Mention of Simon Geoghegan always puts me in mind of the story of Albert Speer, the reviled German architect who is said to have walked from Berlin's Spandau jail to Istanbul without leaving the prison yard.
He did so by calculating the number of paces that journey would take, then committing to a daily circuit that became his defiance of the concrete and barbed wire imprisoning him. Speer, in other words, refused to be caged.
Now not for a second is this a suggestion of anything rhyming in the life stories of Ireland's most thrilling player of the early 1990s and a delusional Nazi apologist.
But everything about Geoghegan's finest moment in an Ireland shirt - and it came on Saturday, February 19, 1994 - screams out for context. The context of a player who ran with untrappable spirit.
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After all, how do you explain the rebelliousness of Geoghegan to anybody 30 or under today?
He came into our world at a time when Irish rugby wasn't so much clinging to amateurism as obstinate medievalism. A time when the workings of the IRFU remained larded hopelessly with vaulting self-regard and reflex condescension.
When playing for the national team was a solemn, listless existence, peopled by lonely, shivering backs and largely ponderous, rheumatic forwards.
Geoghegan was a London-based revolutionary, a blond kid from Knebworth who'd always summered in his father's homeplace, a farm in Killimor, Co Galway.
The day Dean Richards scored two tries against Ireland at Twickenham in '86, he'd stood up in front of fellow boarders from St Edmunds Rugby School and blocked their view by unfurling a giant Irish banner.
He once ran 100 metres in 10.5 seconds. On grass.
Geoghegan was playing for London Irish when given his international debut against France in 1991. He'd scored a try in his second game against Wales. He looked a shooting star bound, it seemed, for greatness only for the prevailing stasis of international duty to begin dragging him down.
Ireland lost every game they played in the '92 Five Nations, Geoghegan going the entire Championship without receiving a single, worthwhile pass.
Ireland then opened their '93 campaign at Murrayfield on the first anniversary of his mother's death, Geoghegan's poor defence leading to the concession of an easy try during a tepid 15-3 loss to Scotland.
Afterwards, he threw his jersey on the dressing room floor and openly challenged Ireland manager, Noel Murphy's, post-match observation of there being "plenty of positives" in what had been a dismal performance.
And the week after that game, Geoghegan granted an incendiary interview to the Sunday Independent in which he announced he'd never honestly believed an Ireland victory remotely possible at Murrayfield.
"We are not fit!" he declared.
"We don't work hard enough!"
Of younger players in the Irish squad, he suggested "their perception is of winning an Irish cap and of losing by only 15-3."
And then the coup-de-grace.
Reminded that his 13 international caps to date had decanted 11 defeats and just a solitary win (against Zimbabwe), Geoghegan was asked what he envisaged for Ireland's future.
"Well two things can happen," he declared. "We can go on losing. Or we can organise more games against Zimbabwe!"
The interview was a bomb exploding across Irish rugby, leading to his temporary suspension and alienation from many team-mates. And Geoghegan, who'd reputedly been deemed "un-coachable" by Lions assistant coach Dick Best never did make that summer's tour to New Zealand.
So Twickenham the following February?
Best was coach of an England team now defending a six-year unbeaten home Championship record. Ireland had not won in South West London since 1982. "Fortress Twickers" some of the English media called it. Well, you get the drift.
Pitted against Lions winger Tony Underwood, Geoghegan vowed to a friend at London Irish beforehand, "One chance, that's all I want!"
It would come in the 37th minute, England leading 6-3, but Ireland playing - for once - with ambition and a discernible gameplan. As Eric Elwood moved the ball to his left, Maurice Field and Conor O'Shea made decoy inside runs, allowing Elwood pick out Philip Danaher moving wide.
Danaher then fed Richard Wallace, who had Geoghegan on his outside.
Wallace's arrival drew Underwood's attention, meaning his off-load left Geoghegan one-on-one with England full-back, Jonathan Callard. An unequal contest.
Dipping as if to cut back inside, Geoghegan forced Callard to equivocate before snapping wide again and diving over. No sooner had he touched down than he was springing up again, punching the air with his fist.
It would be the only try of a game won 13-12 by Ireland.
"My first pass of the season!" he jokingly told us afterwards. "You know I was born here and live here and it's very sweet!"
Within a year, however, Geoghegan's top-flight career would be all but over because of injury. He'd played through one of the bleakest eras in Irish rugby, one in which wingers seemed forever condemned to freezing on the periphery of game plans designed, essentially, for damage limitation.
But for that one, glorious afternoon in his home town, Simon Geoghegan declared himself unstoppable. The exotic bird they could not cage
In this series, our writers have selected their favourite sporting moment at which they were in attendance, either in the press box or in the stand