It's a big day for Johnny Sexton. And it's a big day for me as well. I'm – yeah know – bringing the boys to see the great man win his 100th cap against Japan at the Aviva, and I decide to swing into Christian's gaff on the way there just to use the old Josh Ritter.
The dude is living in an aportment in Ballsbridge that has to be seen to be believed? The money from the Vampire Bed he invented is storting to come through. And to think that people laughed at him when he said the solution to Ireland's accommodation crisis was for everyone to sleep standing up.
I push the intercom buzzer and he answers.
I’m like, “Dude, it’s the Rossmeister.”
And – I swear to fock – he goes, “Riiiggghhht...” like he’s weighing up whether or not to let me in.
I’m there, “Er, Dude, can you open the door?”
I should mention, by the way, that my idiot children are singing, "Rock boys are we, our title is our glory! " which has become a pretty much dawn-to-whatever thing since they storted in Willow.
Christian goes, “Who are you with there, Ross?”
I’m like, “What do you mean, who am I with? I’m with Brian, Johnny and Leo. I’m taking them to the Aviva.”
He goes, “It’s just, well, I’ve got the kids this weekend.”
In the background I hear Ross Junior, his eldest, go, "Don't let those boys in here, Daddy! They're evil!"
He's, like, twelve now and he's scared of three six-year-olds – although, if I'm being totally honest, there are times when they terrify even me.
"Fearless and bold," they're going at the top of their voices, "whatever the danger be!"
I’m there, “Dude, you better let us up. They’re bursting for the jacks, and I can’t guarantee that they won’t do it on the tennis court.”
Goys, you want to meet Johnny Sexton after the match, don't you? Well, how do you think he's going to react if he hears you singing that? Er, a <em>Mary's </em>boy?
That brings him quickly to his senses – like I said, it's Ballsbridge, not Carrickmines – and he buzzes us up. Thirty seconds later he opens the aportment door and the boys chorge in there like sailors on shore leave. Ross Junior, by the way, has locked himself and his little brother, Oliver, into their bedroom and is refusing to come out until we've gone.
The boys are like, "Onward we go, to flinch or falter never! Rock boys together, the blue and white forever!"
Christian goes, “Does that not bother you?”
I’m like, “What, the singing?”
“Well,” he goes, “more the song.”
I'm there, "Big time, Dude. It's like a focking earworm. Even on the rare occasions when one of them isn't singing it, it's in my head. Goys, you want to meet Johnny Sexton after the match, don't you? Well, how do you think he's going to react if he hears you singing that? Er, a Mary's boy?"
“Daddy,” Ross Junior, though the door, goes, “are they gone yet?”
He’s there, “No, very soon, though,” making us feel like a bunch of social piranhas.
I’m like, “That kid could do with toughening up – seeing as we’re criticising each other’s children here.”
The kid goes, “Dad, don’t let them hurt Peanut!”
I'm like, "Who the fock is Peanut?" and that's when this - like, literally? – chihuahua tips into the room. He sees us standing there and storts yapping away.
He’s like, “Yap! Yap! Yap! Yap!” the way those little handbag dogs do. Christian, without saying a word, produces a water pistol and squirts water in the dog’s face. The borking suddenly stops.
I’m like, “Dude what are you doing with a dog?”
He's there, "I didn't get it for me. I got it for the boys. But Lauren decided she doesn't want them to have a dog."
Yeah, no, they have, like, the worst divorce ever.
“Yap! Yap! Yap! Yap!” this – like he said – Peanut dude goes.
'Ross, I'm not sure that's a good idea', like <em>he has anything to teach</em> me about the ort of parenting
Christian points the water pistol at him and lets him have it again. Two squirts and the dog is silent.
I’m like, “And what’s with the water pistol?”
He goes, “We’re technically not allowed to have pets in the building. So I’m trying to condition him not to bork.”
"Rock boys are we," the boys are still going, "our title is our glory!" and, of course, I end up having one of my famous brainwaves.
I’m like, “Dude, give me the gun.”
He's there, "Ross, I'm not sure that's a good idea," like he has anything to teach me about the ort of parenting.
I end up taking the thing out of his hand, then I point it at Leo and give him two quick blasts in the face.
"Fearless and bold," he goes, "whatever the – what the fock?"
I’m there, “Stop singing that stupid song.”
He just, like, glowers at me, his little underbite sticking out, like he's about to spring for my jugular. But - it's like some kind of miracle – he does stop singing?
"Onward we go," the other two keep going, "to flinch or falter never."
I’m like, “To flinch or falter never, is it?” and I give Brian the same dose – two squirts, straight in the mush.
Not only does he flinch and falter, he calls me every b word, f word and – I'm sad to say it – c word under the sun. But, again, the singing stops.
Now, it's just Johnny, the great man's namesake, who's at it: "Rock boys are we, the blue and white,"
I point the gun at him and I pull the trigger twice. Instantly, the singing stops. Admittedly, he takes a run at me and punches me full in the stomach. But I want to see that kind of aggression in him, especially if he’s going to be a 10.
'Ross, I need it for the dog.' But I'm there, 'Dude, I think we'd all agree that my need is greater'
And for the first time in what seems like weeks, there’s silence out of them. It’s like when you go swimming and you have a bubble in your ear for days and then it suddenly pops. I can actually hear myself think.
Leo opens his mouth to sing again, and all I have to do is level the gun at him to make him think better of it.
I’m like, “Christian, I’m keeping this thing.”
He goes, “Ross, I need it for the dog.”
But I’m there, “Dude, I think we’d all agree that my need is greater.”
Then I turn to the boys and I’m like, “Okay, let’s go,” before I lead them at gunpoint up the Shelbourne Road.