Johnny Watterson talks to Leinster's Argentinian outhalf about his family and Irish influences.

He's not nervous, not even a little vexed. But he's being anticipating the first light Puma imprint on Irish grass since signing on for a life in Dublin. Now a long summer and a World Cup in the past, the moment to take his first step into the brotherhood of Leinster rugby is a cup of tea and a sandwich among the Portacabins at the back of the Old Belvedere club house.

Over the last three weeks his world has been turned, more around than upside down. The deeper wounds felt after Argentina's exit from Australia at the pool stages of the competition are between Felipe Contepomi and his team. Capably articulate to tell the harsh truth, he is also too diplomatic to offer anything other than a potted version of their World Cup story. Not reaching the goal of a quarter-final was a disappointment. Don't ask about the details.

"What I felt was sadness," he says. "We played with heart and passion. We had a good four years. The possibility of losing or winning was there. Four years ago we won. This time we were losers. We could have done better but I don't regret anything we did."

Contepomi is wrapped in the blue Leinster wet-weather gear for 2004. The World Cup makes him weary. Lost in the immediate geography of Anglesea Road in this his first visit, the excursion for the outhalf is a new departure but also an arrival at an almost familiar place, one he has visited through his education at the Irish Christian Brothers school, Cardinal Newman College, in Buenos Aires.

His exotic name belies a close association with Ireland, a cast-iron affection for the school and the images it gave him through 12 fond years with the Brothers. His rugby was fashioned on the fields of the 60-year-old Catholic college. Only his off-season tan distinguishes him from the students of the Holy Ghost Fathers, Jesuits and heathens of Leinster.

"I come from a big family," he says. "I was brought up in a double language school, an Irish school. I came from a rugby family but the school was the biggest influence. The headmaster there, Br John Burke, who is now in Ireland, was one of those persons everyone should meet. Every Argentinian loves football. I love football but rugby was the first sport in Newman."

Back then 10 years ago in the Contepomi household in Buenos Aires, he remembers no doors were ever closed. There was no panic when a strange shadow was seen scuttling up the stairway, no furrowed brows when a shriek of laughter that did not belong to the family cut through the house. Their home was a torture chamber for the anti-social. His family life and upbringing hinged on the idea of inclusion. Eight children and more filled the Contepomi house, all addicted to the comfort of friends and strangers alike.

"Five brothers, three sisters plus three other boys and one girl. They are all my brothers. They live at home," he says.

The "three other boys and one girl" were close friends who found themselves parentless after their father was killed in a plane crash. Their grandmother assumed responsibility for the four and when she died the children were alone. In a candid demonstration of living by the values he preached to his children, father Carlos flung the doors open to the four friends. The eight became 12.

"When they were living alone my parents always gave them the opportunity to come and live with us if they wanted to. After their grandmother died they did that. They joined the family and have always been our brothers. The difference is the surname. Nothing else. Marcelos, she is the girl, Santiago, Francisco and Joaquin.

"My family is not only about my brothers. It is open for friends and everyone. We don't lock the door of my house so everyone can enter. It is a way of life. When you give you will receive. That is something I have learned from my parents. My brothers are the same. They have family. They open their doors to everyone."

A doctor and a former Puma, Carlos used a light touch in shepherding his children along the path towards adulthood. Sport was in their genes and was his abiding passion but simple guidance and counsel, not fire-brand lectures, coloured their schooling."

The legacy is a loosely defined clutch of sons and daughters, who care deeply for their parents.

"My father is a doctor but he never pushed me. I'm the only one studying medicine, which to do at the moment in Argentina is very difficult. A brother is a rock journalist, a priest, I've an economist, a physiotherapist sister, a music teacher and my twin brother, Manuel, is in marketing. My father is 65 now and works like a 25-year-old. Probably if he did not give us as much as he did he could be resting now for the rest of his life. But that's not his philosophy and that's what I admire about him. I always thank God for the family I got. It makes me proud. It's something you do not chose."

A flanker until 16, Contepomi was content playing at outhalf in Argentina when Bristol Shoguns rang and asked him to turn professional. As a medical student in his fourth year at Beunos Aires University he had other priorities and was playing amateur rugby for Newman Club. The principal attraction to him was the magnitude of the offer's challenge, whether he was good enough. At that time, three years ago, Filipe, along with his twin brother, were pushing for a place on the national team. In the end Manuel would get there first and they would play in the World Cup together, but Felipe would become more talismanic.

Many other offers had come before but England presented a challenge to his ability as well as housing some of the best rugby talent in the world. Aside from the English players, Australian centres Tim Horan and Jason Little were playing there as well as New Zealand lock Ian Jones, Keith Wood and South African World Cup captain Francois Pienaar.

He joined Bristol and teamed up with his close friend and Argentina scrumhalf Agustin Pichot. By the time Matt Williams arrived at Leinster with talk of reassembling his Leinster back line, Contepomi had pocketed three Bristol club records.

He had scored more points in a season, 221, than any other player, more points in a match, 32, than anyone else and landed the most penalties, seven against Wasps, than any other player in the club's history. His boot aside, Contepomi could also, despite the tight style of game Argentina played in the World Cup, get a back line to move.

"I'm not fanatical about stats. Really. What I had in Bristol I enjoyed. I know I can go there and people will open their doors. That is more important. Breaking a points scoring record? Someone will come along later and break it. I don't care. I'm not 200 points, or, 400 points in a season. I'm Felipe Contepomi."

Contepomi is not a sound-bite specialist. He does not lazily describe the world of rugby in clichés or use the nondescript jock-speak patois of the locker-room. The game has a meaning to him, central to everything he does but in its rightful place.

Any thoughts about his arrival in Ireland being likened to that of a mercenary would take you into pistols-at-dawn territory. There is old-world propriety about him, an unfashionable decency he neither wears on his sleeve or hides. But it oozes out of him.

"How I was brought up means rugby is still a game. I think when you lose that vision, that passion, those things that some people say are being lost in professional rugby, then you will never perform. I'm sure about that.

"Those 80 minutes inside the pitch are a way of learning things of life. There are values not written that you can find in this beautiful game. Whether they pay you or not pay you, it is still a game. You set your own goals, but they can never be on top of that of the team. Life is the same. If you have an aim together, you fight for that aim and you will succeed.

"Friendship and loyalty too are important. This is a contact sport. If it does not possess those things as well as honesty, it wouldnot be a sport but a battle. You are always close to infringing because of the contact but the values are there. They are not written but you learn what the rugby spirit gives you."

At 26 and with 37 international caps, his position at the heart of Leinster is an onerous one because he will make it so. His term in Bristol was punctuated with heroic or deflating reports, many of them hinging on whether he kicked well. With Leinster he has better players outside him, although the strong partnership he built up with Pichot will be difficult to replicate.

Another thread in his reasoning for coming to Dublin is to finish the medical degree started in Argentina three years ago. His four-year contract gives him the latitude to study and play. From both sides the commitment is unusually serious. He wouldn't have it any other way.

"Obviously I won't play for free otherwise I'd play for Newman in Argentina in front of 400 people. But I don't think of rugby in terms of money. What concerns me is what I can do for the team. I always say if there is only one person who does not back me up, I'd rather not play. You can win or lose but you always have to look people in the eye. That's what I care about.

"I am young and I have energy. We have this Latin saying, which in English means 'if your mind is sane, your body will be sane as well'. I also believe Ireland is my second country. I am here to play rugby with Leinster. I am here to help win the Celtic League and European Cup."

Leinster assistant coach Willie Anderson walks in. In huddles around the ground players are talking to fitness coaches, discussing the merits of yogurt with dieticians, pushing weights. A bright winter's day, Contepomi wanders out into it all with a smile. Another door is open.