Schmidt Happens

by Ross O'Carroll-Kelly

  ‘Fock you,’ Brian goes.

  And I’m like, ‘No, fock you, Brian – fock you very much indeed.’

  Anyway, twenty minutes later, we’re on the N11 and we’re passing UCD. Weirdly, Sorcha hasn’t asked after Honor, so I go, ‘So, er, our daughter’s in cracking form.’

  Sorcha’s there, ‘Is she?’

  ‘Yeah, no, Erika seems to have had a really positive effect on her. She’s up to, like, 300,000 subscribers now.’

  And it’s at that exact point that I hear my phone ring. I’m the one actually driving this morning, so I answer it on speaker and the cor is suddenly filled with the sound of a dude’s voice, doing, ‘Hoy! Is that Ross O’Carroll-Killoy?’

  Whoever it is sounds definitely foreign, but at the same time the voice is weirdly familiar?

  I’m like, ‘The one! The only!’ because it’s a funny thing I sometimes say.

  And that’s when the voice goes, ‘Ross, ut’s Joe Schmudt.’

  Now, you can probably imagine my response.

  I’m like, ‘Fock you, Zebo. I’ve got my wife and kids in the cor.’

  He goes, ‘Whoy?’

  ‘Simon focking Zebo. I know it’s you. And I know it was you who rang JP after the Late Late and pretended to be interested in one of his Vampire Beds.’

  But the dude just laughs and goes, ‘Yeah, ut’s not Soymun Zoyboy, Ross! Ut’s Joe Schmudt!’

  Shit, I think it actually is him. I look at Sorcha and she’s already mouthing the words, ‘Oh! My! God!’

  I’m there, ‘Why would you be ringing me?’ already doing the mental inventory of what’s in my Go Bag.

  He goes, ‘Oym just kitchen up on moy correspondence – litters Oy’ve boyn moyning to reploy toy for a long toym. Oym ringing because I got one from your daughter.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Honor – is that her noym?’

  ‘Yeah, no, Honor.’

  ‘She sint me a beautiful litter a luttle whoyle agoy – all abaaht her faahther, what a groyt goy he us, how much he knoys abaaht rugboy and what a groyt coych he’d moyk if someone would oynloy gave hum a broyk.’

  It’s a lovely thing to hear. Even though Honor knows very little about the game.

  Then he goes, ‘She sint moy your tactics book, Moyt.’

  I’m like, ‘My Rugby Tactics Book? I was wondering where the fock that had gone?’

  ‘She aahsked moy to have a royd of ut.’

  I’m suddenly embarrassed. I don’t know why because it’s obviously all good stuff.

  I’m like, ‘Don’t take anything in it seriously, Joe. I’m usually shitfaced when I write stuff in that book.’

  Sorcha puts her hand on my knee and gives me a disapproving look – she hates to hear me running myself down.

  ‘Well,’ the dude goes, ‘Oym just runging to till yoy that the litter royloy moyved moy. You’re obvoyousloy your daughter’s heroy.’

  I can suddenly hear Sorcha sobbing in the seat beside me.

  ‘Yeah, no,’ I go, ‘I do pride myself on being an amazing, amazing father.’

  ‘Fock you!’ Johnny shouts at Brian – then I watch in the rear-view mirror as he swings his violin at him and smashes him across the face with the flat side of it, bursting open Brian’s nose.

  ‘Soy,’ Joe goes, ‘what are yoy gonna doy with ut?’

  I’m like, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oym talking abaaht your tactics book. What are yoy gonna doy with all these thungs you’ve written daahn?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘All thoyse thoughts you have on the goym – they’re woysted unless yoy actually sheer them with someone.’

  ‘Are you saying you’d be interested? Because I’ve got a few ideas about the summer tour of the States and Japan. I think it’s definitely time to introduce new faces – maybe one or two of the Michael’s boys, even though they wouldn’t be fans of mine.’

  He laughs. I can tell he likes me. He goes, ‘Oy’ve got a fyoy thoughts of my oyn abaaht the summer tour, Ross. Oy thunk Oy’ll be foyne.’

  I’m like, ‘Yeah, no, course you do. You’re the actual coach.’

  ‘What Oy moyn us, what are your plaahns? Are yoy coyching a toym at the moyment?’

  ‘Er, not one specific team, no.’

  ‘Whoy the Hill not? You’re obvoyously someone whoy thunks abaaht the goym a lot –’

  ‘I can’t stop thinking about the game, Joe. It’s how my mind works. I can’t switch it off.’

  ‘Then yoy should be doying something with your knowledge. Otherwoyse, ut’s woystud.’

  ‘I was offered a job last week actually. Again – a coaching role. But – yeah, no – it wasn’t quite what I had in mind.’

  ‘Yoy have to staaht somewhere, Moyt. What do yoy thunk, Linstah are just gonna ring yoy up aaht of the bloy one doy and offer yoy a job?’

  I laugh. I’m there, ‘That’s not what I think.’

  That is what I think.

  He goes, ‘Doy yoy knoy where Oy stahted aaht?’

  I’m there, ‘Coaching schools rugby in Kawakawa. Yeah, no, there’s a whole section in that book specifically about you – I don’t know if you saw that – mostly facts about your life that I copied down from your Wikipedia page. You’re probably thinking, er, stalker much?’

  Sorcha whispers to me, ‘You’re doing great, Ross!’

  ‘So what are yoy gonna doy?’ he goes. ‘Are yoy gonna koyp what’s un thus book to yoursilf, then have ut buried with yoy when yoy doy? Or are yoy gonna put ut to the tist – and foynd aaht exactloy how much yoy doy knoy abaaht the goym of rugboy?’

  I feel my eyes stort to tear up. I can’t believe Honor did this for me. What an incredible kid she is.

  I’m there, ‘Yeah, no, thanks for saying all of that to me, Joe. It might just be the kick in the orse I need.’

  And then, without saying another word, he hangs up on me.

  I turn and I look at Sorcha. She’s wiping tears from her face with her open palms.

  She’s like, ‘Oh! My God! Oh! My! Literally! God!’

  Ronan asks me where I am. I tell him I’m in the cor – I got my A8 back from the repair shop – on the way to rugby training.

  He goes, ‘You’re not still playing, are you? Jaysus, Rosser, the bleaten soyuz of you!’

  I’m like, ‘No, Ro, I’m not still playing. If you must know, I’m doing a bit of coaching.’

  ‘Ah, feer fooks to you.’

  ‘Yeah, no, that’s what Joe Schmidt said.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Er, Joe Schmidt?’

  ‘The rubby fedda?’

  ‘Yes, Ronan, the rubby fedda.’

  ‘When were you thalken to him, but?’

  ‘The other day. Yeah, no, he just happened to be flicking through my famous Rugby Tactics Book – as you do – and he had one or two questions he wanted to ask me.’

  ‘How’d he get his haddens on that, Rosser?’

  ‘Good question. It turns out that Honor sent it to him.’

  ‘Seerdiously?’

  ‘You know, I don’t care if she doesn’t believe in God, Ro. There’s more goodness in her than in a lot of people who supposedly do – including Sorcha’s old pair. Anyway, what’s going on with you? How did the exams go?’

  ‘Thee went moostard, so thee did.’

  ‘And what are you doing for the summer?’

  ‘Ine arthur offerton to woork in the Citiziddens Advice Centhor in Figlas.’

  ‘Citizens Advice? Presumably that means for free?’

  ‘It’s voddun toddy, yeah.’

  Focking mug, I think – although I don’t say it.

  I go, ‘See, you’re like Honor, Ro. There’s so much good in you as well.’

  And that’s when he goes suddenly quiet.

  I’m like, ‘Ro, what’s wrong?’

  He’s there, ‘I feel teddible, Rosser.’

  ‘As in, hungover?’

  ‘No, Ine saying I feel teddible about that pooer fedda –
what did you say he’s nayum was?’

  ‘Are you talking about Phinneas?’

  ‘Phiddeas, yeah. He’s arthur been sacked.’

  ‘You’re shitting me.’

  ‘Or mebbe he resoyunt. Huguette no-platfordemed him.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘She picketed he’s leckchodders. And now he’s gone. And I feel teddible abourrit, because if I hadn’t gibbon ebidence against him …’

  ‘You sold him down the river, Ro.’

  ‘It was joost he embadassed Huguette. He calt her the Sushi Geerdle. She was veddy upset – she said she wanthed to gerrum back – so I backed her up.’

  ‘You were thinking with your dick, Ro. Don’t worry, I do the same myself.’

  ‘I thought thee were joost godda warden him about he’s fuchodder behabiour. I ditn’t think he’d end up losing he’s job.’

  ‘I wouldn’t sweat it, Ro. I’m sure there’s loads of jobs in the whole lecturing in Sports Management area.’

  He’ll never focking work again.

  He goes, ‘I reedy hope so.’

  I’m there, ‘Ro, do you really think this girl is the one for you?’

  He’s like, ‘Ine cutting me ties wirrer, Rosser.’

  And I’m like, ‘Are you?’ unable to hide my delight.

  He goes, ‘Ine arthur seen a soyut to the geerdle I doatunt like.’

  Jesus, that was the only side I saw to her. She must have been a real focking sweetheart when they were alone together.

  I’m there, ‘So you told her it was over?’

  He goes, ‘I broke it off wirrer, yeah.’

  ‘And how did she take it?’

  ‘Veddy weddle.’

  ‘Veddy weddle?’

  ‘She went a bit quiet. She ditn’t cry, but.’

  I don’t know what that means. But I don’t have time to think about it right now because I’ve arrived in Herbert Pork.

  ‘Ro,’ I go, ‘I’ll give you a shout tomorrow, okay?’

  He’s there, ‘Feerd enough, Rosser. Enjoy yisser thraining.’

  I hang up, then I pork. A minute or two after that, I’m walking past the adventure playground again, then I hear Magnus going, ‘That’sh it, Fashebook! Let’sh show theesh Google ash holesh who ish the besht! Or are we going to loosh thish match to a company that doeshn’t even provide full healthcare for friendsh and family ash a shtandard term of employment?’

  ‘Exactly!’ one of the women goes. ‘And they don’t even have an ice-cream station for their staff in the summer!’ and there’s real bitterness in her voice when she says it.

  I stand there and watch them from a distance. Jesus Christ, they’re a focking state. They’re making every basic error in the book. We’re talking knock-ons. We’re talking hospital passes. We’re talking handling errors. The men are as bad as the women and the women are focking hopeless.

  Then they stort fighting among themselves. One man accuses another of carrying on running after he’d been tagged and they end up having a pushing and shoving match. One of them goes, ‘This is exactly the kind of thing I’d expect from someone from Regional Trade and Customs Compliance!’ and they end up having to be pulled aport by Magnus, who shouts, ‘Come on, guysh! Rememeber what we shay in the offish! One team, one dream!’

  I end up actually chuckling to myself. I’m thinking, What are you doing, Rossmeister? Do you honestly think you can improve their skills in, like, one or two training sessions?

  Then I suddenly hear myself shout, ‘You’re doing it all wrong!’

  And every head suddenly turns in my direction. I watch their faces light up, one by one. It’s like when the Ag Science girls used to see me coming back in my UCD days.

  ‘Is that the same wanker who was here the other day?’ one of the women goes.

  Okay, not everyone is doubly pleased to see me.

  But I look her straight in the eye and I go, ‘It’s a focking rugby ball. Stop treating it like it’s a cake you’ve just taken out of the oven … And you – what did you say your name was? Chris? Put some spin on the ball when you throw it. That’s why the receiver keeps dropping it. There’s no actual traction … And Magnus – what in the name of fock are you wearing?’

  They’re all just looking at me. I have their attention.

  I’m there, ‘Okay, everyone, I’m Ross – we’re talking Ross O’Carroll-Kelly?’

  They’re all like, ‘Hey, Ross!’

  And then they all introduce themselves to me, telling me not only their names but also the deportments they work for, which is possibly unnecessary. But here, standing in front of me, are the players I must fashion into a team capable of beating Google.

  We’re talking Chris from SMB Accounts. We’re talking Tarek from Data Analytics (Europe, Middle East and Africa). We’re talking John from Security, Risk and Compliance. We’re talking Belinda from Anti-Abuse, Trust and Safety, Incorporating Spam. We’re talking Donna from Abuse Investigation (Sexual Harassment, Hate Speech and Overseas Election Meddling). We’re talking Phenola from Quality Assurance. We’re talking Karim from Content Moderation (Happy Slappings, White Nationalism and Islamic State Executions). We’re talking Li from Capacity Planning. We’re talking Ciaran from Regional Trade and Customs Compliance. And we’re talking Derek, who works in the cor pork.

  ‘Okay,’ I go, clapping my two hands together, ‘let’s do some work.’

  And, just like that, I’m suddenly a rugby coach.

  So JP’s big day is finally here.

  Yeah, no, he’s showcasing his Vampire Bed at the ‘What’s the Big Idea?’ Trade and Innovation Show at the RDS. He’s still convinced that it’s going to suddenly take off, despite the fact that he hasn’t even sold one yet.

  And even though the whole thing is doomed to failure, me and the goys decide that we’re going to go along to support him. Because that’s what people who played rugby together do.

  Me and Oisinn are walking through the Simmonscourt Pavilion, trying to find where he’s set up.

  We’re looking at some of the other crazy inventions that people have come up with. There’s a Segway-and-baby-stroller hybrid that allows you to take your baby out for a walk without getting any exercise. There’s an umbrella with a glasses-shaped clear plastic window in it, which comes in various prescription strengths. There’s a robot razor that shaves your face while you sleep. There’s even adult nappies that allow you to work at your desk all day without the annoying necessity of having to take a toilet break. Oisinn says he might buy Magnus a pack of twenty.

  I laugh.

  ‘So,’ he goes, ‘I hear you’re coaching the Facebook tag rugby team.’

  I’m like, ‘Yeah, no, coaching is probably too strong a word. I’ve done three two-hour sessions with them this week – mainly trying to improve their skills. One or two of them aren’t bad: Tarek from Data Analytics and Li from Capacity Planning.’

  ‘Three two-hour sessions,’ Oisinn goes. ‘That means you’ve seen more of Magnus this week than I have.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Dude, he never comes home.’

  I can actually believe that. I saw him Wednesday night, Thursday night and last night – and all three times the dude was going back to the office afterwards. All of them were, as a matter of fact.

  I try to put a positive spin on it for him. I’m there, ‘I know he’s pretty nervous about El Taxico.’

  He goes, ‘El what?’

  ‘Yeah, no, they’re playing Google on Monday night. Facebook versus Google is their equivalent of Terenure versus Michael’s. You couldn’t think of two groups of people who hate each other more even though there’s basically no difference between them.’

  ‘Coaching tag rugby, though? No offence, Ross, but I would have thought it was a bit beneath you.’

  ‘Hey, I did, too. That was until I got a call from Joe Schmidt.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He rang me. Talked a lot of sense to me as well.’

  ‘Are y
ou sure it wasn’t –’

  ‘It wasn’t Simon Zebo.’

  ‘I was going to say Fergus McFadden. He’s unbelievable at voices.’

  ‘It was definitely Joe Schmidt. Honor sent him my Rugby Tactics Book and told him she couldn’t believe that he’d never found a role for me within the set-up. He pretty much told me that he would if I got myself some experience first.’

  I suddenly spot JP then. He’s standing with his – yeah, no – vertical bed, surrounded by people who seem to be mostly just ripping the piss out of him. They’re all trying out the bed and taking photos of each other on their phones, which they’re presumably then posting on social media. There’s one dude taking a selfie with JP in front of the bed and he’s giving him bunny ears and laughing.

  And standing there, I notice, just watching it happen, is Fionn.

  I give him an absolute filthy. I’m there, ‘Yeah, well done, Fionn – you’re supposed to be his focking friend.’

  Fionn goes, ‘Ross, I’ve got Hillary here,’ which he does, sleeping in his little papoose, but it’s still weak in terms of an excuse. ‘What am I supposed to do?’

  And I end up showing him by walking up to the dude who took the selfie and going, ‘If you and your mates don’t get the fock out of here now, you’re going to be decked.’

  The dude doesn’t even look at me. He’s too busy uploading the photo to Instagram, so I grab his phone out of his hand, drop it on the floor, then stamp on it. Oh, that grabs him.

  He looks up. He’s like, ‘What the fock?’

  His mates say the same thing. They’re all like, ‘What the fock?’

  I grab him by the scruff of the neck and I’m there, ‘You have literally five seconds to fock off. Otherwise, I’m going to beat you to death with that “As Seen on the Late Late Show” sign.’

  One of his mates goes, ‘We were thinking of buying one of the beds,’ and he’s got a big smirk on his face.

  And I’m like, ‘No, you weren’t. You were ripping the piss out of a goy I played rugby with – and that’s not something I’m prepared to allow happen on my watch. So pick up your shitty phone there and get the fock out of here.’

  The dude does as he’s told – the phone is focked – and him and his mates head off.

  JP goes, ‘Ross, was that really necessary?’