I'm nervous. More nervous than I've ever been before a big match and I'm including the 1999 Leinster Schools Senior Cup final in that. It's, like, the morning of my oral Irish exam and I have literally nothing in my head.
Honor's doing her best to talk me up. She's like, "Be positive, a Dhaid. Tá muinín agam asat. I believe in you."
"I'm remembering the last time I did the Irish oral, Honor. My opening line. Bonjour. I never really recovered after that."
“Dad, that was, like, 20-something years ago.”
“I can still hear the woman’s laughter.”
"My point is that you've learned – oh my God – so many things since I've been home-schooling you."
“No, I think I’m going to turn the cor around, Honor.”
Honor, I can't just morch in there and stort screaming, <em>'Is fuath liom Cúige Mumhan!</em>' and, ' <em>Is w</em> <em>****r é an réiteoir!</em>' Or can I?
“Don’t you dare turn the cor around. Keep driving.”
“I was a fool to think I could do this, Honor. I was a fool to think I could get my Leaving Cert.”
"Dad, you can speak Irish. I hear you shouting at TG4 when the rugby is on."
"Yeah, no, that's just, like, random words, like úd and cic pionós."
“Exactly.”
"Honor, I can't just morch in there and stort screaming, 'Is fuath liom Cúige Mumhan!' and, 'Is w****r é an réiteoir!' Or can I?"
“No, you can’t,” she goes. “You just have to be cleverer than that. Look, everyone who does the oral Irish learns how to talk about three or four different subjects. And then it’s a matter of just steering the conversation in that direction.”
I’m there, “So you’re saying all I have to do is, like, keep changing the subject to rugby?”
"To rugbaí," she goes.
“Hey, I’m good at that.”
“I know you are.”
"Rugby is pretty much the only thing I think about 90 per cent of the time. Whenever I'm not using my brain – as in, not actually doing anything – there's a little voice inside my head just going, 'Rugby. Rugby. Rugby. Rugby. Rugby.' I'm a bit like that dude in A Beautiful Mind – except obviously not as bright."
I pork the cor in front of the school building.
“So what I’m suggesting,” Honor goes, “is that you walk there with a limp.”
“A limp?”
"Exactly. The examiner will be all, 'An bhfuil tú ceart go leor?' and you'll be like, 'Yeah, no, ghortaigh mé mo – I don't know, what?'"
"Mo ghluteus minimus."
"Do ghluteus minimus – is ea."
"Agus mo inferior gemellus - greamaigh mé Jerry focking Flannery."
"And then the examiner will be all, 'Oh, imríonn tú rugbaí?' and you'll be like, 'Ah, fadó, fadó. Ach anois is maith liom féachaint ar rugbaí ar an teilifís. An bhfaca tú an cluiche Dé Sathairn?' Remember that line, okay?"
“An bhfaca tú an cluiche Dé Sathairn?”
“Exactly.”
"Cúige Laighean in aghaidh Cúige Mumhan," I go. "Agus bhuaigh Cúige Laighean. Bhuaigh siad an Pro 14 ag an RDS. Ag an D4tress. Holy shit, Honor, I'm talking Irish."
“You see? You’ve watched that match at least twice a day since Saturday. It’s in your head, Dad. You just have to move the conversation on to rugby as early as you can and then stay in control of it.”
"Get the ball and don't drop it. Faigh an liathróid agus ná doirt é. Oh my God, I love you, Rugbaí Beo!"
I open the cor door and I pull on my mask. Honor goes, "Go n-éirí an t-ádh leat!" and even though I haven't a clue what she's talking about, I step into the building feeling unbelievably confident. Yeah, no, I even pop my collar while I'm sitting outside the room, waiting to be called.
Eventually, I am called and I put my game face on. M'aghaidh cluiche. In I walk – yeah, no, like Honor suggested – dragging my right leg behind me. There's, like, a dude sitting there, except he's not actually looking at me. He's staring down at his notes.
"Oh my God," I go, as I sit down opposite him. "Mo ghluteus minimus."
'Well?' she goes. ' <em>Cad a tharla?</em>" And I'm there, 'If you're asking me how I did, Honor, I'll tell you now. I focking aced it!'
But he doesn’t take the bait. He goes, “Dia dhuit. Conas atá tú?” and of course I’m straight away lost.
I'm like, "Er, bhí."
He's there, "Bhí?"
"Bhí mé. Agus tá. Go maith mé."
Whatever I'm saying, it's clearly not any kind of Irish he recognises.
He goes, "Cé mhéad deartháir agus deirfiúr atá agat?"
And I'm there, "Er, bonjour?"
Fock. I can't read his expression because of the mask, but I know I'm possibly blowing this. So in that moment, I decide to just take chorge. Suddenly – out of absolutely nowhere – I end up going, "An bhfaca tú an cluiche Dé Sathairn?"
"An cluiche?" he goes. "Cén cluiche?"
I'm there, "Cúige Laighean in aghaidh Cúige Mumhan."
"Ní fhaca mé é," he goes. "Is fearr liom peil. An bhfaca tú Éire i gcoinne Lucsamburg?"
Unless I’m very much mistaken, he’s asking me how Leinster got on.
I'm there, "Ag deireadh an chéad leath, bhí an scór a sé agus a sé. Ross Byrne le dhá cic phionós agus Joey Corberry le dhá cic phionós," and then – yeah, no – I stort throwing out all this random shit I remember from the commentary, basically bamboozling the dude with words and phrases. "Hugo Keenan. Lán cuilí. Josh van de Flier. Ar an fiche dó. Cá bhfuil na tacaí? Greamú. Ross Byrne. Thar an trasnán. Ag teacht isteach ón taobh. Taobh oscailte. Brú ar an scrum. Jack Conan. An bhfuil sé thar an líne? AN BHFUIL SÉ THAR AN LÍNE? TÁ SÉ THAR AN LÍNE!"
I keep this up for, like, 15 minutes while the dude just stares at me, unable to even get a word in edgeways. At the end, he just goes, "Go raibh maith agat," at the same time indicating the door with his eyes.
I stand up.
"Oscail an fhuinneog agus Nollaig Shona," I go. "Go maith mé agus go raibh mé."
He's there, "Slán."
I tip back outside. Honor is waiting in the cor with a big expectant face on her. I get into the driver’s seat and I peel off my mask.
"Well?" she goes. "Cad a tharla?"
And I’m there, “If you’re asking me how I did, Honor, I’ll tell you now. I focking aced it!”