Michael Owen - Michael Owen: My Story

S tanding in Toulouse airport, thumbing through the magazines and books, I was desperately trying to find something to occupy my thoughts. But what help would they have been anyway? My French is more Del Boy than Depardieu! I was dazed at what had just unfolded. How was I here? I should have been sat with the club president and coach, being wined and dined, listening to them wax lyrical about their club and their region.

Instead, I had to find a way to pass six hours before my flight. Six hours during which I would try not to think about how my prospective new club, halfway through a medical, had just unceremoniously dumped me as they started assessing my knee. As I travelled home I convinced myself that, due to the language barrier, there had been some sort of misunderstanding. Or that maybe those stories about the medical side of things in French club rugby really were true

It was awful to see Lucy trying to put a brave face on things as she opened the front door that night. She was obviously very concerned that I had just failed the medical. I moved to reassure her: French rugby can be like that; its just one of those things; we will all be fine; we still had all the other options on the table, options we preferred didnt we?

We both went back to the piles of lists we had drawn up on each of the countries and clubs. We read over the positives and negatives of each move yet again. I had more medicals lined up for the coming week and then it would be decision time: whether to move for the lifestyle and the money or to try and get back in the Wales team for the 2011 World Cup.

There arent too many other walks of life where that question would be seriously entertained especially when you have just been confronted with the cold, hard facts but sport is different. You only get one shot. I knew I had what it took to make a difference to the Welsh side in 2011 and I had my sights set on making that plane trip to New Zealand no matter what. There was time later on to go for the lifestyle, the experience, and the money

I wanted that red jersey. So, as I made my way over the Severn Bridge back into Wales to go to the next medical, that was all that consumed my thoughts. I knew the questions I needed answers to: Whats my estimated return date, Doc? And How much longer in rehab? And When can I get back into it? But my world was brought crashing down around my ears again as that conversation took a sudden, dramatic turn for the worse.

This time there was no room for misunderstanding. There was no language barrier. As the words fell from the doctors mouth, I felt like Id been kicked in the stomach. Mike, your knee wont hold up to the rigors of pro rugby, he said. Its time to look at the next stage of your life, mate. My head was spinning as I left the medical centre. In the blink of an eye, my career was gone: now it was only going to be a memory.

At the end of the medical there was a pretty bleak picture painted for me. I was dumbstruck; I had just failed the medical at the Ospreys. My dream of teaming up with Scott Johnson and Andrew Hore again went out of the window. I left the clinic in a daze. It was quite hard to take it all in. I had been anticipating a timeline for a return, so that I could sign the contract and get on with fighting to get that red jersey back. Instead, I was told that my career was over.

There was no doubt on this occasion. I had dealt with this particular consultant before and I trusted him implicitly. Now I had to drop the bombshell on my family. How would they take it? Ive come to realise over the years that your family can take bad news worse than you do sometimes. Not today. I knew that I had to tell Lucy first, so I called her mobile.

As the phone rang, I was still trying to take it all in. Im only twenty-nine, just hitting my prime. As she answered the phone she had no idea that our lives had just been flipped upside down. Hiya Luce. Its not good news