Back in early May, lockdown in full swing, Duncan Casey took to Twitter to offer his time to anyone with a vulnerable or isolated relative who could do with a chat about his time playing for Munster and Grenoble.
"I didn't have a very illustrious career," he wrote, "but I got to see some cool stuff".
So he when he wasn't putting the final touches to his thesis for his master's in politics in UL, he manned the phones and spoke to supporters in need of a lift.
In the end, it had a more profound effect on him than he'd expected.
"I was talking to one guy who has been quadriplegic for the last 20 years, he was in a car accident and is a big Munster fan who followed the province all over Europe," he recalls.
"He was able to get back to a point where he was able to work in a lab, but then he got an undiagnosed disease and has been bed-bound and hasn't left his room for three years.
"It's as big a reality check as you can get when, back then, you're giving out about not being able to go to the gym or meet lads for pints or whatever.
"To hear a guy like that who remains so positive and has such an appetite for life, it makes you cop on a bit.
"There were plenty of other conversations with people who had been through hardship or interesting lives that put a lot of things into perspective. I think I found the conversations a lot more enjoyable than the people I rang, they were fascinating."
Casey has never been afraid to use his voice. He's now retired at 29 and able to speak with the freedom that gives, but even when working within the constraints of pro sport the Cork native made the most of his platform to advance causes close to his heart.
When others went on holidays, he travelled to Palestine at the age of 22 to see the situation there for himself. A few years later he returned and he hopes to go back in the future.
Back when he was in the Munster dressing-room, Casey had interesting conversations about a range of topics. His advocacy and activism piqued team-mates' interest, but he remains in the minority as one of a small number of players who have spoken out about injustice or supported causes while still playing.
Athlete activism has moved into the mainstream with the Black Lives Matter campaign. In Irish rugby, Leinster's Linda Djougang and Adam Byrne wrote about their experiences of racism, while a number of players turned their social media pages black in solidarity.
Casey believes players could do more if they were encouraged to speak up.
"There is definitely a reluctance for guys to speak out about political stuff. Without a doubt, that's undeniable," he says. "You can understand it, the last thing a rugby team wants to be dealing with is a complaint relating to stuff that has nothing to do with rugby.
"But I think rugby in Ireland is quite conservative in that sense.
"You compare it to stuff like League of Ireland football. Bohs would be really well known for taking an active stance on social issues, bussing people in from Direct Provision centres and giving them access to games. That blew my mind, I admired it so much.
"I don't think there's any scope to do that kind of thing in Irish rugby by virtue to the fact there tends to be more conservative people in it. It's something I'd like to see changed.
"With the Marriage Equality referendum, big names like Peter O'Mahony and Cian Healy got involved. Some established guys were involved in the abortion referendum.
"They were probably sweating a bit inside when that was happening initially because they were worried a potential backlash, but I think guys should be given the green light to voice opinions.
"Ultimately, if it's not offending people; if you're not being out of line or insulting or hateful I really don't see what the issue is.
"The idea that professional athletes operate in a vacuum and don't have opinions on things is nonsense as anyone who has spoken to them knows.
"It's just short-sighted and it's not fair on guys who actually want to use their profile to do some good, that they're not encouraged to do so."
Casey's colleagues recognised his value when he was awarded the 'Medal of Excellence' by Rugby Players Ireland in 2018. By then, he'd moved to France in what he now looks at as the perfect way to finish.
"I absolutely loved it. I miss it a lot," he says of Grenoble.
"There's a very different way of life there which doesn't necessarily lend itself to rugby being played at an optimal level! Generally speaking, it is an incredible country.
"Going to France for 18 months was a nice bridging period between being involved with your home club and retiring. There are far more remnants of the amateur game in France than there would be here to the point where it's kind of unrecognisable.
"It is funny, a load of the guys would smoke. They wouldn't necessarily eat well. In Ireland, I can only speak to my experience and from what I gather the other provinces are the same, it's very intense, very serious.
"You do have to watch yourself a bit, you'd be surprised at the amount of times the team manager in the province gets complaints from members of the public who see a player having a couple of pints and don't approve. It gets ignored, but it does hang over you.
"Whereas in France, the lads would go for a couple of pints on a Tuesday if they'd a day off on a Wednesday and it's not a big deal. You're not watching yourself and it's just part of the culture over there to be far more laid-back."
While not quite advocating a chain-smoking, beer-guzzling approach, Casey does believe Irish rugby could benefit from chilling out just a little and says Rassie Erasmus identified that at Munster.
"When he was leaving, Rassie said when he came in he was trying to figure out what's the issue with Munster," Casey says. "Everything looks good on paper, you've got talented guys who work hard but why haven't they been more successful? He was expecting things like guys don't pay attention or are lazy or X, Y and Z…
"Ultimately, what the saw was that none of that was the case but guys didn't seem to be having as much fun as they should have.
"That's what he said he identified quite early on and that's why he made it such a priority for him to kind of almost force lads to have fun and let the hair down. For him, it was an integral part of squad morale - that ability to translate that togetherness on to the pitch and to contribute positively to performances.
"There's definitely scope for people to relax a bit more."
Although he is modest about his own achievements, Casey made 46 appearances for his home province and played in big Champions Cup matches. He threw everything at his career, but now that it's been over for a year he doesn't pine for his playing days as he looks to a future in communications.
"I'm probably a little bit surprised how little I miss it," Casey says.
"You get the odd pang of jealousy when you watch game on the TV but I haven't missed it a whole pile.
"Thinking of guys like Dave Foley, Ronan O'Mahony, Mike Sherry, Duncan Williams, who I'd be closest with. If you look at the five of us none of us had a very glittering finish - particularly those who stayed at Munster..
"It's definitely easier for guys in our position to step away from it because it does become a job. You almost feel guilty when you try and explain it to people. It is a dream job without a doubt and it was something that I was hell-bent on achieving from pretty much when I left school and I worked very hard to do it, to progress to the point of being a professional athlete.
"It's always great when things go on your way, but when the speed bumps become more frequent and become road-blocks, there's no way back to the level that you were at previously it does become more of a grind.
"Regardless of whether you're playing in front of 26,000 people at Thomond Park or for Shannon, ultimately the sacrifices that both players are making are more or less the same.
"They have to sacrifice socially and sacrifice a lot with regards to family life and personal development outside of rugby because it's such an intense profession to be involved in.
"It's hard work all the time. It feels like it's far easier when you're actually reaping the benefits and you're seeing the dream materialise every weekend."
At 29, Casey is content to let the dream lie but he'll continue to use his voice for good.