There’s no sugar-coating this one. We’ve been taken to the literally cleaners today. Yeah, no, beaten 45-10 by – and there’s no easy way of saying this – Wesley College, the same Wesley College who haven’t won a Leinster Schools Senior Cup since the world was in pretty much black and white.
Like I said, there are no positives to be taken from it, so I end up giving it to the players with both barrels.
“You’re a disgrace,” I go. “You’re a sorry excuse for a rugby team. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing out there. We’re talking missed tackles. We’re talking unforced errors. You didn’t string together three passes all day. And your defending was pretty much nonexistent.”
“We’re only 13,” a voice goes.
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I look around the dressing-room and I’m like, “Who said that? Which one of your losers–”
Johnny – my own son, bear in mind – puts up his hand.
I’m there, “You were the worst of all. Seven kicks – none of them especially hord, by the way – and you missed five. I’d have put them between the chopsticks wearing your old dear’s slippers.”
The dude just shrugs like it’s nothing to him. Then he’s like, “I don’t think I want to play rugby any more.”
I’m there, “Excuse me?”
And Leo goes, “Dad, I don’t want to play either. I want to join the drama society.”
The words that every south Dublin rugby parent must dread.
I’m there, “Oh, you want to act, do you? How about for your next role you play a half-decent inside-centre?”
It’s a total burn and the kid knows it.
“If we’re shit as a team,” he tries to go, “what does that say about you as a coach?”
He’s lucky I’m as confident as I am because a line like that could hurt a regular person’s ego.
They made us look like we’d honestly never seen a rugby ball before
Brian goes, “Dad, we’re rubbish. And Wesley are brilliant. We’re not even in their league.”
He’s talking about the Vesey boys – Sam, Will and Felix – who ran the match for Wesley, we’re talking Sam at outhalf, Will at outside-centre and Felix at scrumhalf. They made us look like we’d honestly never seen a rugby ball before.
I’m there, “They weren’t that good.”
They were that good.
Johnny goes, “Yeah, right, Dad – what match were you watching?”
I decide then that it’s time to inspire them.
I’m there, “Do you know what the great thing about rugby is?” and I find myself suddenly channelling the late, great Fr Fehily. “Every generation a player comes along who everyone agrees is unstoppable. Or a coach comes up with a tactic that everyone agrees makes his side unbeatable. Then a smort man comes up with a way of stopping the unstoppable player, of beating the unbeatable side, and it looks so obvious that no one can believe that they didn’t think of it in the first place.”
“They’re doing the Pirates of Penzance,” Johnny goes, “with Muckross.”
That turns a few heads.
Callum, one of our so-called second rows, goes, “I know one or two girls in Muckross.”
I’m there, “Goys, can I just remind you what the prize is here. We’re playing Blackrock College on Paddy’s Day. That should be the focus. We have a serious amount of work to do, but I still believe we can turn it around.”
And that’s when my phone rings. Yeah, no, it’s Christian, my so-called best mate, who’s coaching the first years in Blackrock, a job he chose over being my assistant.
He goes, “Ross, how the hell are you?”
I’m like, “Yeah, no, all good, dude.”
He’s there, “We just beat Belvo 34-3.”
I’m like, “I’m tempted to say fair focks – very tempted, except, well, you know.”
He goes, “How did you get on?”
I’m there, “Excuse me?”
He’s like, “Didn’t you have a match today? Against Wesley, wasn’t it? Okay, Mr Modesty, what did you beat them by?”
I’m there, “Oh, it was, em, something ridiculous in the end. As Fr Fehily used to say, the numbers don’t matter at this stage of the season. It’s the performance that counts.”
He goes, “But you won?”
I’m like, “God, yeah. The referee actually blew it up early.”
He goes, “That’s funny. Because I had a spy at the game. He said the referee blew it up early, all right – when you were losing 45-10!”
Then he hangs up on me.
How about we waive their fees and give you a hundred grand? We’re talking cash?
Johnny and a group of the others are listening to Stay, Frederic, Stay on Johnny’s phone and I end up suddenly losing my shit.
I storm out of the dressingroom. I spot the Vesey triplets getting into a people carrier with their old man. I step in front of the cor just as it’s pulling out of its spot. Their old man slams on the brakes and goes, “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
I’m there, “How much for your kids?”
He’s like, “I beg your pordon?”
“To move schools,” I go. “To Castlerock College. How much?”
He’s like, “My children aren’t some commodity to be traded between–”
I’m there, “How about we waive their fees and give you a hundred grand? We’re talking cash?”
I don’t care – it’ll be the school that’s paying.
“They’re settled in Wesley,” he goes. “They love it there.”
I’m there, “What about 150 Ks? Fifty for each.”
He goes, “150,000, plus you’ll waive their fees and you’ll pay their college fees after they leave school.”
I’m looking at three future Leinster Schools Senior Cup winners here. Nothing surer. It’ll be worth it. So we shake hands on it.
I’m there, “You won’t regret this, Mr Vesey.”
Then I spot their giant of a second row, who absolutely dominated us in the lineout today. He’s getting into a Merc with his old man.
I’m there, “What’s that kid’s name again?”
Mr Vesey goes, “That’s Linus O’Rourke. I know his old man. I play golf with him. I can introduce you if you want.”
I smile and I’m like, “Yeah, no, please do.”
Because it’s like the great man said. Every generation a player comes along who everyone agrees is unstoppable. Or a coach comes up with a tactic that everyone agrees makes his side unbeatable. Then a smort man comes up with a way of stopping the unstoppable player, of beating the unbeatable side, and it looks so obvious that no one can believe that they didn’t think of it in the first place.
I am that smort man.
