'The last time Leinster was involved in a European Cup final, we flewover? And we stayed in, like, a five-stor hotel. This time we're on the actual – I still can't believe it – ferry'
A HUNDRED-AND-FORTY-EIGHTyoyos? At first, roysh, I think I must have misheard him. It's difficult to hear anything with the sound of the waves crashing against the side of the boat. It's the only explanation.
“I thought you said one hundred-and-forty-eight yoyos,” I even go.
“I did,” Oisinn goes.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him since his bankruptcy hearing.
I’m like, “Dude, tell me that’s per day.”
He laughs. “That’s per week.”
“To live on?”
“Yeah.”
I end up, like, totally losing it? I just fock my Heineken can into the actual sea. There was a drop in the end of it as well. “Someone’s got to go to jail over this recession,” I go. “And I really mean that. It’s gone beyond a joke at this stage?”
He puts his orm around my shoulder, obviously grateful for the support. “I try to see it in relative terms,” he goes. “I’m only bankrupt. Means I’m better off than a lot of other people in this country.”
“Even so – a hundred-and-forty-eight snots. Fock, we used to spend that on a bottle of champagne back in the day. Not even drink it either. Send it over to Rosanna or whoever else’s Diana Vickers we were trying to get into.”
He laughs, even though he knows what I’m talking is actual sense. A hundred-and-forty-eight euros – you wouldn’t keep a focking parrot on it.
“I’ll manage,” he goes.
I could, like, weep for him. Talk about a comedown. This is the dude who invented the fragrance Eau d’Affluence. And came up with the concept for scented holy water. He was supposedly worth a hundred mills at one point. Now he’s seventy mills in a hole. Which means he’s lost €100 million, then another €70 million on top of it. You do the math.
“You won’t need to manage,” I instantly go, “because I’m putting you on the payroll of Shred Focking Everything.”
“Ross, I’m not even allowed to own a bank account.”
“I’ll pay you in cash then. Dude, I’m coining it in at the moment. And you can take that worried look off your face – you won’t have to do any actual work.”
He just smiles at me and goes, “It’s very kind of you, dude, but I’m gonna have to say no thanks. Look, I’m just going to have to accept that the world has changed for me. Like it’s changed for hundreds of thousands of people out there.”
It's changed alright. The last time Leinster were involved in a European Cup final, we flew over? And we stayed in, like, a five-stor hotel. This time we're on the actual – I still can't believe it – ferry. We've nowhere to stay and we've no Lemony Snickets. Another example of how the recession is affecting people right across the board. Where the fock are Prime Timenow?
JP and Fionn arrive back, wobbling across the deck of the ship, clutching another 12 cans of Sensibly. JP is singing, “True love. You’re the team I’m dreaming of. You were sent from up above. And I’m gonna be . . . True Blue, Leinster, I love you.”
I open another can and knock back another mouthful. There’s, like, a flock of hens on the other side of the deck – my guess is that they’re from Liverpool, just from the way they stort every sentence with, “Arrr-eh . . .” This might sound big-headed but the bride-to-be is checking me out like the winning lottery numbers are written on my crotch.
JP looks at me, his eyes all glassy. “I love my province,” he goes.
I laugh. “I love it too, J Town.”
“No,” he goes, “I really, really love it. All of it, Ross. The Hill of Tara. The Cooley peninsula . . .”
I’m like, “Come on, Dude, we’ve all had a few drinks.”
“Kilkenny Castle. Blanchardstown Shopping Centre . . .”
He’s well and truly mullered.
“Ross,” he goes, “tell me you’re going to get tickets for us.”
I’m like, “Dude, have I ever you let you down? The question is what are you going to do if we win this thing again? I mean, two years ago, you took off your clothes and did a basic streak.”
His eyes are suddenly staring out into the – whatever that sea is actually called. He’s thinking about it.
I worry about JP. I can’t help it. He’s been doing, like, repossessions for two years now and I think it’s storting to get to his conscience, judging from the way he’s tanning the cans. It’s a well-known fact that a woman in Glenageary tried to stop him repossessing her Subaru Forester and he drove back to the showroom with her sprawled across the front bonnet like a focking oil spill. Now she’s suing him. Reckless something-or-other. The word is, she’s looking for five hundred Ks.
I think back to how happy he used to be, when he was with Hook, Lyon and Sinker. He sold half the current Leinster squad their first gaffs. Some of them will be playing rugby into their 50s to pay for them as well.
I think, I’ll have to make the effort to see him more often.
“Do you know what I was just thinking?” Fionn goes, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “How much water has passed under the bridge since the last time we won it.”
That’s certainly true in his case. He was sacked from his teaching job in the Institute after the riot at the battle re-enactment in Mullinavat. Five teachers hospitalised – you couldn’t blame them really. The poor focker’s unemployed and supposedly marrying my sister, who’s used to being kept in a certain style.
“I’ve got something I want to ask you,” he goes.
I’m like, “Shoot for the stors.”
“Will you be my best man?”
I end up nearly choking on a mouthful of the old Prep H. “What?”
“My best man – what do you think?”
“Dude,” I go, “I’m Scoobious about this wedding even going ahead. I honestly think she’s going to see sense and dump your sorry hole.”
He’s like, “Okay, in the unlikely event of Erika turning up on the day, will you be my best man?”
“Dude, I’ve given you a serious hord time over the years. Glasses and all the rest of it. Why me?”
He smiles. “That’s exactly what Erika said. I suppose because, all of the best moments in my life, the best laughs, the best times, they all had one thing in common – you.”
“I would have said your best moments were in the focking library.”
He laughs. “Don’t worry, I know what a tragedy it is to wake up one day and realise that the best friend you’ve managed to make in 30 years on this planet is Ross O’Carroll-Kelly.”
I laugh then. “Even I’d be ashamed of that.”
“Well, there it is. So will you do it?”
I just smile – it’s a serious hallmork moment. “It’d be an actual honour.”
“Arrr-eh!” one of the hen’s shouts over. “Are you coming over, lads?”
Now, you know me and hens – in normal circs, I’d be in among them like Fabulous Mr Fox. The three goys look at me. And I go, “No – we said it was a boy’s weekend, didn’t we?”
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