The school concert hall is absolutely rammers and the walls are pretty much vibrating with the sound of people being – as we say on this side of the city – up in orms.
Yeah, no, as Fionn predicted, there’s been a bit of pushback against the nutrition and training regime I’ve introduced for anyone with dreams of wearing the colours of Castlerock College. The phone calls storted coming the second the girls arrived home with their exercise and meal plans, we’re talking outraged parents telling me there’s no way they’re spending money on gym memberships for their children – or, for that matter, cooking them corbonora for breakfast.
So rather than dealing with their pissing and whinging on a one-to-one basis, I decide to call a meeting. I’m not giving myself pats on the back here but I’m famous for my ability to work a room and to bring people with me. I learned from the best – the great Fr Denis Fehily. I would have run through a wall after one of his pep talks, although – full disclosure? – that was portly down to the injections of methamphetamine that he had the school nurse provide us with on a daily basis.
That, my friend, was a video demonstrating the fact that I’m a proven winner. So when I speak about rugby, people should listen
Like I said, I can pretty much feel the anger coming off them when I step into the room with a big superhero smile on my face. I don’t say a word. I just whip the remote out of my pocket and switch on the big screen TV on the wall, then I press the play button on the DVD player.
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Suddenly, 70 or 80 pissed-off parents find themselves watching a montage of some of my career highlights set to Coldplay’s Viva la Vida. Honor actually put it together a few years ago to try to butter me up when she was trying to get eight grand out of me for invisible braces.
All my best bits are on it. Me beating five players to score my famous wonder try against the supposed Blackrock College Dream Team. Me kicking an injury time penalty to beat Clongowes. Me making shit of the Gonzaga defence then pulling up my jersey to give their fans an eyeful of The Six.
Even though I’ve watched it seven- or eight-thousand times, it still gives me goosebumps – although not everyone feels the same way?
One of the dads goes, “What the hell is this we’re watching?” clearly not a student of rugby history.
I’m like, “Keep watching until the end, will you? Fock’s sake,” because he’s trying to make it all about him.
The video eventually ends with a photograph of a grinning yours truly giving two middle fingers to the Newbridge College players as they collected their losers medals after the 1999 Leinster Schools Senior Cup final.
There ends up being no round of applause at the end. If anything, the crowd are even angrier than they were when I walked in here?
“What the hell was that all about?” the same dude goes.
I’m like, “That, my friend, was a video demonstrating the fact that I’m a proven winner. So when I speak about rugby, people should listen.”
A woman sitting behind him storts waving one of my diet plans in the air, going, “You’re telling me that my daughter needs to eat six meals a day – including pasta for breakfast?”
I’m there, “Corbs are important but they have to be consumed early enough in the day to be then burned off. Protein is better processed by the body if it’s consumed over five-to-six meals rather than the traditional two-to-three. This stuff is basic. Ask any rugby player and they’ll tell you–”
“We’re not talking about rugby players,” the woman goes. “We’re talking about children.”
I’m there, “If you don’t mind me saying, that’s the attitude that got us beaten by Sion Hill and Newpork whatever-the-fock. And your daughter was the worst player on the pitch in both matches.”
Follow the programme until Christmas and you’ll see the results. That’s as sure as my daughter has straight teeth in her head
That softens her cough. But no sooner has she sat down than another mother – and I don’t mean that in, like, a derogatory way? – is on her feet, going, “Am I the only one who’s concerned about the cost of all of this?”
I’m like, “Yes,” but it fails to get the laugh it deserves.
She’s there, “Six sets of dumbbells, a medicine ball, a training bench – this is on top of schoolbooks.”
I’m like, “Schoolbooks shmoolbooks.”
Again, nothing – I’m definitely earning my money today.
She goes, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I’m there, “It means that you have to prioritise.”
“So you’re saying that I should choose between my daughter’s rugby and her education?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I’d actually go further than that and say that education doesn’t matter at all. I didn’t do a tap at school and look at me.”
Oh, that gets them chattering among themselves.
One of the dads goes, “You’re telling us that playing rugby is more important than passing exams?”
I’m like, “Hey, you chose to send your daughters to Castlerock College. Those words on the school crest – veni, vidi, vici – they mean something. Rugby above all else.”
“That’s not what they mean,” the same dude tries to go.
I’m there, “Let’s agree to differ then,” and that’s when I suddenly stort channelling Fr Fehily.
I go, “Do you know why most people don’t recognise opportunity when it knocks? Because it comes dressed as hord work and sacrifice.”
Whoa! This, like, silence suddenly descends on the room and I can nearly hear people thinking, “Say more things like that.”
I’m there, “Your daughters have a chance to be port of something very special. I know what I’m talking about when I say that by working together towards a common goal, they will form bonds with each other that will last a literally lifetime. But, more important than that, they will win things. Just give me a chance. Follow the programme until Christmas and you’ll see the results. That’s as sure as my daughter has straight teeth in her head.”
There’s just, like, silence in the room. I have them eating out of the palm of my hand – although no corbs because it’s after midday!
“Now,” I go, “do you want to watch the DVD again?”
