I'm thinking, this must be what it's like to get the Luas red line.

"Monta fook, " one of them - Bowie - goes and it's actually working class for hurry up.

I'm there, "Sorry, dude. Had a bit of trouble finding the place, as usual. The old sat nav wouldn't tell me where it was. Kept going, turn the cor around, no good can come of this!" and all of the goys - not just the backs, who worship the ground I basically walk on - crack their holes laughing, obviously thinking I'm joking.

Then they're turning around to each other and going, "He's a funny fooker, isn't he?" and I'm thinking, yeah, I suppose sense of humour is one of the qualities that I really love about myself, even though I never get the praise for it.

The old man - the dickhead - comes up to me and goes, "They were out here 20 minutes early, Kicker. The place has gone rugby mad. They all want to be the next Shane Horgan, " and I'm looking around, roysh, thinking, fock, a few weeks ago they all wanted to be that little soccer man whose name I can never remember, the one from Tallaght with the earring, even though that doesn't exactly narrow down the field for you.

"McGurk was in visiting me on Tuesday, " he goes. "Said he's going to mention it to his paymasters in Montrose. 'This is a documentary, Charlie me boy!' You know the way he talks, Kicker. 'This is a documentary waiting for an Ifta.'" "Monta fook, " Bowie goes again and then Anto and the two Gartons say it as well, obviously keen - actually, that's the soccer man's name - to get on with things.

It's only when I have them lined up, roysh, and I'm showing them how to switch the direction of the attack to find weak points in the opposition defence that I realise that we're a man down here.

Someone's missing. It's Anto, as in, like, Tina's brother. I turn around to the goys and I'm like, "Where's my inside centre?" and it's Musky who eventually goes, "Ah, he's after getting a bit of bad news, so he is, " and I'm thinking, so what?

Drico got a bit of bad news - leather gloves don't look good on any man - but he didn't sit around moping about it. He goes out two weeks later and basically destroys England. And why? Well, aport from the fact that he's the greatest rugby player in the world, he's got character.

I'm actually making this point to the goys when Musky turns around to me and goes, "He's getting out early, so he is. On Saturday. For good behaviour, " and suddenly I'm wondering how getting out of this shithole could be, like, a bad thing.

"He wanted to play in the match, " Terry Garton goes. "He wasn't apposed to be released till July." We're playing Garryowen's seventh team in June.

I'm like, "It's cool. I'll get knob features there to have a word with the governor. I'm sure they'll let him back for the match."

Musky, who seems to be a bit of a legal expert, goes, "One of the conditions of temporary release is that you don't associate with other known criminals for 12 months, " and I'm like, "But he's from Finglas. Where's he supposed to move - Inis M�r?"

Bowie - he's called Bowie, by the way, not after his favourite singer but after his favourite knife - mutters something about the system being fooked up. "An ordinary decent ram-raider, being trun out on the streets, like that.

It's not reet, so it's not, " and all the other goys stort clapping, roysh, and I know I've picked the right goy as my captain.

But Anto's a serious loss because of his speed and his handling, two skills he'd perfected in a thousand stolen Honda Civics down through the years. He's the goy who holds the back line together.

I'm having to think on my feet here. If I move Liam, Terry's brother, to inside centre and then move Robbie Ryan to. . . No, I need Robbie at full-back. Forty plasma screen televisions and 130 DVD players were thrown from the third floor of a warehouse in the Ballymount industrial estate one famous afternoon two years ago and Robbie didn't drop one of them. He's my Girvinator. Safe as houses. Though obviously not warehouses.

While I'm still mulling this over, roysh, I suddenly become aware of all this shouting. It storts off as just, like, noise, but then all of a sudden I can pick out words - doort-boords, doorty looken doortboords, doorty-looken screw bastards. . .

It's only when a tile smashes on the ground in front of Snail's Pace, almost killing my scrumhalf, that I realise it's coming from the roof.

"It's Anto, " Terry goes and then he shouts, "Give them fooken loads, Anto, you good thing!"

Another tile smashes on the ground next to us and then an alarm goes off. We're all there looking up at the roof, roysh, and all of a sudden he appears, wearing the Ireland rugby shirt that Ronan sent him in for his birthday.

I'm thinking Six-One are going to be all over this focking story.

We'll have David Davin-Power in here saying this is what happens when you bring rugby to the northside - prison riots. And the governor will be going, it was bad enough when we just had a heroin problem in here. Now we have a rugby problem as well.

Anto gives us the thumbs up. He goes, "Alreet, lads!" and all the goys are like, "Fair fooks to you, Anto. You show them."

The yord is storting to fill up with screws carrying riot shields.

That's when Anto shouts, "Alreet, Rosser, " and I'm looking around at all these goys in helmets, carrying batons, and I'm going to them, "I don't actually know him. I don't know how he knows my focking name, " because I'm obviously thinking, I don't want to end up with a focking bed in this place.

Anto's protest ends after less than five minutes. He shouts abuse, throws a few tiles - and throws them well, it has to be said, off his left and right hand - and then shouts, 'I'm coming down, " and climbs down the emergency exit.

"Looks like your problem at inside centre is sorted, " Musky goes, as we watch the screws make their way to the bottom of the emergency exit to meet him.

It's like that film that was on the box the other night, we're talking Escape to Victory, except Anto was obviously doing the opposite of trying to break out of a prison.

As they're leading him away, he shouts, "I'll see you next week, Rosser, " and I'm thinking, it'll be a focking miracle if they let me out of that gate today.