I'm actually just about to bell Ro when all of a sudden the old Wolfe storts ringing and I can see from caller ID that it's, like, JP.

It's good to see that the goy's come out of whatever dork place he was in the last couple of years.

I can understand people being into God, roysh, but you don't want to take that shit too seriously, especially at the expense of having a good time with your mates.

Might have mentioned it before but these days he's pretty much back to his old self, back in the property game, buying grass verges in housing estates and turning them into gaffs. They say if you left a wardrobe in your front gorden overnight, JP would have two focking families living in it by the following morning.

"Dude, " I go. "What's the crack?"

And then he says one of the looniest things I've ever heard him say, which is saying something, considering he spent two years training for the priesthood. He's like, "Ross, turn on Joe Duffy?" Of course I'm there, "You focker - I can't believe you went on the serious tear without telling me."

He goes, "Ross, I'm not drunk.

I'm serious. Turn it on, " and I'm like, "You mean that phone-in show for boggers, skobes and pensioners? I'm not even sure you can get it this side of the city."

"Ross, " he goes, "turn it on, " and then he hangs up and I don't know why, roysh, but I end up plugging in my earphones and going through the presets, until I finally arrive at some random Ken Acker - we're talking total Chip Shop Filth here - going, "Yaknowhorramean, Joe?"

And whatever he means, Joe's certainly giving him plenty of sympathy. He's going, "And you love rugby, do you, Robbie?" and this Robbie character's like, "It's me life, Joe, so it is - I don't tink I'd uv survived in here wirrourit."

In here? And that's when I cop, roysh, that it's Robbie Ryan, the full-back on the Mountjoy team that I was, like, coaching until I told the old man to stick up his orse.

"Where did you get the mobile phone, " Joe Duffy goes, "if you don't mind me asking?"

He's actually a focking pro.

"Er, I don't want to say, " Robbie goes. "A shut mouth catches no flies."

Mystery solved. Ronan.

Joe Duffy's like, "So what's your point?" and Robbie's there, "I'm just sayin, Joe, that in the moderden game, backs must be proficient ruckers. They must know how to throw themselves into a tackle, how to present quick ball to their team-mates, how to cover the fringes of a ruck and maul and how to set platforms. We're just findin that our attacks are breakin down after the foorst phase?" Joe goes, "Sure, sure - and that's all since this fella, Ross O'Carroll-Kelly, stopped coaching you?"

I just, like, freeze to the spot, there on the bed.

Robbie's like, "He's a fooken legend, this fella, Joe. The stuff he's after teachin us is unbelievable. But he's after havin a fallin out with his oul fella, who's also coachin us and, well, it's not the same, so it isn't - knowhorrmean, Joe?"

"Sure, sure - hold the line, " Joe Duffy goes, "because we've another caller on the line from, er, cell 427C. Lex. Talk to me, Lex. What's ailing you, Lex - what's ailing you?"

Lex is, like, the old man's cellmate.

"I'd just like to reiterate what Robbie's after sayin there, " he goes. "Charles is a great man for the set-plays, so he is - the scrum and the lineout - but when it comes to the loose, Ross is? well, he's fooken moostard, so he is?" Then, roysh, his voice cracks as he goes, "We're just not recycling Joe?" This is, like, SO hord to listen to. I know the old man's put them up to this but at the same time, roysh, I'm suddenly feeling the major guilts about leaving the goys in the lurch.

The next thing, Joe Duffy goes, "And you share a cell with Charles O'Carroll-Kelly - is that right? Put him on there, Lex. See if he'll talk to Joe."

The next thing, roysh, I've got the old man's big foghorn voice in my ear, going, "Hello there, Joe - love the show!"

That's focking rich coming from him. He used to say people who called that show should be put on a national register.

"Sure, sure, " Joe Duffy goes, "so when's this match happening, Charles?"

"End of June, " the old man goes. "Against Garryowen's seventh team. And let me just say, we're facing total annihilation - with capitals T and A, if you've time - unless we can iron out these problems. And you've heard it there, straight from the mouths of criminals, that only one man is capable of helping us. And if he's listening?" "What would you say to him, Charles?" Joe Duffy goes. "What would you say to him if he was listening and that?"

The old man thinks about it for a few seconds, then goes, "I'd say that we need you, Ross. We need you to help with our pick-ups, our passing, our tackling, our kicking.

Every element of our game. But most of all we need you for those couple of inches taller that every man jack of us walks just knowing that you're on our side.

"Too many people have forgotten, Ross, what an extraordinary leader you are.

You brought Castlerock to the final of the Leinster Senior Schools Cup as a captain and as a coach. I haven't forgotten.

Because I was there, Ross - don't forget that. Those teams, they had it in their eyes - something that said, we can't be beaten with this man behind us. And, for all too brief a time, I saw it in the eyes of the players in here too.

"Ross, let's set aside our differences. This isn't about us.

This is about you and what you were born to do. I'm going to quote the Hagakure, if it's alright with you, Joe, the warrior code of the samurai?" "Sure, " Joe Duffy goes. "Sure, sure?" "It says, 'Everyone lets the present moment slip by, and then looks for it as though it were somewhere else.' This is it, Kicker. The present moment.

Your moment. I'm going to hit you with another quote now, Joe, and it's Voltaire: 'Every man is guilty of the good he didn't do.'" My phone rings. I answer it and it's, like, a researcher off the show, asking me if I'll go on. I say yes, roysh, without thinking and the next thing I know I'm on the focking radio and Joe's going, "I don't know if you've been listening, Ross, but we've had Voltaire and sumurais and all sorts. Would you go back, Ross?

Would you go back?"

I get up from the bed and I go, "I can't talk to you, Joe?" I walk across to the wardrobe, open it and whip out my Leinster shirt and my Canterbury tracksuit bottoms.

He's there, "Why not, Ross?

Why won't you talk to me?"

I'm there, "I don't have time.

Because I've got a job to do. Dad - tell the Governor to send a cor."

Ross O'Carroll-Kelly will be doing a public reading and question and answer session next Saturday, 16 June, at 4pm, in the Project Theatre in Dublin as part of the Dublin Writers' Festival.

For ticket information, go to www. dublinwritersfestival. com.