For most people who sat down to watch the Late Late Toy Show every year, it brings back fond memories. Many people remember the first time they were allowed to stay up late, or how jealous they were as they watched someone from their school getting to play with LEGO while chatting to Gay Byrne on national television.

Any Irish child that ever saw that magical programme wished that they could be a part of it. It was the one time young boys wished they sang in the choir. Then maybe they could have had a go of every toy going for an hour!

Although a little bit later than I had first wished, I was finally actually given a chance to be a part of the Toy Show.

I was 19-years-old.

At the time, I was mainly working in the sports department in RTÉ, but a much larger crew was needed for that special night each year. When I got the call, I was so excited I texted everyone I went to primary school with. Only they really knew how much it meant to me.

In our pre-production meeting on the Thursday, I couldn’t believe the numbers that were working on the Toy Show. There were around 70 people drafted in for this one broadcast. Some were there to pack goody bags for the audience. Others were in charge of ensuring all batteries were ready to go before each segment – something of an annual mishap.

One of the producers just told me to come in and she would assign me a job on the day. Great, I thought. That sounds like a handy number…

My first task was to gather all of the toys, and put them into groups, depending on which part of the show they would be used. The only problem was, I had to go and take them off the kids who had been testing them all week.

The kids were all in the green room with their families. And I was the one who had to go and steal their toys away. The first kid put up such a fight, that all the other kids could see what I was up to. The second kid cried for five minutes, until I finally pried the Transformer from his sticky little hands.

When the third child just outright refused to hand it over, her mother came over to intervene. Finally, I thought. An adult in the room is going to help me. Instead, the mother asked why I was tormenting all the children.

I politely told her that I needed to get the toys ready for the show. She then asked would they get them back afterwards, to which I replied as politely as I could: “No… the toys are going to a worthy charity after the show.”

“Well… that hardly seems fair,” the mother replied. “Our kids have been working hard all week testing these toys for you lot, and then they don’t even get to keep them?!”

Kids were now hiding their toys from me. Parents were even helping them. I saw one man put a handheld computer game into his bag. He sheepishly pulled it back out after he saw me catch him red handed.

I was now way behind schedule, and beginning to panic.

I finally got all the toys in place and let the battery operators work their magic.

As I finally got a seat to try and catch my breath, I looked over at the crew who were packing the goody bags. They had been finished ages before, and already had their feet up. Some were just wandering around looking for autographs off the bands that were in that night.

As the Toy Show’s credits started to roll, I had to try and round up the kids into the separate groups, but by now, they all hated me. I asked one of the demonstrators to move from one group to another. He called me a Grinch and stayed put.

A producer then said they had another little job for me. We were just going to an ad break, and I had to get all the kids on the bikes and cars in order to pedal across the studio, as they were the first segment after the ads.

So I had roughly three minutes to organise a bunch of screaming kids. Just as I had them lined up, someone handed me the order they were supposed to be in, completely different from how I’d managed to line them up.

I began screaming with panic as I hear the crowd clapping and the Late Late theme song blaring from the studio floor. I turned into a psychotic headmaster as I ran out of time, screaming a kid’s name, and once they raised their hand, grabbing their bike, with the kid on it, and flinging both out on stage.

Things were finally working out, until one little boy of African origin said he didn’t want to go out because he was scared. He was sitting in one of those ridiculous big bikes that look like something from Mad Max.

I promised him loads of ice-cream if he would just GET OUT ONTO THE STAGE FLOOR! Turns out screaming at a frightened child isn’t the most effective way of getting him on your side. I had now scared the hell out of him and he wasn’t budging. Then I hear Pat Kenny calling his name.

I look up and Pat’s eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them. He repeats the boy’s name, but this time much slower, as he gestures at me through gritted teeth.

Panicking, I acted on instinct. I ran behind the young lad, as he shouts “No, No, No!” And I start pushing his bike. The bloody thing is so heavy it hardly moved after the first shove. So I pushed again. And then I got some major momentum going. So much so, that it was now dragging me along.

I gave it one last push that sent the boy flying across the stage, zooming past a bewildered Pat Kenny. He was hardly on screen for more than a couple of seconds I’d say. But as I felt the sweat dripping down the side of my face, it wasn’t from the sheer terror of messing up the most watched show in Ireland. This time, the sweat was from the hot studio lights. In my live-television terror, I’d completely overdone it, and was now standing in the middle of the studio floor.

So while I had a valid reason for pushing the child like I did, many people didn’t see it that way. People at home enjoyed seeing the bikes and trikes of all shapes and sizes appear on stage as the little kids waved to their parents in the audience.

Then, this one poor child is hurled onto the floor at G-force speed by a sweaty teenager who must be a racist. Why else would he do such a thing? And now he’s just staring at the camera like a moron.

After the show, everyone else seemed to be in fine spirits. I could only sit in the corner of the room and try and gather my thoughts. Had I actually just shoved a small child across the stage on national television?

Every year now when I see the Toy Show advertised, I get a shudder down my spine. 

Paul Cahill is a sports journalist and broadcaster.