You try to imagine him sitting Patrice Evra down and prophesising 'Hell' for the French in Croke Park tonight and, frankly, it's not quite Tony Soprano you see.

True, it might have enlivened Parisien news-stands for a day, but John O'Shea dispensing trash-talk is a bit like Barbara Cartland steaming up the mind.

It reads better than it looks. He's just too Noel Coward in carriage to be depicted with a cudgel and a scowl. There's too much elegance, too much nonchalance in his deportment.

He plays the game as if it's baccarat in black tie.

If he were French, we'd see O'Shea as the very definition of Gallic self-awareness. He makes people around him look hurried, flustered even. All the anger and leaking testosterone of his trade seems to be funnelled away from his feet. John O'Shea moves to a different rhythm. He imparts grace to a sometimes graceless place.

warranty

We presume upon things from him. We disregard any thought that he might fret or worry. He is our solitary Champions League footballer and, thereby, the holder of a psychological warranty. He shares the same mid-week itineraries of all those highly-strung thoroughbreds tonight in Raymond Domenech's care.

Anelka? Henry? When John O'Shea flies, he -- too -- sits front of curtain.

He has won everything there is to win with Manchester United. He has played for them in every position (famously keeping Robbie Keane and Spurs at bay during a 10-minute goalkeeping stint in February '07). He is a prototype of the model professional, currently described on United's website as "a shining example of selflessness and professionalism".

His contract at Old Trafford now runs to 2012 and he seems more secure, more appreciated at the club than ever. There should be no clouds in his world.

Yet, in a Hot Press interview last month, he hinted at the tiniest squall. "I've been fortunate enough to taste Champions League glory and it was brilliant" he said. "But representing your country at the World Cup takes you into a whole different realm. That's the one you dream about at night."

Roy Keane believed O'Shea was worth a place in Mick McCarthy's squad at the 2002 tournament. But, then, Roy believed many things around that time, most of them swinging on a hinge of personal dislike of the Irish manager. O'Shea was still a kid who'd been farmed out by United for loan spells at Bournemouth and Royal Antwerp.

If he had gone to the Far East, he would -- at best -- have been third-choice right-back, behind Steve Finnan and Gary Kelly or fifth-choice centre-back, behind Steve Staunton, Gary Breen, Kenny Cunningham and Richard Dunne. Bringing him would have been a gesture.

But he is 28 now and you suspect the ticking of the clock has his attention. O'Shea understands the opportunity now presenting itself to Ireland. This might be his only shot at football's global jamboree. Three hours of combat against France. So he turns to Evra in the din of the Carrington canteen.

"You will face Hell in Croke Park" he says, with a toothy grin straight from the Hardy Boys. And you just know the Frenchman's Adam's Apple didn't spasm.

O'Shea's career was signposted for these epic nights almost from the cradle. He grew up in Ferrybank, just over the river from Waterford city, son to Jim -- a master cutter in the old glass factory -- and Mary, a gifted Irish dancer who played centre-half for Woolworths, where she worked.

By his early teens, he was on the radar of most English clubs. In his Leaving Cert year, Queens Park Rangers brought him over for a week's trial to coincide with a mid-term school break and immediately offered him a four-year contract. The O'Sheas demurred. By the time John took the plunge, 23 clubs had followed QPR's interest.

He underwent trials at Arsenal, Liverpool (the club he supported), Celtic and Newcastle among others, all the time making sure his cross-channel hops never interfered with study. Then Brian Kerr's Ireland won the U-16 European Championships in Glasgow and, suddenly, O'Shea had United's attention.

Two months before he sat his Leaving Cert, a call came through from Alex Ferguson's brother, Martin. They had a plan for John O'Shea that brooked no argument.

There would be no trial, no period of probation. As Academy Director Les Kershaw put it at the time, "it's different with John!". O'Shea was given a three-year contract on a salary of £15,000 a year, roughly a third of what other Premiership clubs were offering. He took it. This was the place he wanted to be. Ferguson the man he was drawn to.

Later that summer, he would accumulate 375 points in his Leaving Cert. If the football didn't work out...

consensus

Ostensibly, the loan periods at Bournemouth and Royal Antwerp hinted at equivocation on United's behalf. Back home, people mumbled gloomy forecasts. "Struggling a bit," was the consensus.

Ferguson, though, was just narrowing the percentages. He told O'Shea that he wanted to be in a position of "100pc trust" by the time he put him in the first team. That trust could never be mined from reserve team football.

His breakthrough came in the '02/'03 season and seemed the portent for a gilded future. O'Shea broke through as an auxiliary left-back, playing 32 games as United won the Premiership title. Elegant and unhurried in possession, he took the season in his stride. He looked a natural.

The following season, Rio Ferdinand's suspension for a missed drugs test ensured a busy campaign for O'Shea but, then, the music stopped. For the '04/'05 and '05/'06 seasons, he drifted to the margins of United's business. When Keane, famously, took an electric saw to the team in his MUTV punditry after a heavy loss to Middlesbrough, it was widely believed that O'Shea was among those left dismembered.

There was even rumour at the time that he might leave United, Liverpool among those craning their necks for opportunity. Yet, there was always a sense that Ferguson liked O'Shea. Not simply for his storied versatility, but for the conviction that here was a young man who -- whatever his limitations -- understood the central obligation of being a professional footballer.

O'Shea trained well and represented the club impeccably. The uncertainty passed.

In November of '07, United extended the Irishman's contract to his 31st birthday. He was an unused substitute during the '08 Champions League final against Chelsea but, remarkably, Ferguson promised him a starting role in this year's final against Barcelona. And the promise was kept, O'Shea playing the full 90 minutes.

Only Evra and Wayne Rooney have started more games for United this season. If he's not quite indispensable to Ferguson now, he has certainly become a man the club leans on heavily without worry. Likewise, Giovanni Trapattoni and Ireland. If O'Shea is fit, he starts.

The Italian seemed to encourage a more forceful, combative demeanour from the United man when pairing him, initially, with Dunne at centre-half. Concentration can be an issue with O'Shea. In an Irish shirt, he was routinely prone to distraction. One minute, he'd be serene and all Madame Butterfly, the next, plunging into a scene from 'Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf?'

Trapattoni seems to have confronted that. O'Shea has had an outstanding qualifying campaign and, whatever doubts may crowd the manager's mind this evening, it is unlikely many of them surround his right-back.

The trust, it should be said, is reciprocal. Last month, he said of Trapattoni: "He never gets rattled and has an eye for the little details which can be the difference between winning or drawing a game. One of the cardinal sins with Trap would be someone, when they give a foul away, not turning back quickly enough and us losing our defensive shape.

thoroughbred

"We knew after one or two get- togethers that he was the man for the job."

Heaven alone knows which French thoroughbred will come giddying his way tonight. Thierry Henry favours sniping from the left flank but, with Domenech in charge, second-guessing the line-up of Les Bleus is considered an eccentric folly.

O'Shea will cope, regardless. Heaven knows, he may even consider slipping out of game-keeper boots, should an opportunity arise. Four years ago, he was just inches away from a storied World Cup goal in Stade de France. Yet, in close to 60 appearances, he has only scored once for his country. Adding to that in the next five days could make a national saint of him.

Whatever the deities have planned, O'Shea will be elegant and unhurried, playing with head raised, back arched, eyes watchful. The French will see much of themselves in his silhouette. Big club. Champions League. Officer Material. A kindred spirit.

The guy with the keys to Hell, standing in a tux.

- VINCENT HOGAN

Irish Independent