They Think It’s All Over
A monologue
By David J. Glover
21st May 2008
A well worn but comfortable living room chair. CONOR runs on excitedly. His is wearing an Irish soccer jersey. He is looking for something. After some fruitless searching he reaches between the cushions and produces a TV remote control. He turns on the TV. Sounds of a soccer match can be heard. He sits down without taking his eyes off the screen.
CONOR
Calling off-stage, loudly.
Gerald, it’s started. We’re eight minutes in. No score. Now hurry the feck up.
He stands again, pats his pockets, looks around the chair.
Fags? Fags? Where’s me chuffin’ fags? Have you got my fags through there? (pause) Don’t worry I’ve found them! What you doin’ through there? Brewin’ the fookin stuff? Hurry up will ye...
He now settles down to watch the soccer. After a moment…
Christ-on-a-bike Gerry, Fiona Connolly’s on the TV. Will you look at that! She’s right there in the stand waving an Irish flag. Well right enough, she not goin’ to be wavin’ a foockin' Serbo-Croatian flag now is she? How the fuck did Fiona Connolly manage to scab tickets to the biggest international friendly in Irish history and what’s she doing on my fucking telly?
He begins to reminisce.
She’s was round here the other night this past week, so she was. She'd been out at the dance club all night then comes round here and wakes me up by thorwin’ nuts at me window. Nuts! From me mam’s bird feeder in the garden, you know. Me mam thought it was cats. She's threatening to put poison down. Me Mam that is, not Fiona. So I gets up and opens the window, and she's standing there all teeth and smiles, as much as to say; “Remember me?” She does have a crackin smile, and the rosiest lips. Fiona that is, not me mam! Then she hitches up her dress or her skirt or whatever it was, and it wasn't awful much mind, if you remember our Fiona, right? and she -- wait for this -- she climbs in the window. Me feckin' window! She stands there in the middle of me bedroom swaying from side to side and says; “Make us a cup of coffee, luv” like it’s the most natural thing in the world to get pissed-as-a-fart, hang yer arse out'a yer ex-boyfriends window at half past three in the morning, demand coffee while wearing what amounts to not much more than a bra, a belt and one of them furry hats wit da ears that the spys used to wear.
But I made her coffee.Nescafe, two sugars, no milk.
He stops, looks off stage dispairingly and shouts
No Gerry, I don’t want coffee. Thanks all the same. I was talking about Fiona...
He resumes
You know, it’s wee things like that, that make a relationship, know what I mean? Nescafe, two sugars, no milk.
Looks off left again and shouts
No thanks Gerry I don’t want a coffee.
He resumes
Loik I was sayin', when I came back from the kitchen Fiona is passed-the-fook out on me bed, so I drank both da cups o' coffee. Her’s and mine's. Then I was awake for the rest of the night. Which was just as well, really! 'Cause I didn't have me bed to sleep in.
Pause
I just sat there and looked at her,
Pause
I looked at her body.
Pause
It felt a bit wrong. Well no! Not wrong just a bit... I don't know. But for fook-sake we’d been together enough times. It’s not as if she had nothing I hadn’t see before. . .
Suddenly the lights return to normal.
The noises of the football game on TV return. A goal has just been scored.
CONOR leaps out of the chair and runs around the room.
We’ve scored. Gerald we’ve scored. The Irish have scored. One nil. One nil. One nil.
CONOR exits up left excitedly.