This is me in my – yeah, no – absolute happy place. Castlerock College jersey with the collar popped. Rugby Tactics Book under my orm. The match against Blackrock College is just four days away and I have a plan to beat them.
I’ve never been more chillaxed approaching a big game. It shows as well. I’m so full of myself this morning that I’m actually making myself sick.
I’m there, “I think this is possibly the most centred I’ve ever felt since Johnny Sexton texted me to say sorry, he forgot to mention me as a major influence on him in his World Rugby Player of the Year acceptance speech a few years ago. I mean, what a lovely thing for me to hear.”
Sorcha goes, “I’m sure we’re all delighted for you, Ross.”
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Brian, Johnny and Leo definitely aren’t? They’re not happy with me for dropping them from the team. I thought it would have a – is this even a word? – galvanizing effect on them?
But no – Johnny and Brian are singing When the Foreman Bares His Steel like it doesn’t even bother them that they’re not going to be port of the storting 15. Yeah, no, they’ve both landed ports in the drama society’s production of the Pirates of Penzance, which they’re doing with Muckross, while Leo is a – believe it or not – set designer and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to show my face in The Bridge 1859 again.
One thing is guaranteed. I definitely won’t be going to see the so-called show.
I’m there, “Those Vesey boys that we poached from Wesley are unbelievable. Sam is the best out-half for his age since – not to pat myself on the back here – but me? Will, at outside-centre, is like a young Brian O’Driscoll, if that’s not blasphemy. And Felix will play scrumhalf for Leinster and Ireland one day. I’d stake the actual house on it.”
Sorcha pulls a face at me while she’s buttering her toast.
[ ‘There you go with the school rivalry thing again. You need to move on’Opens in new window ]
I’m like, “What?”
She goes, “Ross, can you maybe stop bigging up other people’s children in front of ours? It’s hurting their feelings.”
I’m there, “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be.”
Yeah, no, Brian and Johnny are fighting with plastic cutlasses across the breakfast table, while wearing bandanas and stick-on beards, and it’s not the reaction I wanted from them.
I’m there, “Yeah, no, I actually said to Mr Vesey after training the other day that I wish his children were mine and my children were his. He thought it was a random thing to say, but I told him I’d always wanted rugby kids, instead of these three losers.”
That finally hits home. Brian and Johnny stop fighting with their cutlasses and look at me like they’re about to burst into tears. Leo actually does stort crying? It’s what they need to hear. No rugby player ever became great without someone having this kind of chat with them. That’s page one of my tactics book.
Suddenly, my phone rings. I look at the screen and it ends up the man himself – as in, like, Mr Vesey.
I’m like, “Dude, how the hell are you? Did you get the creatine I sent out to you? Forget what it says about exceeding the dosage. That’s only a recommendation. They have to err on the side of caution. Jesus, I was nearly snorting the stuff and it didn’t do me any harm. Except, well, nobody wants to listen to lavatory talk at this hour of the morning.”
He goes, “I’ve got some bad news, I’m afraid.”
I’m there, “Bad news? Bad news, as in?”
He’s like, “The boys have come down with chicken pox.”
[ ‘The woman is as C as M – as my old dear used to say. Common as muck’Opens in new window ]
I’m there, “Chicken pox?” and Brian, Johnny and Leo are suddenly all ears. “Is that still a thing?”
He’s like, “Of course it’s still a thing?”
I’m there, “I just thought it was something from the olden days. I can’t remember the last time I heard of anyone actually having it.”
“They’re covered from head to toe in blisters,” he tries to go.
I’m there, “Okaaaaaay,” wondering how that supposably affects their ability to play rugby.
He goes, “Why are you saying it like that?”
And I’m like, “Dude, don’t take this the wrong way, but can they not just throw a bit of make-up on them.”
He’s there, “Make-up?”
I’m like, “Yeah, no, Sorcha had an attack of psoriasis before a Mount Anville Alumni Prosecco and Prayers breakfast last year and she just threw a load of foundation on.”
Sorcha’s there, “Ross!” because she doesn’t want her tricks of the trade getting out.
I’m there, “Dude, this is an important match.”
He goes, “I’m sorry, but they’re ill. They’re completely devoid of energy.”
I’m like, “Dude, I dislocated my shoulder in a practice match against Mungret College and I still didn’t go off. I sucked on paracetamol for the entire second half.”
He goes, “Well, that’s not going to happen in this case.”
I’m there, “Are you sure it’s chicken pox? It could be, like, acne. They’re at that age.”
He goes, “It’s chicken pox.”
I’m like, “Do you mind if I have a doctor examine them? He’s a proper rugby doctor. A mate of my old man’s solicitor. He doesn’t even believe that concussion is a thing.”
He goes, “They’re in bed with chicken pox and I don’t need a second opinion.”
I’m there, “Dude, do I have to remind you that we had a deal? I got your kids into Castlerock, waived their fees and paid you a lump sum so that they play for us against Blackrock.”
“Did I sign a contract?” he goes.
I’m there, “Dude, have you ever heard the name Hennessy Coghlan-O’Hara? Because you’re going to be hearing from him.”
Suddenly, the line goes dead. Yeah, no, the dude has hung up on me.
I notice that Brian, Johnny and Leo are all staring at me, their little faces full of hope and expectation.
I’m there, “This is it, goys. This is your moment. Cometh the hour – blah, blah, blah. You might look back on this day as the actual turning point in your lives. Father Fehily used to say, when opportunity knocks, not everyone recognises it, because sometimes it comes dressed up as hord work. But opportunity is knocking, boys. Can you hear it? Are you ready?”
I’m actually giving myself goosebumps here.
The three of them look at me and – yeah, no – in one voice, they turn around and go, “Fock you, Dad!”
