So – yeah, no – I’m in the gym in Riverview, trying to get myself beach body-ready for Quints in the middle of August. Today is orms day and I’m sitting on a Swiss ball in front of a long mirror, with a 6kg dumbbell in either hand, thinking how fantastic I look for a man of, like, 42, with abs like speed bumps and pecs like bay windows.
“Admiring yourself?” a voice behind me goes.
I turn my head and it ends up being my old mate Oisinn.
“Yeah, no,” I go, “I’m just having one of my famous deep moments here. I’m in unbelievable shape, especially considering the rugby career that I, well, very nearly had.”
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He’s like, “I’ll give you that,” and he high-fives me with a force that almost sends me falling backwards off the Swiss ball. He grabs a hold of me to stop me from hitting the deck and then he helps me to my feet.
I’m like, “Jesus, my core strength isn’t what it used to be, though. I’m going to throw in a couple of hundred sit-ups before I leave here today.”
“Dude,” he suddenly goes, “what’s the story with the shorts?”
I’m like, “What, these shorts? Yeah, no, these are ones that the great Rob Henderson wore for the Lions against Australia in the First Test in ‘01. My old man bought them at a charity auction in the Shelbourne Hotel to raise awareness of, em – well, who even knows what now. All I remember is that Sean Dunne outbid him for the jersey and the old man ended up paying eight grand for these bad boys as a sort of, like, consolation prize. They still fit me, by the way.”
He’s there, “Do you, em, really think so?”
“Forty-two with a 32 waist,” I go. “I’m going to do those sit-ups now.”
I’m about to hit the deck when Oisinn all of a sudden goes, “No, em, hold off on the sit-ups for a second, Ross. Oh, look, here comes JP!”
I turn around and – yeah, no – the famous J Town is walking across the floor of the gym towards us.
I’m like, “Whoa! Is this a coincidence or what?”
And JP’s there, “Yeah, no, it’s like old times, isn’t it? I don’t think we’ve all been in a gym together since our Leinster Schools Senior Cup days.”
That ends up being the trigger for a round of high-fives that turns very quickly into a round of chest bumps. God, I love rugby.
“So, em, speaking of old times,” JP goes, “what’s the deal with the shorts, Ross?”
I’m there, “Okay, that is insane! Because Oisinn was only just admiring them as well.”
“I was certainly commenting on them,” Oisinn goes.
I’m like, “Literally 20 seconds ago!”
“Are they the ones that Rob Henderson wore in the First Test against Australia in ‘01?” JP goes.
I’m there, “The very same, dude. I know that was very much Drico’s day – what with that try and everything – but a lot of people forget that Hendo had a great tour too.”
“Didn’t Johnny Ronan buy the jersey?”
“Yeah, no, it was actually Sean Dunne. I only hope it’s lasted as long as these shorts.”
“You’ve, em, got a lot of wear out of them over the years, haven’t you?”
“They’re practically never off me, dude. I wear them in the gym. I wear them if we’re having, like, a borbecue. I wear them if I’m just, I don’t know, lounging around the Country Bake, having a coffee and shooting the breeze with whoever.”
All of a sudden, I notice Oisinn and JP exchange a look.
“What?” I go. “As in, what the fock?”
“Er, nothing,” Oisinn goes.
I’m like, “Okay, weirdos – I’m going to make a stort on those sit-ups.”
“No!” the two of them suddenly shout, each one grabbing an orm.
I’m like, “Dudes, what is your focking deal?”
Oisinn goes, “It’s just that– Here comes Christian, look!”
I look around and – yeah, no – Christian is making his way over to us, even though I haven’t seen him in Riverview in, like, literally years?
“Ross!” he goes. “How the hell, are you?”
I’m like, “This is unbelievable! The fock are you doing here?”
He’s there, “We’re, em, going to Quints this weekend. Thought I’d, you know, try to knock the old bod into a bit of shape.”
“Fair focks,” I go, hanging five in the air for him. “Fair focking focks.”
He goes, “Are those the shorts that Rob Henderson wore in the First Test against Australia in ‘01?”
I’m like, “Yeah, no, the famous Waltzing O’Driscoll match in Brisb–”
And I stop because I’m suddenly picking up on a definite vibe?
“Okay,” I go, “why does this suddenly feel like an intervention?”
The three of them just stare at me, saying fock-all.
I’m like, “Are you saying it is an intervention?”
Oisinn goes, “They don’t fit you any more, Ross.”
I’m like, “What are you talking about?” grabbing a hold of the waistband, “they fit perfectly – look!”
“We’re not talking about there,” JP goes. “We’re talking about – oh, God, how can I put this delicately?”
Christian goes, “Clothes change shape with repeated washings, Ross. The legs of those shorts have become a little, I want to say, slacker over the years?”
I’m like, “Goys, I know I’m famously slow on the uptake, but you’re going to have to be a bit more pacific.”
Oisinn’s there, “We can see your landing gear, Ross?”
I’m like, “What?”
JP’s there, “It’s true, Dude. Sorcha asked us to have a quiet word with you. And, em, one or two of the regulars in the Country Bake.”
I take a long, hord look at myself in the mirror – at possibly my favourite item of clothing in the world, which has been a port of my life for, like, practically 20 years now.
“Dude,” Oisinn goes, “it’s time to bin them.”
I’m like, “Do you think Hendo would understand?” because it feels like I’m saying goodbye to an old friend here.
Christian’s there, “He’d totally understand.”
Then I nod sadly.
I’m there, “I couldn’t do one last set of sit-ups in them, could I?”
And three pairs of orms suddenly seize me.
“No more sit-ups!” JP goes. “For the love of humanity, Ross, no more sit-ups!”
