the memory of it.

"And then in the changing rooms I couldn't get my boots right; I kept wanting to go to the toilet. Got onto the pitch and the first time I touched the ball all those nerves were gone and I loved it. But I'll never forget those feelings."

He has now qualified as a teacher, and is in the last year of a sabbatical from a teaching job in Northampton. He intends returning to teaching, although he hasn't decided where yet, and is thinking of doing so at the conclusion of his current IRFU contract at the end of the 1999-2000 season.

"I'm 31 now," he says, a tad too wearily. He also has a young Northampton-born wife of obvious Irish extraction, Kerry Maguire, and two young children to think of, Adrianne (three) and Alexander (six months).

"I think there comes a time when you have to judge what you can put into the game yourself and what the game takes out of you, yourself. I've got a career and family to think of as well, but having said that, it's nice being paid to do something you love."

Content enough with his lot then, there are still a few goals to achieve, such as promotion with Dungannon and more representative rugby with Ireland but, not surprisingly, it's hard to see much beyond today. "Obviously to win this Saturday, and have a European Cup final at Lansdowne. But we're not disillusioned by the fact that it's going to be a very, very difficult task."

Perhaps the least envied place in Ravenhill today will be in the front row, for that is where the French will unceremoniously draw the battle lines. "You never know what grip they're going to get on you next. It is a war zone in France and they put a lot of emphasis on their front five."

He'll give it loads, though.