“We’re not normal. We’re O’Connors,” Ian says proudly.
“So, guys. We ready?” Jamie says, poking his head between Ian and Ryan and throwing his arms around their shoulders. “How are you feeling, Nick?”
“Like someone who’s about to tell you to fuck off.”
“Same as always, then.”
“Can you guys leave now? We have a match to play.”
“Sure, coach. No problem,” Ryan says, sniggering.
“I swear I’ll tell Mum.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me. I’m the son who makes her proud now. You guys aren’t in fashion anymore.”
“Until you fuck everything up again,” Ian warns.
“I’m sure the next person to fuck anything up will be Ryan.”
“Why do you guys always have to get me involved?”
“You’re the one who always gets yourself involved in–”
“Coach? It’s time to go.”
I turn to see one of my kids. “What are you waiting for, then? Come on, let’s go!”
So, here I am. Nick O’Connor, rugby coach. Don’t laugh, please. Don’t be like my brothers: take pity on me. I fucking deserve it.
I never thought I’d go down this route – I was too busy making mistakes, too angry with myself to ever admit what I really wanted – but I really missed sport. The adrenaline, the motivation, the hard work, the fear of failure: all emotions that keep you alive, burn you up inside. Emotions I should never have given up.
And now it’s my turn. It won’t be like it was for my brothers: this is really important to me. It’s something I’ve chosen, a decision that has been growing inside me ever since that stupid summer camp with Jamie. That’s when I realised that setting foot on the pitch doesn’t necessarily mean playing.
Maybe Jamie reallydoeshave a sixth sense. Maybe he really can see and understand everything before you’ve even got there yourself. Or maybe he’s just a lucky bastard who can’t keep his nose out of other people’s lives.
I sit down on the bench as the senior coach leads the warm-up. I check their formations, as nervous as they are for them all to be out on the field.
“Hey, coach.” Someone pokes me on the back. “Nervous?”
“No fucking way.”
“He’s about to shit himself!” Ryan’s loveable voice comes floating over from the stands.
I turn towards the bleachers. “Really? Front row?”
“Obviously.”
The problem with training the youth team is that all the matches take place on the small pitch – the one in Donnybrook – which means that the seating area is practically on top of the benches. Which means I’m surrounded constantly by loud, cheerful people who think they’re at the bloody Olympics, not at a Sunday morning rugby match for the youth championship. And the biggest problem is that my family have decided to come and ‘cheer me on’ at my first match.
There are those two arseholes, Evan, Riley, Chris, Jamie, Casey and her dad, and… Wait a minute. What the fuck is Dr Dickhead doing here?
“Why are you here?” I ask him, when I notice his presence.
“I came to help out.”
“Why?”
