Johnny Wattersonhears the restored number nine wax emotional on his return to the green number nine shirt, and the effort that went into it

“I SUPPOSE it is fair to say my whole world was rocked . . . The fear of not being involved in this team is devastating.”

– Peter Stringer, March 10th, 2009.

We have come to think of him as a mighty mouse but see him as a mountain. We’ve cheered and hollered when his tidy, waspish game bullies and cajoles his own players like a teacher would a rowdy but willing second class.

We rise off our seats when he reaches up to twist the collar of secondrow opposition a full 12 inches taller and we chuckle at his audacity as he hauls a wayward prop from the ruck like a game terrier pulling on a child’s elastic waistband.

Now he is back.

A little bit more on the biceps and the shirt is pulling tighter, Stringer returns to the fold not only with a better physique but a stronger head.

An intense player who is serious about ownership of the green shirt, his troubled times began at the World Cup in France and continued unabated until yesterday.

Now his hand is on the tiller again.

“Difficult,” he says with a barely perceptible shake of his head. But the intervening months were more than that, more than difficult. The emotion delicately plays on his largely impassive face. Stringer talks with the carefree honesty of a man who has conquered Everest, finally conquered the summit.

Having being discarded by the Ireland rugby team, he travelled on a journey that involved self-effacement and self-doubt. He has come through. Now Declan Kidney has tossed him a bone.

“I found myself in a position I had never been in before and saw things from the outside,” he says. “Not being a part of match day hurts a lot and I think everyone will tell you the same. Dealing with it was tough. It was about being positive and remaining that way.

“I made a conscious effort in approaching all the coaches involved and looking for their analysis . . . as if they were analysing me as a player on an opposition team. It really gets down to basics and to the root of everything to analyse my game inside out and get their opinion on it.

“Also hearing those guys around you who are close to you and who you respect, as well as my parents, especially my dad, who’d tell me after a game if things went well or not. He’s the guy I respect the most out of everyone. It can go either way. You can be gone never to be seen again. I decided to work harder.”

Since his debut against Scotland nine years ago in 2000, Stringer has been emblematic of a relentless, confrontational attitude in the Ireland team. With Munster in most of their conquering European campaigns, his effrontery and determination to be part of the eyeball to eyeball engagement in the turf wars had made him a permanent fixture. But that wasn’t enough. His breaking and sniping from the fringes were questioned, his size too.

But more recently, his influence on Ronan O’Gara and the nanoseconds his crisp delivery gives the outhalf has opened the door. A significant part of Kidney’s thinking to reconstruct areas of the team may be symbiotic. Ireland needs Stringer because O’Gara flourishes when he is there. Stringer, Eoin Reddan, Isaac Boss, Tomás O’Leary and Stringer. The full circle movement demanded work ethic, honesty and a thick skin.

“If I’m being honest about it, in the years when I’ve been involved you don’t question it so deeply as when you are dropped or left out of a side,” he says. “I said to myself, ‘look, I really need to get to the bottom of this’ and figure out where I was, if I wanted to get back to where I was and really focus on where I wanted to go.

“I had to analyse my weakness. I had to talk openly to people and watch videos. You probably don’t do it as often when things are going well. It was a tough decision. I wasn’t ready to give up on it. I missed it when I was out of it. It really got home that your next game for Ireland could be your last game. It’s about cherishing every opportunity.”

“Emotional,” he says he felt when his name was called. Two seasons waiting. Inconsequential things helped drive home his new found sense of completion, of reclamation.

“You feel that tingle and that anticipation,” says the scrumhalf. “You know we received our (match) tickets and it was player number nine, not player number 20. Shivers come back. It means a hell of a lot to be part of it again.”

You look at him. He is almost quivering with relief. At 31 years old, some may have heard a door closing.

Not Stringer. Not ever.