Little Croker Read online

  Danny knew that he had to knuckle in and take the game by the scruff of the neck.

  He dropped a little deeper into defence alongside his centre half back as he knew that was more or less the range of his keeper.

  Darcy, the goal keeper, spotted Danny hovering to the side of Alan Whelan and he aimed his kick out towards him.

  As soon as the ball came into range, Danny jumped into its flight path and made a cracking catch. Then he turned like a gazelle on the run from a lion and went on a Danny Wilde solo.

  ‘Go on, Danny!’ shouted Mick.

  ‘Go on, skin them Danny!’ seconded Jimmy.

  Danny’s team mates advanced forward, but watched as Danny magnificently fended off two tackles and powered ahead into St Agnes’ centre half back line.

  He threw a dummy effort to pass to Splinter who had moved over to support him and then fisted a pass to Doyler, the centre full forward.

  The next move was a move that Mick had his forward line practise strenuously: Doyler made absolutely no attempt to catch the pass, he fisted the ball over his marker’s head and back into the path of Danny.

  Then Danny took a chance and instead of letting the ball bounce in front of him as practised, he snapped a shot on the volley and hit a screamer into the back of the net!

  Danny had pulled off a ridiculously amazing score that no amount of practice could teach or train you to perfect – it was just pure talent!

  Danny’s goal had lifted Crokes’ heads again and St Agnes’ Boys once again fell apart, and no matter how much they tried to get back up-field for scores, the Crokes’ defence gelled together and broke them down with ease.

  The referee looked at his watch one last time and blew the full time whistle.

  Danny’s team had beaten St Agnes’ Boys by 2-5 to 1-3.

  Mick patted Jimmy on the back, and then as usual, let the team mascot off his lead.

  Heffo raced onto the pitch and while the Crokes’ players all congratulated each other and commiserated with their deflated opponents, Heffo put nose to ball and went off on a doggy solo, turning and twisting in circles until he was so tired he collapsed and rolled over on his back on the dry grass.

  Mick paced over to the other coach and shook his hand.

  ‘Hard luck. Good game,’ said Mick, politely.

  As soon as Mick turned away, a man in a sports jacket with a newspaper tucked under his arm approached him.

  ‘Good win,’ said the man.

  Mick didn’t know him, but he thought his face looked a little familiar.

  ‘Thanks. We lost concentration for a bit, but they’re good lads. They pulled it back.’

  Mick wasn’t stopping for a chat, but the stranger put his arm out to suggest a conversation.

  ‘Eh! I have to say, your number nine has real talent.’

  ‘Yeah, Danny’s a good player. He’s my son.’

  ‘You must be proud as punch,’ chuckled the man.

  The man pulled out his ID card and flashed it at Mick.

  ‘Sorry, Mick, is it? Excuse my manners. Robert Jenkins is my name. I’m a representative for the Dublin schoolboys’ development squad.’

  Mick instantly raised an eyebrow and perked up like a soldier on parade.

  A scout!

  That’s it, he thought. I knew I’d seen his face before. He’s been at a couple of other games, lurking in the background with his newspaper, like a spy in action.

  ‘I have to say I’m very impressed with Danny. I heard about him through the grapevine. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve watched a few of your games and I think your son has the ability to play at higher levels.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? Well, I wouldn’t argue with you on that one,’ agreed Mick calmly, but behind his calm exterior his stomach was in knots. He knew what was coming next.

  ‘We meet about six times a year to get a good look at up and coming talent like Danny. Is there any chance that Danny could come for a training session with our squad next Friday?’ asked Mr Jenkins.

  ‘Absolutely!’ said Mick, grinning from ear to ear.

  The scout, as Mick called him, gave Mick a card with the address of the training grounds and his number on it, and shook hands with the proud father.

  ‘If there’s any problem or anything at all, just give me a bell.’

  Then he tucked his newspaper back under his arm and headed briskly off across the fields into the distance, leaving Mick standing smiling and holding the card tight like it was a winning lotto ticket.

  Chapter 3

  Granny Maureen’s Birthday

  As always, reliable Jimmy took down the nets while Mick followed the boys into the dressing rooms to congratulate them and have his post-match chat.

  Sean ‘Dirty’ Dempsey and his dad weren’t in the dressing rooms. They had gone off home sulking before the match had even finished.

  Mick was itching to tell Danny about his trial with the Dublin team, but he thought it would be better if he didn’t say anything in the dressing room.

  I’ll tell him on his own first, thought Mick, and sure he can tell the other lads himself.

  Mick, Danny, Jimmy and his son Splinter, their left full forward, carried the gear and balls home, as they only lived around the corner from the playing fields.

  ‘Danny, are you coming over for a game on my PlayStation?’ asked Splinter who had just got a new game for his birthday.

  ‘Nah! I can’t, Splinter,’ replied Danny. ‘It’s my granny’s birthday and we’re going straight over there to see her.’

  ‘Thanks Jimmy, I’ll see you on Tuesday night,’ said Mick. ‘I’ll see you, Damien,’ he said to Splinter. ‘You played a great game!’

  ‘Can we bring Heffo to Granny’s?’ asked Danny.

  ‘I suppose so. Tie him to the gate and I’ll bring in the bags. Then you run in and wash your face for Granny.’

  Mick and Danny set off to visit Mick’s mother, Maureen, who only lived a ten-minute walk away in an old folks’ complex of flats called ‘Shady Cedars’.

  During the walk, Mick broke the good news to Danny.

  ‘Are you for real, Dad?’ asked Danny.

  ‘Yep! Next Friday evening, you’re going to be training with the Dublin development team, son. It will be the proudest moment of my life, Danny,’ said Mick with unexpected emotion.

  ‘Savage!’ said Danny. ‘Mammy would be chuffed. Wouldn’t she, Dad?’

  ‘Your mother will be shining down on you, Danny, like she does at all of your games.’

  Danny’s mam had passed away when Danny was just a baby, but Mick always tried to keep her very much in Danny’s life by talking to Danny about her as much as possible.

  ‘Come on, Dad, we’ll run the rest of the way. I can’t wait to tell Granny,’ said Danny excitedly.

  Danny and Heffo raced ahead of Mick, but almost immediately Danny came walking back around the corner towards Mick, who had pulled up for a breather.

  ‘I’m all right, son. Just give us a second!’ gasped Mick. ‘You’re too fast for me.’

  ‘Dad, you’re not going to like what you’re going to see when you turn the corner,’ warned Danny.

  ‘Not the Bentley!’ said Mick. He sounded gutted.

  ‘Yep!’

  Mick and Danny had been trying to get to Granny’s early to avoid meeting Danny’s rich and snobby Uncle Larry, Mick’s brother.

  The only time that the brothers crossed paths was on their mother’s birthday and Mick didn’t want a repeat of last year’s row. Mick and Larry despised each other.

  ‘We’ll come back later,’ said Mick.

  ‘Ah, Da!’ moaned Danny. ‘I’m dying to tell Granny my good news.’

  Good news! thought Mick. That’s right. I’ll relish the look on Larry’s face when he hears about Danny’s trial.

  ‘You’re right, son,’ said Mick. ‘Why should we back down?’

  Mick let Heffo off his lead at the gates and he instantly ran over to Larry’s Bentley and cocked his leg.

 
Mick was thrilled because he knew that all Larry ever did during his one and only annual visit to their mother was stand at her window and watch his precious car.

  ‘Come on, Heffo!’ called Danny as he rang his granny’s door bell.

  ‘He’s all right, son,’ grinned Mick. ‘Better on your uncle’s wheels than on Granny’s floor!’

  Danny laughed with his dad.

  The front door was opened by Larry’s wife, Regina.

  ‘Michael, darling!’ screeched Regina. ‘And Daniel! Oh, you’ve grown so tall since last year!’

  Danny smiled politely at his aunt and quickly brushed past her into the house. He only met Regina once a year, but once a year was enough for him to come to the conclusion that she was away with the fairies.

  ‘Regina,’ acknowledged Mick.

  Danny ran over to Granny Maureen and gave her a big hug. She was in her new, leather, multi-functional reclining chair that Larry had had delivered for her birthday.

  Larry made an effort to turn away from the curtains just to see the look on poor Mick’s face when he saw his mother’s present.

  ‘Nice chair!’ said Danny.

  ‘It’s very cosy,’ answered Granny, ‘but I don’t know about all these buttons. It’s like sitting in a space ship.’

  Mick laughed.

  ‘You want to watch yourself, Mam. We don’t want you taking off now, do we?’

  ‘Did you tell your granny your news, son?’ asked Mick.

  Danny announced his good news to all. His cousins – Jonathon who was twelve like Danny and Lowry who was fourteen – came in from the kitchen to politely congratulate him. Regina didn’t really want to be there and she certainly didn’t want her children there, but she always – especially in public – insisted on good manners, politeness and smiles.

  ‘The cake!’ said Granny after she’d praised Danny. ‘Are we going to cut the cake?’

  ‘In a jiffy,’ said Regina and she rushed out to the kitchen and quickly came back in with a delicious fresh cream chocolate gateau.

  When Regina asked who wanted a slice of cake, everyone put their hand up, even Larry. The atmosphere was brutal and everyone knew that if they were busy eating cake then they wouldn’t have to make any effort to strike up stupid, pointless conversation.

  ‘Danny,’ said Mick while licking the last of his cream from his fork. ‘Get your ball out from the cupboard and bring Jonathon outside for a kickabout.’

  Danny jumped up.

  ‘Are you on, Jonathon?’

  Before Jonathon even considered answering he glanced over at his dad.

  Larry said nothing, but his facial expression said clearly, No way, young man!

  ‘Ah come on, Larry,’ said Mick.

  Regina became very twitchy in her seat, wondering if a repeat of last year’s episode between the two brothers was going to start off again.

  She decided to take control.

  ‘Darling, Jonathon, just go out for a few minutes with Daniel. We’ll be leaving shortly.’

  ‘Why don’t you go and play too, Lowry,’ suggested Granny with more cake in her mouth than teeth.

  Lowry panicked.

  ‘I don’t think so, Gran. I just got a new pair of shoes.’

  Granny looked down to check.

  ‘Oh! They’re lovely. Did you get them in Dunnes Stores? Yes! I’m sure I saw them in Dunnes.’

  Jonathon laughed as he and Danny were going out the door.

  Lowry couldn’t keep up the polite game. Granny had gone too far with that comment and the thought of Jonathon repeating it to any of her friends made her heave.

  ‘Oh my God! Granny! These are Nine West!’

  Outside, Danny was telling Jonathon more about his trial with the Dublin team.

  ‘Here, catch!’ said Danny and he fisted the ball to his cousin.

  Jonathon caught the ball and just stood there with it.

  ‘Kick it back!’ said Danny.

  Jonathon looked around to check if his dad was watching.

  Danny noticed his cousin’s reluctance to be seen participating.

  ‘Why won’t your dad let you play football?’ asked Danny.

  This conversation was leading him into unfamiliar territory. Danny didn’t know anybody who wouldn’t be allowed to play football.

  Jonathon was a little embarrassed now, so he copied Danny’s pass and fisted the ball back to him.

  ‘Nice pass! Would you like to play football?’ asked Danny.

  ‘I suppose so,’ answered Jonathon. ‘I’ve never had the opportunity, so I’m not sure if I’d like it or not.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ argued Danny. ‘You’d love it. It’s great fun. A real buzz!’

  ‘Really?’ Jonathon was beginning to like the sound of it.

  Just as the two boys were beginning to enjoy the game, the Bentley bleeped three times and Larry barged out of the flat.

  ‘Into the car, Jonathon!’ ordered Larry.

  Regina followed him, with Lowry trailing behind.

  ‘Laurence!’ screeched Regina. ‘You can’t leave on these terms.’

  Danny and Jonathon looked at each other, and without saying anything each cousin knew what the other was thinking. Their dads had just had their annual disagreement.

  ‘Come on in, Danny,’ said Mick as the Bentley disappeared down the road.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Danny. He was a bit annoyed; he was actually enjoying talking to his cousin.

  ‘Your daddy and your uncle,’ answered Granny. ‘That’s what happened. I’m sick to death of yiz at each other’s throats. For heavens sake, I’d wish yiz would just bury the hatchet and try to move on.’

  ‘Right, Mam! We’re off. Happy birthday. I love you!’ said Mick as he grabbed his coat with unusual urgency.

  ‘What’s Granny on about?’ asked Danny.

  ‘Just give your granny a hug and a kiss, son,’ insisted Mick, and he nodded a look to Danny as if to say, And mind your own business as well.

  Chapter 4

  The Kerryman

  On Monday morning in Irish class Danny was telling Splinter how excited he was about his trial on Friday and that he felt sorry for his cousin Jonathon who wasn’t even allowed to play football.

  ‘What colour is your uncle’s Bentley?’ asked Splinter, who was car-mad. ‘Is it a soft top? Marky Byrne saw a soft top one in town last week. They’re dead rare!’ babbled Splinter.

  Just as Danny was about to answer, Mr O’Shea stopped reading.

  Danny and Splinter looked up to see Mr O’Shea staring down at them.

  ‘Would Mr Wilde and Mr Murphy care to share with us exactly what is so important that you have to discuss it while I’m reading?’

  Danny and Splinter buried their heads in their books. They weren’t even on the right page.

  ‘Stand up, boys,’ ordered Mr O’Shea.

  As Danny stood up, the teacher asked the question again – he wasn’t about to let it go.

  ‘Em, football, sir,’ answered Danny. ‘Gaelic football.’

  This was a clever move by Danny; he knew that Mr O’Shea was a passionate GAA supporter. Sure it would be a county crime if he wasn’t as he hailed from ‘The Kingdom’ itself!

  ‘GAA you say, Danny.’

  This was a good sign, he had addressed Danny by his first name.

  Danny quickly elaborated on his answer.

  ‘Yes, sir! We were just talking about how Kerry has won the most All-Ireland Finals.’

  Mr O’Shea smiled. He was onto Danny, but he admired the boy’s ingenuity and also enjoyed the fact that all the other boys were now looking at Danny and wondering why he was talking about Kerry and not the Dubs.

  ‘Is that right, Wilde?’

  Bad sign! thought Danny. O’Shea’s reverted back to surnames.

  ‘So tell me, Wilde. Do you know how many times Kerry has won the All-Ireland, then?’

  Splinter leaned his right leg against his desk, just enough to discreetly rest a sufficient amount of body w
eight on it without being accused of slumping. Splinter, along with Danny and every other pupil in the class, knew what was coming. Mr O’Shea was about to kick into ‘Kerry Mode’, and they were probably in for a long speech about how wonderful the ‘Kingdom’ was and how Kerry was the best GAA team.

  Danny thought he had worked out the right answer.

  ‘Em! I think it’s about twenty-five times, sir.’

  ‘Wrong, Wilde, by a long shot!’ Mr O’Shea was chuffed. He had a smile now on his face that Danny recognised – the same smile that Danny had seen on the faces of forty thousand Kerry men, women and children in Croke Park, the day he witnessed Kerry knock the Dubs out of the All-Ireland semis.

  ‘Thirty-five times the magnificent Sam has travelled down to the Kingdom!’ answered Mr O’Shea. ‘And do you know how many times Kerry has beaten the Dubs?’ continued Mr O’Shea. He was on a roll now; he could almost feel the insults that every pupil in the class was hurling at him in their minds. He didn’t care. He was enjoying the moment.

  Danny decided that enough was enough. This was battle, just like on the playing field and he was going to hit back with a score of his own, a big score.

  ‘Em! I’m not too sure about that one either, Sir, but I can tell you one time when the Dubs beat Kerry.’

  ‘Is that right, Wilde? One time the Dubs beat Kerry!’ Mr O’Shea chuckled.

  ‘Yeah, Sir! It was the best game of football ever. The ’77 semi-final. And the Dubs won it!’

  ‘That’s right, Wilde.’

  Mr O’Shea wasn’t smiling anymore. Danny had tugged on the one thorn that stuck deep in the side of every Kerry supporter. The ’77 semi. It was the greatest contest of football ever played in the land, and Danny Wilde knew it, and had just announced it to everyone else in the class.

  ‘You’re a bit young to know about that match, Wilde,’ quizzed Mr O’Shea.

  ‘It’s his favourite, Sir,’ intervened Splinter who was now half-sitting on his desk. ‘He even named his dog “Heffo” after the Dubs’ manager.’

  ‘Straighten up, Murphy!’ yelled Mr O’Shea.

  That was the end of all GAA talk. Mr O’Shea picked up reading where he had left off, just to show Danny that although he acknowledged that score – that very big score – he would have the last say.