‘If I farted the first three notes of ‘Ireland’s Call’ over dinner, he’d say I was the next Rachmaninov’
I can almost feel the tension coming through the door of the dressing room. Beyond it, there are 15 rugby players, plus substitutes, who are waiting to hear what I have to say – waiting for me to, like,
I go to push the door and that’s when I hear Murt Cowser’s voice behind me.
“Our little project,” he goes.
I turn around. I look at him and I nod – you could almost say – thoughtfully ?
He’s there, “It’s 80 minutes away from completion,” and then he sort of, like, smiles to himself. “Can I tell you something? Whatever happens today, whether we win or lose, it doesn’t matter. My son has fallen in love with rugby again – you know, he’s talking about maybe getting a professional contract? – and that’s down to you. So in a way, I feel like we’ve already won.”
I nod. I’m wondering does that mean I’m getting my 250Ks, irregordless of the result. He reads my mind.
“That thing,” he goes, “about it not mattering whether we win or lose – you know I don’t mean that literally?”
I suspected that. I nod. Then I’m like, “I need to go and talk to my players.”
There’s, like, silence when I step into the dressing room. I look around at this, like, sea of faces, expectation written all over them.
I had this plan to sit down last night and watch the speech from Any Given Sunday – Alpa-focking-cino – but I discovered that my daughter had smashed up the disc with a hammer when I refused to buy her a bassoon two Christmases ago. I thought about possibly watching it on You Tube, but then I thought, no. I’ll talk to them from the hort.
“You know,” I go, “people laughed when they heard that the Institute of Education was entering a team into the Vinnie Murray Cup. What, that grind school on Leeson Street where rich kids go to repeat the Leaving? I have to admit, the first time I laid eyes on you, I shared those doubts. Some of you were pure white – it looked like you hadn’t seen fresh air or sunlight for years. All that studying. Crazy, crazy stuff. Then I took you down to Herbert Pork and I watched you throw some balls around and I knew I had a potential team.”
They’re lapping up my words like a dog licking piss off a lamppost.
“We’ve been through the drills,” I go. “Forwards and backs. I’ve emptied my mind on you goys in the last 10 weeks. There’s nothing else I can teach you. There’s things I could say about Gonzaga to motivate you – ‘Always the Tánaistes, never the Taoiseachs’, for instance – but I won’t. Because it’s down to you now.”
I look every single one of my players in the eye and I go, “You’ve sacrificed a lot to get here today. I know most of you haven’t done a tap of work since Christmas and you’re probably going to fail your Leaving and possibly fock up your chances of ever getting into college and eventually onto the property ladder. Just make sure you haven’t done that in vain.”