'England, put to the proverbial sword. Rest easy, Little One'

The old man’s off on a rugby nostalgia trip – I might have to kick him back to reality

THE OLD MAN rings me yesterday – says he and Hennessy have, like, something to show me? Three o’clock in the day and already mullered.

Says he’s sending his driver. Ten minutes later, as good as his word, the Merc rolls up outside the gaff. “What’s all this about?” I go, but all Radoslaw will say is, “He haff soorprise for you.”

Croke Park, I have to say, doesn’t hold the same horror for me that it once did. I’m actually walking across the exact spot where Shaggy scored his try against England when I hear the old man roaring at, like, the top of his voice. “Kicker!” he’s going. “Kicker! Up here!” I look up and there they are, between the two stands, underneath the Supermacs sign and above the one for Silvermints – him and Hennessy, raising their brandy glasses to me. “What the fock are you doing up there?” I automatically go.

"This is the Anglo Irish corporate box," the old man shouts. "Or should I say was – we've only gone and bloody bought it!" Of course I'm up those stairs two at a time. It's an unbelievable room – humungous, roysh, and bang on overlooking the actualhalfway line.

The old man’s sitting in this massive leather recliner. “I’m told this was Sean Fitzpatrick’s very chair,” he goes, trying to, like, adjust the leg-rest. “It’s an ill wind that doesn’t blow for someone, eh, old chap?” Hennessy just laughs.

I’m there, “God, you’re like a couple of vultures,” but at the same time – I have to admit – I’m picturing me and the goys in here for the England match.

"No," the old man goes, standing up, "like two great entrepreneurs, we simply got in first – to coin a phrase. Of course it's set all sorts of tongues wagging. Newspapers and so forth – i ncludingMssrs Collins and Beesley of your own parish – ringing up to know are we part of this famous Golden Circle. 'No comment,' I said. 'All I'll say is you know me as a man who's always put the national interest first.'"

He walks over to the window. Being honest, if there wasn’t a sheet of glass in front of him and a witness in the room, I’d probably push him over the edge of the stand.

“I don’t know whether it’s being up so high, or England tomorrow, or maybe that bottle of XO that Seanie left behind, but I’m feeling rather patriotic this afternoon. Puts me in mind of the day I took you to see your first rugby international, Ross. God, now you’re taking me back. Nineteen hundred and eighty-two.

“You won’t remember it, of course, hadn’t even had your second birthday, but naturally I wanted to immerse you in the game from as early an age as possible. Wales – that was the first game you ever saw. Lansdowne Road. Still have the ticket stubs to this very day . . .” He doesn’t, by the way. I let someone use them for roach material at a porty in the gaff years ago.

“Of course the build-up was all about Campbell and Ward. Oh, Hennessy, you and I had some famous rows, didn’t we, over who was Ireland’s rightful number 10? Sometimes to the point of very near fisticuffs. In fact, the previous year, when poor Ollie was switched to centre, I said that was it. I was never going again – the IRFU would have to plan for a future without my support.

“Well, you say those things, don’t you? ‘The West Stand won’t be the same,’ Hennessy said, ‘without that big voice of yours booming out. I’m sure the players will miss it.’ Damn your eyes, Old Scout, you knew how to get to me – and you knew I’d be back.

"The good news was that Ollie was in at number 10 for the Wales match. When people ask me about you, Ross, and the extraordinary things you did on the rugby field, I always take them back to that day. Because you were there, you sawit – for my money one of Ollie Campbell's greatest ever performances in the green jersey.

"He set up – I think I'm correct in saying – two tries for Moss Finn. The second was an absolute dream – dummy, sidestep, dummy, pass. I looked at your little face, Ross – I was holding you, like so – and there you were with your eyes wide open. Read into that what you will, but I willremind you that you would later make that particular move your own.

"The next game, we didn't take you because, well, it was in Twickenham. Tomorrow's opponents – ie, the incorrectly spelt auldenemy. Hennessy and I were in the exact corner where Ginger McLoughlin scored. Oh yes, you can see us in all the photographs.

“And of course the famous conversion that followed. From the sideline. Bloody gale blowing. You know, I think that was the closest you ever came, Hennessy, to admitting that Campbell was at least as good as Ward – certainly technically superior.

“I remember ringing home, from the bar in Jurys in Kensington. I said, ‘Fionnuala, put Ross on.’ ‘Charles,’ she said, ‘he’s only a baby.’ ‘All the better to remember this,’ comes my famous reply. So she held the receiver up to your ear and I must have recounted the entire match to you, while Hennessy there fed coins into the slot.”

“So you were a knob then as well?” I go, just letting him know that buying a corporate box doesn’t mean we’re suddenly going to become all palsy-walsy.

“I remember saying to you on the phone, ‘England, put to the proverbial sword. Rest easy, Little One. Rest easy now.’ Then next up, as everyone remembers, was Scotland. Twenty-one points to twelve, with the Triple Crown – capital T, capital C – not to mention the championship, secured. Campbell kicking all the points.

“And you know what I remember most about that day? I had you on my lap, Ross – just here – and every time the chap stepped up to take a kick, I would do this – just gently swing your right foot in what you might call a kicking action. Second half, I forgot all about it – the excitement of the match and so forth – but Campbell’s about to slot over yet another penalty, when your godfather here turns to me and says, ‘Charlie – look!’ He’s staring at your little feet – or more particularly your right foot, which was swinging, like this. Like you were about to take the kick . . .

“I remember saying – because it was a terribly clever thing to say – that the present was obviously in good hands, but so too was the future.

“Nineteen hundred and eighty-two. Country was on it knees but those chaps – oh, those chaps – had us dreaming all sorts of crazy dreams.”

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