It’s every parent’s worst nightmare.
Sorcha goes, “You’re being ridiculous, Ross.”
I’m there, “Oh, I’m being ridiculous, am I? My son gives up rugby to play the port of Sam Cormichael in Mamma Mia! and I’m the one being ridiculous!”
She goes, “Let’s just hear what Mr Brady has to say.”
Sorcha’s old dear singing sounds like a fox with its head trapped in a gate
Ross O’Carroll-Kelly: ‘So Westlife, huh? We’re all big fans in our gaff, aren’t we, Honor?’
‘We’ve been trying to break them up, haven’t we? A year or two in the clink – he won’t wait for her’
Four Feds step into the kitchen. One of them is like, ‘Well, Bernie?’
Yeah, no, we’re on the way to the school. I’m so mad, I end up driving through about three orange lights. The Amber Gambler, that’s me.
I’m there, “There’s nothing Mr so-called Brady could say that would make this any better. The reason we sent the boys to Castlerock was because it’s a rugby school. What am I going to say the next time, I don’t know, Jamie Heaslip or Rob Kearney ask me how the boys are getting on at rugby? Do I go, ‘Not great – but you’d want to hear Brian singing Thank You for the Music.’ They wouldn’t be able to face me again.”
She goes, “It comes from my side of the family, of course.’
I’m there, “What does?”
“The singing! My mom was in the choir in Foxrock, remember?”
Her old dear sounds like a fox with its head trapped in a gate. I don’t say that, though. Too nice for my own good. That’s how we’ve ended up in this position.
I’m like, “I’ve a good mind to sue the school.”
She goes, “Oh, you’re going to threaten them with one of Hennessy’s letters, are you?”
I’m there, “Mamma focking Mia! I’m seething here.”
We eventually arrive at the school. I throw the cor into one of the teacher’s porking spaces and we make our way inside. This – yeah, no – Mr Brady dude is waiting for us in reception. Sorcha shakes his hand and – I’m not making this up – literally curtsies to him. I’m not so easily won over. When he offers me his hand, I just leave him hanging.
I’m there, “Can we get this over with? Why are we even here?”
He goes, “Well, like I said to your wife on the phone, Brian has an extraordinary singing voice. He’s very, very talented. But–”
I’m there, “But rugby. Thanks for filling us in.”
He goes, “He wants to sing – but he feels that he isn’t being supported at home.”
Sorcha’s there, “Oh my God, he is supported,” because she’s such a crawler. That’s the head girl in her. “My mom was in the choir in Foxrock Church.”
I’m there, “Your old dear sounds like a fox with its head caught in a focking gate. I wasn’t going to say anything, Sorcha, but you forced my hand.”
Brian is standing next to the piano, looking – in fairness to him – shame-faced
The dude goes, “Perhaps if we could discuss your reasons for not wanting Brian to sing.”
I’m there, “We sent our boys to this school because of its strong rugby tradition.”
He’s like, “What, one Leinster Schools Senior Cup in 150 years? Not much of a tradition, is it? And wasn’t the result rescinded because of doping?”
He has the actual balls to say that to me, the man who lifted the famous soup tureen in what people still refer to as The Asterisk Year – whatever that even means.
I’m there, “Like any normal parent, I dreamt of seeing my son play at the Aviva one day.”
He goes, “Well, maybe you’ll see him sing Ireland’s Call at the Aviva instead.”
I’m like, “Dude, can I get a glass of water?” and I look behind me for a chair.
He goes, “Look, why don’t you come with me? I want to show you something.”
So he leads us down the corridor – yeah, no – to this, like, brand-new music room. Or maybe it was there when I went here. I spent very little time inside the building – something I’m proud of.
Brian is standing next to the piano, looking – in fairness to him – shamefaced.
I’m there, “Don’t worry, Brian, I’ve a mate who’s coaching Gonzaga this year. We can see will they take you.”
But this Mr Brady, without saying a word, sits down at the piano, turns a few pages on the music stand and then storts playing – yeah, no – The Winner Takes it All.
The intro seems to go on forever, but then I realise that Brian is staring straight at me and he’s waiting for me to give him permission to sing.
I’m there, “Clongowes are taking kids as well.”
But Sorcha goes, “It’s okay, Brian,” in her cool mom voice. “We want to hear you sing.”
I’m like, “What’s this we, Kemosabe?”
The kid has a talent. I’m actually shaking here
A second or two later, he opens his mouth and the words stort pouring out of it:
I don’t want to talk
About things we’ve gone through,
Though it’s hurting me
Now it’s history.
I’m going to lay my cords on the table here. The kid has an incredible voice – an actual tenor voice – and the hairs on the back of my neck are suddenly standing on end.
“Oh my God,” Sorcha whispers. “Oh my actual–”
I’ve played all my cards,
And that is what you’ve done too,
Nothing more to say,
No more ace to play.
She goes, “It’s in the genes. He gets it from my mom, Ross.”
I’m like, “Your old dear can’t sing for shit, Sorcha. Face facts.”
The winner takes it all,
The loser standing small.
I can feel her grip my hand as Brian reaches for a higher note.
Beside the victory,
That’s her destiny.
He finishes and looks over at us, obviously wanting to know what we think.
Sorcha goes, “Oh my God, Brian!” and she’s in actual tears. “Oh my literally–!”
But Brian is fully focused on me. I’m the one whose opinion matters. The kid has a talent. I’m actually shaking here.
“Well?” he goes. “What did you think?”
And I’m there, “What did I think? I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. And coming from me, that’s saying something.”
