I haven't written a blog in exactly a month now, a month, a month to the day. I don't know, it was probably a combination of a few things, not having enough time, sheer laziness and a down right lack of inspiration. Inspiration is everything when it comes to writing these things, you need to really be into whatever you are talking about and I just haven't had anything to talk about over the month of September, it has been pretty uneventful, well, in blog terms . . . . until now. Today is the 29th birthday . . .Well, I think he is 29 . . or is it 28 . . its either 28th or 29th, either way, that’s not what is important. Today is the birthday of our brother abroad - The one, the only, Russell Simmons. No wait he's not the only is he.
Russell was either born on the 1st October 1981 or 1982, I don't know. If it was 1981, while Russell’s Ma was screaming her head off in the Rotunda, Adam & the Ants were top of the charts with Stand and Deliver . . . . . . Jesus, I've been reading up on October the 1st in 1981 and absolutely fuck all happened on this day, lets hope Russell was born in 1982, I think it's more interesting. . . . . okay, lets go. On the muggy morning of the 1st of October 1982, while Eye Of The Tiger was enjoying its 3rd week at number one, while Liverpool were ripping other teams a new arsehole in football, while some kid in Japan bought the very first CD in a shop, while Grafton Street was preparing to become a pedestrian only street for the first time, another thing was happening, up in the Rotunda Hospital, Mrs. Simmons was trying with all her might to add her contribution to the world. To grace the world with her eldest son - Russell
My story with Russell begins in 1997, I was making my move from De La Salle to the High School, I think Russell was making a similar move; we were both new kids in this new palace of tits and arse, it was great. Myself and Russell became aware of each other as permanent fixtures on the High School rugby team’s bench. I was there because I was just plain shite but poor Russell spent most of his rugby life rooted to the bench because he was a hooker, he lived in the shadow of captain fantastic, Ross MacNally, but he finally got his time in sixth year, High Schools finest hour, knocking Roscrea out the Cup, Russell was throwing like the Holy Spirit that day, what a fucking game, what a tush . . . . Pity they got the shit kicked out of themselves in the next round by Rock, but no one remembers that.
As a rugby player, Russell never conformed to the typical rugby - jock behaviour. Instead of giving or receiving nipple cripples and pulling a mates boxers over their head, he decided no, he decided to hang with a different type of group in the school, a group so unique that I don't think their like will be seen in that school again. This group had many names, The Wasters, The Messers, The Scumbags, yes, I'm talking about the gang of lads that terrorised the A Floor jacks between 1997 and 2000. Never had the school seen a group of lads who had such a lack of school spirit, Russell's rugby effort was the only sign of 'High School Pride' within this group. They had mastered the art of the pea shooter; ripping unfortunate teachers as they passed.
At this stage I knew Russell’s mate, JJ, a lot better, as he was in my class. I got talking to JJ and he was telling me all about his escapades in the Tivoli and that he and Russell were djing there. This was in fucking 6th year, djing to me at this stage was like what some dude did at a wedding. At this stage, for me going out and clubbing was the 'pound a pint' night in Bar 47 or maybe rocking up to The Vatican on a Saturday Night. So a couple of us heard about this and we're like 'what the fuck is that all this about?' We head up to the Tivoli and there is JJ & Russell up there, giving it the fucking big boy shit, lashing out this nasty techno to a load of cunts in their late twenties, all of which were madge out of it. It was all a bit much, these 2 chuns were studying for their Leaving, and there they were bangin it out to a load of mashed out of heads about ten years their senior. Get the fuck in there, lads, i thought.
There is a bit of a gap then in me and Russells connection, we might of seen each other occasionally at a 21sts, just hangin out with different cunts and then literally about six years ago it began every weekend, we were getting along grand, we were building a wholesome bond, sometimes physical but mostly verbal, mentally having sex every weekend with each other and then off he went to Australia for a year . . . . . that’s that, I thought to myself, he's gone, he's left me. He never thought to let me know, it was just 'I'm heading to Oz, dude' . . . . Just like that. Gone. Off to have the crack with a load of other chuns without me. Off to have a laugh with a bunch of people I didn't even know and will never know. Myself and Greg didn't know where to turn. This began one of man's greatest projects - Project Russell - bravo, lads! Bravo!
Forward on to St Stephens Day a year later, Me and Greg loosing our bollix at Leopardstown Racecourse, freezing our balls off in the stand, surrounded by twats with binoculars hanging from their necks in suits and we are sipping pints that took us an hour to get. We are in dire need of a surprise, we needed something that was going to boost moral - my phone rings
'Hello'
'Hay Jack, what’s the crack? Do you know who this is? I am looking at you right now.'
'What' I thought to myself 'Who the fuck is this?'
'It's Russell, man, I came home yesterday'
And with that Russell appears beside us. Hugs and kisses all round, well, not kisses, even though I wanted to but I didn't want to push it, he had just got back. That night, we hit town and to say we threw our hands up in the air and shook them around like we just didn’t care, would have been a very big understatement and we pretty much did that every weekend since. Russell has gone into the Jack Olohan Hall of Fame of Sessioners; he has out done himself when it comes to having the craic over the last 3 years. He has consistently shown 100% commitment to the sesh and I believe he needs to be applauded for it. Congrates, bro, you deserves it. He has now left us again to go the Big Apple and to say he is sorely missed by one and all back here in Ireland would be an even bigger understatement, way bigger than the understatement I mentioned earlier in this paragraph. Happy Birthday, dude, go out there a tear that town a new one, you lucky bastard. I wish I was there.
