Bundee filtered through his post as he sipped on some fresh coffee. He had the usual 20 or so letters from the French chapter of Connachts supporters club and Muldoon had sent him copies of his latest photo collection. As usual - it was entirely pictures of just Pat Lam - coaching, eating and occasionally a grainy shot of him on the toilet.
A large brown envelope piqued his interest, it had a return address to the IRFU offices.
The note inside was cryptic - but bore all the hallmarks of a typical correspondence from the IRFU.
Bundee read it twice in an attempt to reconcile the absurdness of the request with his continued desire to represent Connacht and Ireland.
Drive north from Galway on the N84, stop one mile outside Ballindooley, get out of your car and put the hood on.
He looked in the envelope and there at the bottom was a hood. The material was thick, and pitch black - there was no way to see through it. "What the hell is this about", he thought to himself.
Be there at 13:00 today or your career is finished. IRFU
He was bustled into the back of a car, firmly but with all due care for his welfare. The accents were clearly northern Irish, and through the bottom of his hood Bundee saw a tattoo on one of the men's arms with a red hand and the words "Red Hand Commando".
Bundee was nervous and when he found himself in such situations he made incessant small talk.
"Been working for the IRFU long?" he asked.
"Nah mate, just finished up with KBC last week and this gig came up..."
"That's enough talk" another voice interrupted.
There was silence for the rest of the trip. Bundee estimated he was in the car for three hours or so, but it could have been half that or twice as long he was so disoriented by the whole episode.
"Ok we've arrived" said a gruff and menacing voice.
"We're going to put you on the side walk and drive away, count to 20 then take off the hood and walk into the hotel, on your left there is a lounge - they'll be waiting for you in there".
He continued:
"Before we go - I have to ask... would you have any interest in a wood burner for your home heating needs?"
Bundee was growing more confused by the minute.
"Eh.. no, am grand."..."thanks.."
The men removed Bundee carefully from the car and left him on the sidewalk.
He removed the hood after half minute or so and there he was, stood directly outside the Shelbourne Hotel.
Taking a moment to gather himself he surveyed the busy street and then walked in, turned into the lounge as instructed and there sitting at a table was Andy Farrell and what looked like Odo from Deep space nine.
Bundee walked over to the table, more confused than ever and before he could speak Andy Farrell stood up and said:
"Bundee, I'm just here for the introduction, Leo wants a word - when you are ready transport will be made available to bring you home".
With that, the future Ireland coach walked out of the lounge and disappeared into the bustle of a Christmasy Dublin.
"Bundee", said Leo Cullen, "good to meet with you again - sorry for all the subterfuge but I wanted to talk with you away from the public glare".
"But... we're in the Shelbourne hotel...???" Protested Bundee politely.
"Exactly.." said Leo, no one will think to look for us here.
Bundee's confusion was slowly turning to anger.
"I still haven't received my contract yet".. said the Leinster bound centre.
"Yes... that's why we're here. I have some bad news. We can't go ahead with the transfer right now, the timing would upset fans too much".
Bundee let the cutting silence do the talking for him.
"We still want to proceed - but we don't want to formalise until after the World Cup" proffered Leo.
"This isn't what we agreed" said Bundee "I thoug..."
Leo raised a hand as if to silence Bundee.
"It's ok - we are still determined to get you on board, we just want to slowly break the news... We want to get the rumour going a bit more public before we sign anything, to gauge the public sentiment"...
Bundee's quiet fury was interrupted by a familiar voice
"eeeeh... got any yokes?"
Leo and Bundee turned their attention to the figure who had conspicuously slid over to their table.
"Paul Kimmage?!??!?" said Bundee in anxious surprise...
"any yokes at all lads? between ye even... c'mon ye must have a few roids or something..?
"Sorry Paul," said Leo, "As I've said before, no one in Leinster has any steroids for you - you have to go and get your own".
"F***IN JUNKIES THE LOT OF YE" Paul spat the words at them as he stormed away into the function room.
Before they could recover from the drama a small brown nugget landed on their table. Bundee and Leo leaned in curiously to identify the item.
Leo took an indirect whiff and recoiled in disgust.
"Jesus... is that... is that poo?" he said
"F**KING FOREIGN GAME W**KERS" a scream came from the corner of the lounge.
Bundee looked around and recognised Ewan McKenna, completely naked bar a small bit of cloth covering his modesty - his eyes red and wild with anger - his hair a tangled mess.
"PLAY ANY FRIENDLIES LATELY" he roared as he prepared another faecal delight to hurl at the player and coach.
"F**K ALL COUNTRIES EVEN PLAY THE GAME" screeched the GAA man, as security moved in to remove him.
The Shelbourne security team pinned his arms behind his back as they led him from the venue. "Stay calm now - we'll get you the help you need" they said in their polite northern accents. "It's all going to be ok".
McKenna struggled on until he was whisked out of sight. A quiet voice broke the pleasant calm that had suddenly descended:
"Is Heaslip here...?"
Leo and Bundee turned from the drama to yet another man standing at their table.
"Sorry... who are you?" said Cullen
"I'm Conor, Conor George. Is Heaslip here.. the big fecker."
Bundee asked "Sorry mate, we've no idea who you are" as Leo nodded in agreement.
"I'M CONOR GEORGE" said Conor, pointing to his face "The blogger???"
"No idea mate," said Bundee... Leo echoed "Never heard of you before in my life".
"Swaggering windbags the pair of you," he said as he made his way towards the function room door "Bloody MOLF's everywhere" he shouted as he disappeared around the corner.
"What the hell is a MOLF?" Leo asked...
"PROJECTION" said a voice from across the lounge.
"Projection" said the voice again. "Tell me the projection for the first fiscal quarter" the business man asked his accountant in a completely unrelated conversation.
"I've no idea what it means" said Bundee as he stared at the entrance to the function room, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. He stood up to see what everyone was heading into - he could barely make out the panel outside the double doors and squinted to read the words.
"RTE SPORTS WRITER OF THE YEAR AWARDS"
...
"Jesus" he gasped. "You brought me here during the sports journo awards?"
Leo retreated... "well.." he hesitated "... like I said - we want to get the idea subtly into the public consciousness. Look - maybe it wasn't a great idea, I'm sorry - we have an extremely discrete bus waiting outside to bring you back to the Sportsground... it's right outside"...
"I'm ready to go back, this was a terrible idea" said Bundee, clearly frustrated by the whole affair.
"Follow me out" said Leo, "Your Chariot awaits"
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