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Hennessy rings me in the middle of the night to say the old man has been arrested. It's not the first time it's ever happened. I can't even say it's the tenth. The difference this time is that it's not for corrupting the planning process, or failing to declare earnings to Revenue, or any of the other – what he calls – victimless crimes he's been done for over the years?
“He’s been chorged with persistent and ongoing non-compliance with public health guidelines,” Hennessy goes. “It looks like they want to make an example of him.”
We are witnessing in this country an incidence of mass suggestibility not seen since the time of moving statues!
I’m like, “Rrriiiggghhht.”
“What do you mean by that?”
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“Yeah, no, I’m just trying to figure out how this affects me?”
On the other end of the phone, I can hear Hennessy breathing loud enough to blow a note on the bagpipes.
"How this affects you?" he goes.
I'm like, "Yeah, no, I was about to rewatch the Ireland versus England match with a few cans before picking my fantasy Lions team. A lot of people are on, like, tenterhooks, waiting to find out how many Irish players make my Test XV."
More silence. More Tony Soprano breathing.
"Your father is about to appear at a special sitting of the Dublin District Court, " he eventually goes, "and how this affects you is that you are going to be there to support him, even if I have to focking kick down your door, focking Taser you and focking drive you there in the boot of my cor!"
He actually has a Taser gun, by the way? My son gave it to him for his 70th. So – yeah, no – I decide to just do what he says and use the extra few hours to really tease out the case for picking Johnny Sexton ahead of Owen Farrell.
I take my seat in the public gallery and, 20 minutes later, my old man is led into court along with about 30 others, his wrists are cuffed in front of him.
“Kicker,” he shouts, “you came!”
I’m there, “Yeah, no, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
He’s like, “Well, don’t leave us all in suspense! Is it going to be Sexton or Farrell at 10?”
"Obviously Sexton," I go, "but I haven't figured out why yet?"
The judge tells us – in, like, legal language – to shut the fock up and then the chorges against my old man and all the other randomers are read out. The first chorge my old man is facing is failing to give his name and address when required by a Gorda.
"I told the uniformed factotum of the State that he already knew my name and my address," the old man shouts, "since my arrest was political and based on my public opposition to the current repression – just like my appearance before this Star Chamber tonight!"
The second chorge is travelling more than 5km from his home in contravention of the Health Act and I sort of, like, smile to myself at the thought of telling Owen Farrell that he’s going to be one of the dirt-trackers.
“I am a libertarian!” the old man shouts. “I understand that there are circumstances in which it is necessary to suspend people’s human rights! But a pandemic from which 99 per cent of people recover and survive is not a sufficient justification for locking people up in their homes, for sundering the economy, for destroying the future of our youth and for denying people the basic human need of contact with other human beings!”
Hennessy shouts, “Charlie, save it for the trial.”
“No,” the old man goes, “the press are here – let me give them something to put in their notebooks! We are witnessing in this country an incidence of mass suggestibility not seen since the time of moving statues! I and my fellow defendants here are not part of this national psychosis that has led millions of people to accept that leaving the house is an act of criminality! We are not suffering from the mask-induced oxygen deprivation that has taken away the ability of our politicians, our media, our judiciary, to question these despotic laws, which are part of a global assault on fundamental human freedoms and a shift towards extremism!”
The judge tells him to be quiet.
“I shall not be quiet,” the old man goes. “As an elected public representative, it is my job to speak! It is incumbent on me to remind people that the only public-spirited thing to do in response to tyranny is to defy it! To ignore these repressive laws! Which is why I am happy to pay the fines of all my fellow accused!”
Their faces all light up, of course. All their focking Christmases.
“Furthermore,” the old man goes, “I am making a promise here this evening to pay the fines of anyone in this country who is convicted of an act of civil disobedience against this failing Government and its coercive stay-at-home nonsense!”
“Steady on,” I shout – because that’s my inheritance he’s squandering up there.
The judge goes, “This is neither the time nor the place for political speeches. I will have silence in my courtroom or you will be jailed for contempt. I am granting you all bail on condition that you obey the regulations, do not participate in unlawful assemblies and remain within the distance of your residence required by the Covid restrictions.”
"I will not accede to these demands!" the old man goes. "We will not accede to these demands! Will we, people?"
I notice that quite a few of the others are showing a sudden interest in their fingernails.
“You are saying that you do not accept the conditions of your bail?” the judge goes.
The old man’s there, “I cannot – and will not – agree to live under the terms of your mortial law!”
“What about the rest of you?” the judge goes. “Will you agree to abide by these conditions?”
In one voice, they all go, “Yes, Judge.”
The dude goes, “Take the prisoner down.”
The old man is like, “Better to be a prisoner against my will than with my own acquiescence,” and then, as he’s led away, he winks at me and goes, “Thanks for coming, Kicker! I expect you’re relishing breaking the news to young Farrell that you see him as port of the midweek team!”