It being a second Tuesday it’s time for a push. A big push. Not as big a push as my wife’s one on Saturday morning last as our youngest son was born. But that’s a post for another day. There is a connection though, so bear with me. He was born in St. Munchin’s Maternity Hospital just a very brief walk from Thomond Park, Limerick.

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The atmosphere at Thomond Park is always fantastic and even on non match days the mind of any Munster supporter is apt to wander at the mere sight of the stadium. It was in such a position I found myself last Saturday morning in the delivery ward of the maternity hospital.

Being in such close proximity to the spiritual home of Irish Rugby, of course I wondered if my youngest born would ever grace that hallowed ground in full battle attire to oppose the attack of the mighty All Blacks.

My wife screamed again and tightly squeezed my hand.

She was grand again for a while. What if my two sons played together on the same team? Knocking seven shades of shite out of anyone that stood between them and victory.

Another roar brought me out of my daydream. “You’re doing great love, do you want some water?”

What a proud father I would be watching the fruit of my loins play for The Lions, stand shoulder to shoulder to represent their country or even better still to play for Munster!

I realised the circulation into my fingers was cut off. More roars and gasping and panting and squeezing the bejaysus out of my hand.

What number would he wear? Would he be a back or a forward?

AAAAaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrgggggggghhhhhh! She said, very very loudly, or something like that.

What if it’s a girl? Sure wouldn’t it be great if she married a Munster player. We’d have a guard of honour with all the players and tickets to every match.

More screams and sucking on the gas and air.

It was probably at this point that I snapped out of my daydreaming and realised I had a job to do.

I immediately rang my mate to see if he had got the tickets for the Munster v Leinster clash in April.

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