I've never been the easiest to live with. Ask Ann. We're sitting at home watching TV on Friday evening (Course you are, what the fuck else would you be doing?) when I combust during the ads and the latest promotion for RTE Sport.
"We're in this from the beginning," a sweetie says. "We're in this for the blood, the sweat, and even the odd tear along the way. We're in this for the love-ins that unite us, and the fall outs that tear us apart. We're in this for those moments the whole world was watching . . . even when the ref isn't.
"We're in this for those days you wouldn't believe, and the nights that made us believe. And we're in this for when we all can gather again. We'll be ready . . . because we're in this together."
It's more the pictures than the words - the sports they've chosen to highlight their brave new world (in order): GAA, boxing, football, boxing, athletics, rugby, football, football, rowing, football, GAA, boxing, hockey, rugby, football, rugby, GAA, football, golf, swimming, boxing.
They've gone back to '78 when Munster beat All Blacks and completely ignored cycling. The Tour de France, the Giro d'Italia, the Tour of Spain, the Rás, the Tour of Ireland, the Rás, the world champions. We never had any. They never happened.
I pause and play it back, and play it back, and play it back and now I'm absolutely spewing. Ann has heard it all before.
"Are you done?" she says.
"Okay, give me the remote."
The lockdown is starting to bite. We had more rows last week than in 32 years of marriage. It started last Saturday when we were flicking through the channels and I paused on Carlito's Way, the great Brian De Palma movie starring Al Pacino as Carlito Brigante, a good-hearted Puerto Rican trying to escape a brutal past.
"No!" she barked.
"Because we've watched it about 50 times!"
"Okay, well you pick something then."
It was shite.
I've always loved Carlito. There's a scene with Dave Kleinfeld (Sean Penn) - the cocaine-addicted lawyer to whom he owes his second chance - that has always resonated with me. Kleinfeld has stolen some money from a Mafia boss but can settle the debt if he helps spring a guy from Rikers Island prison. Carlito wants none of it but reluctantly agrees to help.
They take a boat onto the East River in the black of night, and are just about to pull the guy from the water when Kleinfeld buries a crow-bar in his head.
"There's a line you cross, you don't ever come back from," Carlito says, as the body sinks. "Point of no return. Dave crossed it. I'm here with him. That means I am going along for the ride. The whole ride. All the way to the end of the line, wherever that is."
That's true for anyone who has ever doped. Or ever tried to expose it.
It helps to have a good memory. On May 25, 2007, I was watching the 13th stage of the Giro d'Italia on Eurosport, when the commentator, David Harmon, announced some breaking news from Denmark. "The word we are getting over the headphones is that Bjarne Riis (the Danish winner of the 2006 Tour de France) has admitted using EPO."
Harmon, whose cheer-leading style was much admired by fans, was sharing the microphone that afternoon with Seán Kelly, but the former world number 1 seemed strangely subdued.
"The questions will come tumbling out now," Harmon observed.
Kelly didn't ask any.
"I shall leave you to draw your own conclusions," Harmon said.
Kelly had none to draw.
Harmon returned to the subject three times before the end of the broadcast, but on each occasion Kelly had nothing to say. Thirty years had passed since he had left his father's farm in Carrick-on-Suir for the bright lights of the Flandria professional team in 1978. The team leader, Freddy Maertens, would test positive that season; another teammate, Michel Pollentier, would be stripped of the yellow jersey (for trying to cheat the doping control) in Kelly's first Tour de France.
Kelly kept his head down and didn't tell their tales.
It wasn't his style to go spitting in the soup. The sport's code of silence was respected like a Bible. But where does that leave you when the walls come tumbling down?
We all get things wrong. In Brendan Fanning's brilliant report last Sunday on the James Cronin doping case ('The prop, the pills, a chemist and a ban') there was a reference to a dog eating some homework. We should, really, apologise to the dog.
Maybe it's a Munster thing? I thought of Kelly on Tuesday listening to Game On - the "pacey, informative and agenda setting sports magazine show" presented by Marie Crowe, Donncha O'Callaghan and Ruby Walsh on 2FM. There was some 'bantz' on the lockdown, a tribute to Michael Robinson and a discussion with Ian O'Riordan on the Sport Ireland anti-doping review.
Well, a kind of discussion: Marie was good, Ruby was curious and Ian was on point: "Sport Ireland make no secret of the fact that they target test," he explained. "They go after the sports where they feel there is a threat. Cycling has been traditionally the sport we associate with doping, that's still number one, but rugby is now very much in second place and John Treacy did not deny that."
We listened, waiting for Donncha to intervene. And listened. And listened. But for 13 minutes he had nothing to say.
I've always admired and respected rugby players, but the last to grant me an interview was Paul O'Connell in February 2014. That was eight months before my first time to meet Laurent Benezech . . . probably just a coincidence.
Archive is great. Here's how Seán O'Rourke introduced me a month later: "Paul Kimmage was one of the first to raise questions about the endemic drug culture in cycling, including at one famous press conference where he tackled Lance Armstrong. Now in recent weeks he has been writing about the drugs culture in some rugby teams, and he joins me now to expand on that.
"Also in studio, former Ireland and Leinster player, Trevor Hogan, and on the line another former Irish international, Shane Byrne. Good Morning to you all . . . Paul, these articles you've been writing have been prompted primarily by stuff that has been emerging in France from a guy called Laurent Benezech, a former prop with France. What exactly is he saying?"
It was an interesting discussion. And an interesting few weeks: Byrne, Alan Quinlan, Jamie Heaslip, Cian Healy, Philip Browne, Joe Schmidt, Tony Ward - they were almost queueing-up to take Benezech on:
"I've spent . . ."
". . . years in the changing room and never seen it."
Benezech sent me a headline from L'Equipe last week ('Dopage: Un mois de suspension pour James Cronin') and a short message: "Another good one coming from Ireland. Corticoids as usual . . ."
I obviously missed the Cronin debate on Seán O'Rourke last week. Could someone send it to me please? Oh, and any quotes or comments from his teammates.
I may be an asshole, but I'm a consistent asshole.
We've five professional cyclists. I'm sure there's a good reason they're tested more than all of our professional rugby, and soccer players. And our Gaelic footballers and hurlers. And I'm sure there's a good reason Sport Ireland are sitting on their hands and have yet to appeal the Cronin case.
But I can't think of one.
Sunday Indo Sport