Ross O’Carroll-Kelly: Then she says it – the words all south Dublin parents dread

So it's, like, Sunday evening and I'm sitting at the kitchen table, staring at my maths homework, but unable to think about anything except Leinster versus La Rochelle.

Honor looks over my shoulder.

She goes, “Oh my God, Dad, you’ve been sitting there for two hours and you haven’t done a tap.”

I’m there, “I’m just thinking about the match, Honor – replaying the second half in my head over and over again.”

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“Dad, you’ve got a month to go until the Leaving Cert. You need to forget about rugby.”

I laugh – the very idea of it. And that's when my phone suddenly pings and I end up reading a WhatsApp message that tears me from my unhappy trance. It's from, like, Rob Railton, my sons' rugby coach, and it's like, "Great news! Outdoor sporting activities can resume again! You'll see in the attached list that all of the kids have been divided into pods of 10 for the return to rugby. Each pod has been assigned a bib colour. Please let me know if you would like your child switched to a different group."

I'm there, 'Rugby's not about making friends,' pointing out the obvious. 'If they're playing with s**t players week in, week out, they'll drag them down to their level'

I open the attachment and I scan the lists, looking for Brian, Johnny and Leo’s names. It turns out they’re in the Green group, along with-.

“Fock it,” I go.

Honor’s like, “What’s wrong?”

"Rob's put the boys in with the worst players. Henry Franks, the Bellamy boys and Adam Cotter's son."

"But they're friends with Charlie Cotter, " Honor tries to go. "And the Bellamy boys."

I’m there, “Rugby’s not about making friends,” pointing out the obvious. “If they’re playing with s**t players week in, week out, they’ll drag them down to their level.”

I stand at the bottom of the stairs and I shout, “Johnny, Brian, Leo – ice-cream!”

Suddenly, the three of them come chorging out of their room and down the stairs like a landslide.

“Where’s the focking ice-cream?” Johnny goes, looking around the kitchen.

I’m like, “There’s no ice-cream. I just said that to get you downstairs,” because I could write the book on parenting. “Sit down there.”

“You focking d**khead,” Brian goes – five years old, bear in mind! – as they each take a seat at the table.

I'm there, "Who's that kid at rugby who everyone says is going to play for Ireland one day? He did that skills thing on TikTok that supposedly went viral."

“Hugo Blake-Fox,” Leo goes.

I’m there, ‘Hugo! Blake! Fox! God, he already sounds like a Leinster academy player!”

“We focking hate him!” Leo goes. “He’s a knob!”

I’m there, “Well, hate him or not, you’re going to be in the same pod as him,” and I stort scanning the lists, looking for his name. “There he is – on the Blue team.”

I send Rob a message, going, “Hey Dude, can you move Brian, Johnny and Leo to Blue? They’re already in a pod with one or two kids in it in school,” that last bit being total horses**t.

Rob comes back straight away and goes, “That’s cool, Ross. Would anyone in Blue like to move to another group to accommodate the O’Carroll-Kelly boys?”

Honor’s there, “Dad, I really do think they’d prefer to be with Charlie Cotter and the Bellamys.”

"Charlie Cotter hides from the ball," I go. "And Conor Bellamy walks off the pitch crying to his old dear every time he gets tackled."

Honor's there, 'Have you thought that maybe Hugo's dad is thinking strategically as well?' I'm like, 'What are you talking about, Honor?'

"Conor Bellamy is my friend!" Brian goes, like this should somehow mean something to me?

My phone storts pinging away then. Mervyn Vesey says he'd be happy to move Gus to the Red group. Rioghnach Riley says she'd like to move Linus to the Yellow group. And Dee Dalton says she'd like to move Clive to the Orange group.

“Okay, that’s three,” I go. But then I’m like, “Fock!” because James Blake-Fox then sends a message saying he’d like to move Hugo to the Black group because he’s already in a pod with three of the boys in it in school.

“Let me guess,” Honor goes. “Hugo moved.”

I’m there, “I wasn’t expecting that. Okay, I’m trying to think strategically here – what’s the play?”

Honor’s like, “Why don’t you just let them be with their friends?”

"Because they'll hold them back, Honor. Look, I knew players – good players – whose parents sent them to the likes of Wesley College and Andrew's. And yes, they grew up to be happy, well-adjusted people with successful careers and stable relationships. But guess what they achieved in rugby?"

“What?”

“Let’s just say the words ‘fock-all’ aren’t far from this conversation.”

My phone pings again. Angela Bellamy says she'd like to move Conor and Noah to Blue because they're already in a pod with the O'Carroll-Kellys in school. Then Adam Cotter says he'd like to move Charlie to Blue as well, because he's a nervous kid who doesn't make friends easily, and he already knows Brian, Johnny and Leo from their time in Montessori.

I’m thinking Leinster might never win another European Cup again if this is what parents in this port of the world consider a priority.

I type in, “Dude, on second thoughts, could I move Brian, Johnny and Leo to Black, as I’ve just realised they’re in a pod with a few heads in that group as well.”

Again, I’m just spinning him a line.

“Okay,” Rob goes, “but we’ve got 13 in the Black group now. Would anyone in Black like to move to another group?”

Straight away, Sandrine Nagle says Cian would like to move to Red – which is no real loss. The kid is useless. Luke Lister says Dylan would also like to move to Red because he and Cian are – again, this word keeps cropping up – friends. Then Oliver Urch says Sebastian would like to move to Yellow because – get this – his cousin is in that group.

I’m there, “I weep for the future of the game when I see the attitude of some of the parents on here. Still, all’s well that ends-”

But that’s when my phone pings again. It’s James Blake-Fox, saying he wants to move Hugo to Orange – no reason given.

I’m like, “Hugo’s on the move again! What the literally fock?”

Honor's there, "Have you thought that maybe Hugo's dad is thinking strategically as well?"

I’m like, “What are you talking about, Honor?”

And then she says it – the words that every South Dublin parent dreads. She goes, “Maybe your kids are rubbish at rugby.”