So – yeah, no – the kids are all standing around me in a semi-circle and they’re, like, hanging on my every word. And I’m in my absolute element, of course, going, “Today, I’m going to teach you guys a thing or two about passing this beautiful object,” showing them a rugby ball. “Now, can anyone here name some types of passes that we might use in rugby?”
“Basic pass,” Leo goes, because he’s had his head filled with this stuff from the day he was born.
I’m like, “Basic pass – very good, Leo. Anyone know another one?”
Brian’s there, “Spin pass,” because – again – when most fathers were reading their children bedtime stories, I was reading them extracts from my famous Rugby Tactics Book.
‘I’m not going to call you Mister anything,’ I tell the deputy principal, and the boys all stort sniggering
Honor’s date for the debs is a looker. She clearly takes after her old man in that regord
Poor, at Dublin Theatre Festival, is a show destined to keep returning and keep selling out
Ronan pours the wine and goes, ‘It’s a surprising little number with notes of candyfloss, anchovies and balsawood’
I’m like, “Spin pass! Excellent, Brian! You certainly know your stuff! Any other kinds of passes?”
Quick as a flash, Johnny’s like, “Pop pass,” and I know I’m their father and everything, but I honestly couldn’t be prouder.
Some random kid then goes, “I said pop pass first!” and even though he did say it first, he didn’t say it loudly or with any great conviction. And while I’m not one to play favourites, I think he’s learned a lesson in asserting himself that will stand to him in the long run.
“Okay, Leo,” I go, “stand over there, will you? I’m going to demonstrate the basic pass. Okay, there are a few rules that it’s important to keep in mind. With practice, those rules should become second nature–”
A voice goes, “We know all of this. We learned this when we were, like, five.”
It’s the kid who pulled me up on the pop pass thing. See what I mean? He’s found his voice already.
I’m there, “When you were five?”
He goes, “Yeah, playing mini rugby in Wanderers.”
I’m there, “And did you actually win anything playing mini rugby in Wanderers?”
He’s like, “A medal for taking port in a blitz.”
I go, “Oh, did you actually win the blitz?” already knowing the answer.
He’s there, “No.”
I’m like, “So, what, you were beaten in the final, were you?”
“No,” he goes, unable to even look at me, “everyone got a medal for taking port.”
I’m there, “What’s your name, kid?”
He goes, “Ifan. With an f.”
“Well,” I go, “Ifan with an f, you are no longer operating in an everyone-gets-a-medal world. You’re on the Leinster Schools Senior Cup track. This is big boy stuff. So if you want to be port of this journey, I want you to unlearn everything you think you know about rugby and this time learn it from someone who’s actually achieved something in the game.”
His opening line is hilarious. He’s like, “Did you park in my parking space?”
He nods. He’s got the message – loud and clear.
“Okay, I’m going to show you what a basic pass should look like,” and I nod at Leo to tell him to get into position. “You run straight, hold the ball with both hands, look at the receiver – and remember, we’re aiming for a point at chest-height just in front of the receiver – and then you complete the pass, like so, and follow through by pointing your hands at–”
I stop because I suddenly spot some randomer – from the way he’s dressed, I’m guessing he’s a teacher – standing on the side-line, gesturing for me to come over to him.
“Mr McCrory is calling you,” Ifan goes.
Now, to take orders from a member of the school staff would undermine me in the eyes of my players, so I end up just ghosting the dude and eventually he has to make his way over to me?
His opening line is hilarious. He’s like, “Did you park in my parking space?”
I’m there, “Excuse me?”
He goes, “I think I enunciated clearly enough for you to hear me,” which is a typical teacher thing to say.
I’m like, “Your porking space? Which one is yours?”
He’s there, “The one with the words Deputy Principal painted in letters large enough to see from 1,000ft in the air.”
And I laugh then because I suddenly recognise him.
I’m there, “Is that you, Slippers? It is you! Slippers McCrory – how the fock are you?”
He was actually in my year back in the day. Now, it seems he’s some kind of teacher. And to think, everyone predicted great things for him.
He goes, “I’ll thank you to call me Mr McCrory while we are on school premises.”
Yeah, no, he had, like, an ingrown toenail when we were in first year and he had to wear his slippers to school for two weeks. Of course, the nickname stuck, as they tend to do?
I’m there, “I’m not going to call you Mister anything,” and the boys all stort sniggering. It’s good for them to see me not take shit from a teacher because it’s something they’re going to have to learn themselves. “Does the toe still bother you or did the operation sort it for good?”
They’re not here to play rugby. They’re here to learn
He doesn’t even answer me.
He goes, “Why aren’t these boys in class?”
I’m there, “Because they’re on the rugby team.”
It’s amazing how some of the things you learn at school never leave you.
“Well, they’re not here to play rugby,” he goes. “They’re here to learn.”
I’m there, “They are learning. I’m showing them the different types of pass that they’re going to have to master.”
This cuts little or no ice with him.
He goes, “They’re not going to pass their exams playing silly games.”
Silly games? I end up seeing red.
I’m there, “Dude, I remember you in school. You had zero interest in rugby. You didn’t even come to watch the S play. I seem to remember giving you a wedgy for that and hanging your jocks from the statue of St Claude of Bethany in the library.”
All of the kids laugh. And he ends up being furious, of course.
He’s there, “Boys, return to class now!”
And I realise that this is the first major test of my authority.
I’m there, “Stay where you are, boys.”
He raises his voice then. He’s like. “Go to your classes – this instant!”
Except none of them even moves a muscle.
He goes, “If you do not return to class, you will be suspended.”
Again, no one stirs.
I’m there, “I think you’ve just got your answer, Slippers.”
He looks me in the eye and goes, “There will be consequences for this.”
Then he turns around and stomps off in the direction of the principal’s office.
