Can it really be true? Is the whole Irish rugby scene actually all about subliminal man-on-man action? And we're not talking about a rolling maul here
Everyone has the right to be ugly, but they say Oisinn's new bird had to take her case all the way to the UN.
He has a thing for wrecks, of course. I mean, this dude has some of the best-looking models in the basic international fashion world trying to get into his 40-inch Dockers and all he's interested in are, well, birds who look like dockers.
"Her name's Doreen," he goes. "And she's so bet-down that when she was born, they put her in an incubator with tinted windows. Goys, I think I'm in love." I'm like, "Whoa! The Oish Monster! I never thought I'd hear you mention the four-letter word - especially in Special Ks at half-eleven on a Friday night . . ."
"Well, I think this is the thunderbolt they always talk about," he goes and it's, like, fair focks to him.
JP's like, "Where did you meet her?" "In House of Fraser - she works in ladies fragrances," he goes and we're all like, er, surely not? "No, no, not front of shop," he goes. "In the storeroom - lifting and carrying mostly." I'm there, "What was the scent that did it?" because, as we all know, Oisinn has the most highly developed nose since, I don't know, Moses.
"Esencia Loewe," he goes.
Esencia Loewe? I'm the one who ends up going, "Isn't that, like, aftershave?" and me and the goys look at each other, wondering has Oisinn gone the whole hog and gone for an actual man this time.
"A lot of birds are wearing aftershave these days," Oisinn goes. "It's, like, the new perfume," and he'd know because he was at Milan fashion week. And Paris.
Fionn sticks his oar in then. "My sister stole my Tom Ford," and JP goes, "And I met Brayden Buckley in L'Gueuleton the other night - she was wearing what I could have sworn was, like, Versace Jeans Couture." I'm there, "So what's the Jack with that?" wondering is that why my bottle of Gaultier went down so quickly in the last months of my marriage.
"I reckon it's evolutionary," Fionn goes, pushing his glasses up on his nose, like the 1992 Aer Lingus Young Geek of the Year that he is.
"Evolutionary, as in . . ."
"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? Most women are instinctively attracted to, and want to breed with, big, strong men . . ."
I'm like, "If my record's anything to go by, yeah . . ."
"Well, yes, Ross - rugby players are probably the most sexually prolific subculture, if you like, in Ireland today. But the whole rugby scene, I think most of us would agree, is latently homosexual . . ."
It's, like, did he just say what I think he said? I end up nearly falling off my actual stool.
He's giving it, "I think women have come to recognise that big, strong rugby men - at some level still beyond male cognition - are into, well, other big strong rugby men. And of course that threatens the continuation of the species . . ."
"The first rule of evolution," Oisinn goes. "Adapt or die."
Fionn's like, "Exactly. So the female of the species suddenly understands, on some atavistic level, that in order to pass on the genes - the only reason we're here - she has to start smelling like the male of the species."
I don't know if he's serious, roysh, or if it's another of these bullshit theories Fionn puts forward from time to time, usually with the intention of getting me worked up.
"You know, I think there's something in what you're saying," JP suddenly goes. "Even though, as a practising Catholic, I don't actually believe in evolution . . ." I can't actually hold my tongue anymore.
I'm there, "Whoa back, horsey! Am I actually hearing this right? Are you saying that all rugby players are, like, gay?"
"I would say that most are," Fionn goes, casual as you like. "I would also say that 99 per cent of them will never know it." I don't care if this is just for my benefit. I can't actually have that.
I'm like, "You know what, Fionn - if I didn't love Heineken so much, this pint would be all over your head."
He's like, "Oh, for God's sake - all those games we played in the dorms involving biscuits and mince pies and slapping each other's nipples - you don't think there was any sexual subtext involved?"
"There might have been for you," I go. "I was strictly into birds, if you remember. A lot of birds. Do you want me to actually go through the Mount Anville 1999 yearbook with a highlighter pen?"
He's like, "Look, Ross, I'm talking about something that's too subtle for a mind like yours to deal with."
I'm like, "You might have been into goys. I notice you didn't cash in your V card until after your 21st. I thought you were going to die a plastic surgeon . . ." I look at Oisinn and JP, roysh, basically for back-up but there's none coming.
"I smell you're stepping in," Oisinn actually goes, in other words, I pretty much agree with what you're saying? "There was a lot of flicking each other with wet towels, wedgies, all that kind of thing . . ." I'm like, "They were just games . . ."
"They were humiliation rituals," Fionn goes, "in which the real issue never really emerged . . ."
I'm like, "Right - you are coming seriously close to calling me a, well, you know what. And then you're going to be back at Specsavers with a headache . . ."
"You do have three Mel C songs on your iPod," JP goes, stirring it even more.
I'm there, "I like three Mel C songs - big swinging mickey . . ."
"Why are you being so defensive?" Oisinn goes, with a big smug grin on his boat.
I end up just totally losing it. I point at him and go, "You've spent too much time hanging around fashion shows and going out with total groupers," and I get up off my stool. I'm there, "And now I'm going to do what normal, hot-blooded, rugby-playing goys of my age do on a Friday night . . ." "Pilates?" JP goes.
I'm like, "No, not pilates. I'm going to Renards to pull an absolute Barbie doll."
"Come back," Oisinn goes. "Ross, we were only pulling your wire." I'm like, "Pulling my wire. You know, there was a time when we'd have torn off Fionn's boxer shorts and hung them from a tree in Herbert Pork for saying what he just said."
TXT ROSS
Readers in need of advice can text Ross at 087-9773781
Confused Sarah goes, "im 25 yrs old and ive decided 2go travellin for a year. Do u recommend goin 2 toronto like half of south dublin or oz like the whole of south dublin?"
I'm sure the old man's moolah is good in either. Here's a couple of helpful numbers I always give to people who are 'doing the whole travelling thing'. Western Union (Toronto) - 001-416-2999432. Western Union (Sydney) - 0061-1800-501500.
My old friend Eddie T in clane is there, "See belvo and clongowes top the betting for the s this year. Wots ur view as a former winner?"
Anyone - as long as Michael's and Clongowes don't deliver us another soccer score in the final.
Some bird called Orla goes, "Wot wud u do if u hated this girl in ur group nd all ur friends loved her?"
I could be wrong but I think the usual procedure is to be excessively nice to her face, complete with air-kissing, then to tear the back out of her when she's not there.
Belvo Boy in Mount Merrion goes, "Did u see the nu stadium in donnybrook is being build by goys from offaly? Wots going on?"
Well, there's not many goys from your neck of the woods going into construction. Except the Sean Dunne kind of going into construction.
