“The fock is going on here?” I go.Because – yeah, no – I’ve arrived home to find my wife, my four sons and my in-laws sitting in front of the TV watching, quite literally, a soccer match?My reaction is basically the same as it would be if I arrived home to find Sorcha in bed with Russell Crowe.I’m like, “I asked a question. The fock is going on here?” Ronan goes, “We’re watching the Wurdled Cup, Rosser.”I’m like, “The what?”“The Wurdled Cup.”“One more time?”“The… Wurdled… Cup.”“Are you trying to say World Cup?”“Yes, Ine saying Wurdled Cup, Rosser.”“Wait a minute, are you telling me there’s a World Cup in soccer?”“You bethor believe there’s a Wurdled Cup in soccer.”Sorcha’s there, “I got Paraguay in the family sweep.”I’m like, “What family sweep?”[ Ross O’Carroll-Kelly: The hateful things the Blackrock crowd used to shout at meOpens in new window ]“Oh my God, you never respond to messages on the family WhatsApp.”Yeah, no, I muted that years ago.I look at Brian, Johnny and Leo. They’re wearing, quite clearly, soccer jerseys.I’m like, “Where did those things come from?”Brian goes, “Grandad Lalor bought them for us,” like he’s hurting nobody.I give Sorcha’s old pair another filthy. I’m there, ‘And you’re okay with that, are you? A child speaking in front of his old man in that way?’ I give Sorcha’s old man a serious filthy.I’m like, “Did he? Despite me stating on repeated occasions that I regord soccer as a gateway drug that leads to criminality and whatever else.”Sorcha goes, “Oh, Ross, why can’t you just join in the fun for once? Are Paraguay any good, by the way?”I’m there, “How the fock would I know? I’ve literally just found out that it’s a place. Seriously, I don’t want my children watching this filth. Switch it off.”I go to grab the remote from the coffee table, except Sorcha’s old man is too quick for me. He’s like, “We’re enjoying this, thank you very much”.Sorcha’s old dear goes, “Does he have to be here?” That’s how she talks about me in my own home. Leo suddenly jumps up off the sofa and punches the air. I’m there, “What’s wrong with him?”“Spain have just scored,” Ronan goes. “He has them in the sweep. Fair fooks, Leo.”I end up just shaking my head, then I’m about to leave the room when Sorcha goes, “Don’t even think about it, Ross.”I’m like, “In terms of–?”She goes, “You’re thinking about pulling the fuse out of the fuse box”.I’m there, “I had no intention of pulling the fuse out of the fuse box”.“Because that’s what your dad used to do to you whenever there was soccer on the TV. Didn’t he have the electricity cut off during Italia ’90?”Yeah, no, he did. We were eating salads for a month and washing our clothes in cold water in the bath. But it was worth it, because it stopped me being distracted at a vital stage of my rugby development.[ Paul Howard: My house is in Wicklow. Ross O'Carroll-Kelly would hate itOpens in new window ]I’m there, “He told me I had a highly contagious disease as well, so that I wouldn’t leave the house and end up watching it in someone else’s gaff.”Sorcha’s old man goes, “And a fat lot of good it did you,” which is a dig at me for never actually making it in the game.I’m there, “I’m going to ignore that – even though I should throw you out of the house on your head for it.”Johnny goes, “Dad, can you, like, shut the fock up? We’re trying to, like, watch this?”I’m there, “Fine. Whatever. It’s your funeral. Just as long as you realise that it’s only a phase you’re going through.”Johnny goes, “I’m not sure if Rodri has the engine to power Spain any more. He’s definitely not the player he was before the injury.”I give Sorcha’s old pair another filthy. I’m there, “And you’re okay with that, are you? A child speaking in front of his old man in that way?”Ronan goes, “Ah, will you give yisser arse a rest, Rosser?” Leo’s like, “Spain have never really had great goalscorers. Even when they won the World Cup, they only scored, like, eight goals in seven games.”I can feel tears welling in the corners of my eyes. But I decide to try to rise above it.‘I leave the room. I’m wondering, what happened? Am I to blame? Did I push them too hord in terms of trying to get them to love rugby?’I’m there, “Wait a few weeks until Ireland are playing Australia and New Zealand. Then you’ll be full of rugby talk again – and you won’t even remember watching this bullshit.”“Ronan,” Brian goes, “I can’t figure out are Spain really, really good or are Saudi Arabia really, really bad?”“Birra boat,” Ronan goes.I’m there, “What are you on about? They’re only losing 3-0. There’s only, like, one score in it.”Of course they all react like it’s the funniest thing that anyone has ever said. Even Sorcha and her old pair are laughing – and they know as much about sport as I know about marital fidelity. Which, if you’re new to the column, is fock-all.I head for the door. Ronan goes, “Ah, don’t be like that, Rosser. Sit down and watch the football wirrus.”I’m there, “It’s cool. I really couldn’t give a fock. Like I said, this will all be forgotten about in presumably a few weeks.”Brian goes, “And then the Premier League storts up again.”I leave the room. I’m wondering, what happened? Am I to blame? Did I push them too hord in terms of trying to get them to love rugby?To my huge relief, my answer to that question is no. Sorcha’s old man goes, “He’d better not pull that fuse out.”I won’t. Because that would be immature. And because Sorcha puts a padlock on it during Love Island every summer. And because I’m bigger than that.So – yeah, no – I tip down to the kitchen, grab the rolling pin from the drawer and smash the modem into a hundred pieces.