The soon-to-be-ex sister-in-law is about to walk down the aisle – this could be a beautiful day, couldn't it? asks ROSS O'CARROLL KELLY

ONE OF THE things I was famous for back in my days as potentially the greatest rugby player of my generation was my ability to block out what I used to call the boo-boys. This I managed to do by using visualisation exercises that were taught to me by the late Father Fehily, who learned them himself as part of the anti-interrogation training he received from the Nazis back in the, I suppose, oldendays?

I actually thought of my old school principal on Thursday afternoon – that big, booming voice of his coming from the sidelines, going, “Wunderbar! Wunderbar!” – when I was sat in the old Church of St Stephen in Killiney, the occasion being the wedding of my soon-to-be-ex sister-in-law.

I have to say, roysh, that never in all my years of kicking points in Donnybrook, Belfield, and wherever else, have I experienced the kind of 'tude that was coming my way in that church. All I could hear were people under their breaths going, "What's hedoing here?" and there was nothing I could do except stare down at my mass leaflet and try to – like I said – block it all out.

I was actually wondering how many of them knew about my history with Sorcha's sister: Aibreann or Oola or whatever the fock she's called. Then I had one of my sudden brainwaves to check the cover of the mass booklet to answer the whole name question once and for all. That was when this, like, shadow suddenly fell over me and I looked up to see Pete – as in the dude she's, like, marrying? – standing over me with a face like a focking bulldog in grief.

“You’re unbelievable,” he went.

I was like, “Hey, let’s forget the whole Castlerock v Clongowes thing today, will we? I’ve been invited here, remember.”

“What do you think you’re doing sitting in the front row?” he went. “That’s for me and my groomsmen.” I instantly hopped up and moved back a few pews.

I noticed Sorcha's old dear and granny just shaking their heads, giving me serious evils. The granny – big dandelion puffball head on her – went, "He'll never change!" and of course what she didn't mention was, 'Would people actually wanthim to?' The string quartet storted banging out Pie Jesu, which is pretty much Latin for Game Time. We all stood up, then in walked the bridesmaids – all lookers, you couldn't complain about any of them – the last of the three being Sorcha, who looked incredible. Then she always does.

And I did have a moment, watching her slow-stepping her way up the aisle, when I thought, you know, if only I’d been mature enough to handle the whole fame thing a bit better . . . “Beautiful,” I whispered, as she passed me, then out of the corner of her mouth, she went, “I told you to stay the fock away!” which she did, although I wasn’t sure she meant it, until that moment.

Then in walked the sister – again, no complaints – orm in orm with her old man, who hates my guts more than anyone else in the world. Iwas all smiles, of course. My – still – wife's little sister was getting married and my attitude was very much fair focks.

But it was as she passed my pew that she caught my eye with a look that I straight away recognised as – and this might sound arrogant? – but yearning. And I knew at that moment that the wisest thing for me to do would be to make like a shepherd and get the flock out of there.

Except I didn’t. I stayed.

It was during the old First Letter from St Paul to the Corinthians that I saw the first signs of trouble. The priest was doing the whole noisy gong and clanging cymbal bit and I couldn't help but notice that the sister kept looking over her shoulder in my generalpostcode? And it must have been obvious to Pete, roysh, because the next thing I saw was the two of them, like, bickering – er, this is in front of the altar? Anyway, it happened – like in every soap opera wedding you've ever seen – during the exchange of vows. It was suddenly, "Do you take blahdy blahdy blah?" and believe it or not, I didn't actually catch her name because somehow I knew what was coming.

She just, like, burst into tears and sat down, going, “I can’t do it! I can’t do it!” and of course the entire congregation was in total shock. Poor Pete’s mouth was flapping around like a salmon about to take a fly.

"I'm sorry, Pete," she managed to blurt out. "I'm . . . I'm in love with someone else." Another one of my great qualities as a rugby player – Gerry Thornley alwaysmentioned it – was my peripheral vision. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Sorcha's granny sort of, like, tottering – in other words about to faint? – presumably from shock. I literally dived across the aisle and, like, caught her before she hit the deck. And it was at that exact moment that the sister went, "I'm in love with Ross O'Carroll-Kelly."

Well, I’m sure you can imagine the scene that followed. It was, you’d have to say, pretty much pandemonium. It was like, “How could you do this to me?” and, “Leave her, Pete – she’s upset!” and at that stage, the focus hadn’t yet turned on me, so I had the chance to whip out the old Wolfe and ring an ambulance for the granny, who was slowly coming around.

But inevitably – if that's a word – it began to dawn on people that the entire fiasco was, like, myfault? There were one or two threats from the Clongowes heads who were there and – I'm not proud of this – I ended up using Sorcha's granny as a kind of human shield to back my way out of the church.

As it happened, roysh, the ambulance was waiting outside and I helped her up into it, still a bit dazed, closed the doors, banged on the back and off it drove.

Then I stood around for a minute or two and, eventually, Sorcha came outside. The thing is, roysh, she looked more sad than angrywith me?

“You better go,” she went. “I think my dad really might kill you this time.”

I was like, “Er, cool.”

“Thanks for looking after my gran, though.” It was at that exact point that an ambulance came tearing into the church grounds with its siren blaring. And being just about the slowest person who ever learned to walk upright, it took Sorcha to make me realise what I’d just done.

"Ross," she went, "please tell me you didn't put my grandmother in the refrigeration truck that brought the flowers." And all Icould do was, like, shake my head. "Sorcha," I went, "I genuinely think I'm cursed."

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