Little Croker Page 3

  The two boys remained standing for the rest of Irish class, which was almost like Chinese torture. It was hard enough to try and stay awake in Irish class sitting down without the burden of having to stand through it.

  On the way home from school, Danny and Splinter swapped compliments on how the other had stood up to the teacher and put him in his place.

  ‘Ah! But you topped it off Danny, bringing up the ’77 semi!’

  ‘Yeah!’ smirked Danny. ‘My da always said …’ and Splinter joined in, ‘… If you’re ever in a battle of GAA talk with a Kerry supporter, just mention the ’77 semi.’

  * * *

  Later that evening, Danny told Mick all about that day’s Irish class.

  ‘Don’t be winding up your teachers, son,’ advised Mick.

  ‘But Dad! I couldn’t help it. He kept going on about Kerry this and Kerry that and then he started picking on the Dubs.’

  ‘Did you mention the ’77 semi?’ asked Mick with great anticipation of the answer.

  ‘I did!’ Danny answered with pride bursting from the seams.

  ‘I bet he went all quiet,’ said Mick.

  ‘Not another word, Da!’

  Mick was in great humour now, and he decided that they should order a curry to celebrate Danny’s trial with the Dublin team, and just to top the evening off, he dug out the ’77 semi video.

  When the doorbell rang, Danny answered the door. It was their curry arriving.

  ‘How much do we owe him, son?’ asked Mick.

  ‘Nine eighty,’ answered the curry man.

  ‘I’ll be back in a second,’ said Danny.

  When Danny returned with the money, the curry man was stretching his head as far around the door as possible to catch a glimpse of the match. He jumped back when Danny came running out.

  ‘Eh, that wouldn’t be the ’77 All-Ireland semi between the Dubs and Kerry, would it?’

  ‘It would indeed!’ Mick yelled out. ‘Do you want to watch a bit of it?’

  Almost as soon as the words had left Mick’s lips, the curry man was on the couch, dipping the very chips he’d just delivered into poor Danny’s rapidly-declining tub of sauce, and howling, ‘Up the Dubs!’ at the telly.

  Danny, his dad and the curry man rode an emotional rollercoaster as they watched the Kerrymen charge at the Dubs and, in rapid response, the Dubs counterattack the boys from the Kingdom. The ultimate Dublin piece of warrior showmanship came when Dubs’ defender, Sean Doherty, plucked a long Kerry free kick out of the air and harm’s way and sent it up field.

  The three sofa spectators watched in awe as the Dubs battled and grinded the ball out of the chaotic midfield up to the hands of Tony Hanahoe, who passed it to Bernard Brogan, who charged towards the Kerry goal and then unleashed a thundering shot that saw the ball rip past the Kerry goalkeeper and smash into the now fragile and battered netting.

  Danny, his dad and the curry man leapt off the sofa and celebrated as if they had travelled back in time and were amongst all the fans in Hill 16.

  Danny fell asleep that night thinking about the legends of GAA history and dreaming that by Friday evening he could be taking his first steps to becoming a Dublin legend himself.

  Chapter 5

  A Dirty Player

  As if nothing had happened on Saturday, Sean Dempsey and his trouble-making dad, Tommy, turned up for training on Tuesday evening.

  Mick wasn’t really in the humour for more conflict so he just let Sean participate in training and he kept his distance from Tommy, who was unusually quiet, watching the session from behind one of the goal posts.

  Mick ran the boys through their normal routine, starting them with a few warm-up exercises with Jimmy and then a couple of laps around the full length of the pitch while he set out the cones at the edge of the playing fields to benefit from the street lamps.

  ‘Right! Bring them in, Jimmy,’ yelled Mick, and everyone gathered around their coach, slightly red-faced and gasping for breath.

  ‘Well done, lads. Thanks, Jimmy,’ said Mick.

  Danny and his team-mates did fifteen minutes of different exercise techniques, from sprint racing in and out of the cones to dribbling the ball to passing the ball from one end to the other and then sprinting to the other end.

  Training for Littlestown Crokes was hard, but it kept Danny and the other players super-fit and that had a lot to do with why they were top of their league.

  Mick always liked to finish training with a short friendly match between the players just to keep the morale up. All training and no play doesn’t make good team players, thought Mick.

  Jimmy and a few of the players set up a small pitch with the cones. Mick split the players into two sides; he would be referee.

  Training matches were always a mixture of competitiveness and fun, and that’s exactly how this game was going until one stupid tackle changed the whole enjoyable atmosphere completely.

  There were only a couple of minutes of training left when Danny pulled off the perfect pick-up and went on a galloping solo down the line. He threw a dummy and swerved around Paddy Timmons, then he hand-passed to Splinter who repeated the skill over Little Johnner Watson’s head, sending the ball back into the hands of Danny.

  Danny now had the goal within range. He released the ball from his right hand into the path of his dynamic right foot.

  Then, BANG! Just as Danny was about to strike, Dempsey, who had been following his every move, took his legs from under him.

  This was a foul that Dirty Dempsey had been warned about many a time, but this time he was in big trouble. This was the last straw – in Mick Wilde’s book taking out a team mate in training was scraping the bottom of the barrel.

  Danny rolled around the ground in agonising pain, while Mick blew hard on his whistle until he had no more breath left in him to push out his anger at Dempsey.

  Dempsey stepped back while Jimmy held Danny and Mick examined his right leg.

  ‘Is it broken, Mick?’ asked Jimmy with his head slightly turned away as he was quite squeamish.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ answered Mick.

  Danny had already calmed down and that was a good sign.

  ‘Can you stand, son?’ asked Mick.

  ‘I think so, Dad,’ replied Danny, but it was obvious he was still in a lot of discomfort.

  Everybody was relieved to see Danny back on his feet, and none more so than the captain himself – he had to be fit for the trial on Friday!

  ‘Right! We’ll leave it at that, lads!’ announced Mick. ‘Damien, could you help Danny home? I’ve business to take care of. I’ll follow on.’

  Sean Dempsey was walking over to his dad when Mick caught up with him.

  ‘Sean!’ called Mick.

  Dempsey hesitantly turned around and his dad, Tommy, followed him over to Mick.

  ‘That was out of order,’ said Mick.

  Tommy Dempsey was about to say something, no doubt in his son’s defence, but Mick didn’t give him a chance. He was determined this time to finish what he had started.

  ‘Let me finish,’ said Mick, pointing to Dempsey’s dad with fierce authority. ‘You’re a decent player, Sean,’ started Mick, ‘but you’re out of control.’

  Mick looked at Tommy, as if to partially blame him for that.

  Sean didn’t open his mouth, and he didn’t show any remorse either.

  ‘I’ve given you chance after chance, but that’s it, Sean, you’re off the team – for good. You can go and join some other club and torture their coach with your vicious antics.’

  ‘You can’t kick him off the team!’ argued Tommy.

  ‘I just did and I’m not going to change my mind. You’d want to stop sticking up for your son when he does bad things, Tommy, and start encouraging him to improve his social behaviour.’

  If there was one thing Tommy Dempsey loathed it was being told what to do.

  Tommy grabbed Sean by the sleeve of his shirt and dragged him off, but he’d only managed a dozen strides or
so before he pulled up.

  ‘You can stick your team, Wilde. I’m going to get him on a decent team next season,’ Tommy called back. ‘One with a proper manager too. Maybe Barnfield.’

  ‘You do that, Tommy,’ answered Mick. He was relieved to see the back of the two of them as they disappeared across the fields and quickly became a couple of dots and finally just a bad memory.

  Mick put plenty of ice on Danny’s leg when he got home and told him that he could take the next couple of days off school to rest it.

  Mick was just as worried as Danny about the trial on Friday and equally unsure whether Danny’s leg would be well enough in time.

  Danny spent most of Wednesday on the sofa with his leg up on two pillows and covered with an ice pack. Normally he’d be chuffed to bits about having a couple of days off school, but this time was different. This time getting better quick was a priority to Danny.

  Danny played his GAA dvds all day trying to pick up tips and moves for Friday just in case he was fit enough for his trial.

  Splinter knocked over to see him after school and schemed with Danny to bunk off school the next day.

  ‘Wait until you see my dad driving off to work, Splinter,’ said Danny, ‘then come around to the house.’

  ‘Nice one, Danny,’ smiled Splinter. ‘It’ll be animal not going to school.’

  Chapter 6

  A Day Off School

  The next morning, after Mick had driven off to work, Danny texted Splinter that the coast was clear. Splinter had been hiding around the corner under a big Leyland hedge.

  The morning flew in with Splinter to keep him company and Danny’s leg felt almost better. All the sitting around with ice had done the trick!

  The two pals were stuck into a game on Splinter’s PlayStation when the doorbell rang.

  Splinter jumped up.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  Poor Splinter had never bunked off school before and was now terrified that he would be caught.

  Danny peeped out through the curtains as the door bell rang and rang and rang.

  ‘It’s my granny!’ said Danny.

  Splinter was relieved.

  ‘Just hide until she goes. Don’t let her in, Danny!’

  ‘I have to let her in, Splinter! She’s not budging and she’ll tell my da that I didn’t answer.’

  ‘What am I going to do?’ Splinter started to panic.

  ‘Hide under the stairs,’ said Danny. ‘She won’t stay long.’

  And so Splinter hid under the stairs, as deep in as he could behind some coats.

  Danny opened the door for his granny and held his right leg up off the floor and balanced on his left one to convince his granny that he had had to struggle to the door. It worked.

  ‘You poor chicken-hen,’ sympathised Granny Maureen. ‘I’ve brought you around a bowl of lovely stew – that will help put a spring back in your step. You sit back down there, pet, and I’ll re-heat it for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Granny,’ smiled Danny as he spotted Splinter peeping out through the door under the stairs.

  ‘I’ll just take my coat off. Sure I might as well stay for a while and keep you company.’

  Splinter leapt back and fell over the hoover.

  ‘What was that?’ Granny got an awful fright.

  ‘Nothing, Granny,’ said Danny.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Granny. ‘Something moved or fell or some sort of noise came from under that stairs.’

  She was getting stressed now.

  Danny had to act quick as he knew well that Granny Maureen was as bad as a pit bull terrier when it came to letting go of something.

  ‘Sorry, Granny. It’s my training bag. The hook on the wall keeps falling off.’

  Granny threw her coat on the arm of the sofa.

  ‘You’d want to get your daddy to fix it properly. Mother of Divine Jerusalem, frights like that would be the death of your poor oul’ grandmother!’

  Then she went out to the kitchen to stick the bowl of stew in the microwave.

  If Splinter thought that his visit in under the stairs was going to be a quick one, then he was wrong. It was more like doing solitary confinement. Once Danny’s granny sat down she had no intentions of moving for a long spell.

  Danny felt sorry for Splinter. I wonder if he can breathe in there? he thought after an hour and a half had passed. Danny had even put on a GAA match to try and get Granny moving, but she watched it all, and was half way through her second match with Danny.

  ‘You know, Danny …’ said Granny, out of the blue.

  Danny jumped in anticipation. Was this the moment? Was she actually going?

  ‘Yes, Gran?’

  ‘Your daddy was a great footballer.’

  ‘So he tells me, Granny,’ replied Danny, slumping back down into the sofa.

  ‘He loved his football. Him and your uncle Larry.’

  Danny perked up again.

  ‘Larry? Larry played GAA?’ Danny was gobsmacked. Granny must be confused or maybe thinking of one of Mick’s friends or something like that. There’s no way Uncle Larry played GAA, Danny thought.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said Granny with great assurance in her voice. ‘My two boys loved their football, until …’

  Granny stopped in her tracks.

  Danny sat up with his jaw hanging open, waiting for the rest of Granny’s sentence, but nothing came out. She just stared at the telly, clicking her bottom set of false teeth in and out of her mouth, as if they hadn’t even been having a conversation.

  Finally Danny’s curiosity got the better of him.

  ‘Until what, Gran?’ Danny asked. Splinter who had been on the verge of nodding off, was back at the slightly ajar door, only this time it was his left ear that was peeping out.

  Granny jumped up.

  ‘Is that the time? Holy Mary! I’d best be getting off.’

  ‘Ah! Tell us Granny!’ pleaded Danny.

  Splinter had to put his hand over his mouth as he nearly spurted out a back-up plea.

  Granny sat back down.

  ‘I shouldn’t be dragging up the past, Danny. Your daddy wouldn’t like me to say anything.’

  Dad! thought Danny. What’s the big secret with Dad?

  Danny thought he and his dad had no secrets. He thought that they were rock solid since his mam died. He was even more determined now than before to find out more.

  ‘I won’t say a word, Granny. Honestly!’

  ‘All right, pet! Did you ever wonder why your daddy and your uncle never got on? Why they’re always at each others’ throats when they see each other?’

  ‘Yeah!’ answered Danny. His dad had explained things to him before. ‘Dad told me that they just grew apart over the years until they didn’t really have anything in common anymore.’

  Granny bowed her head.

  That wasn’t exactly the whole story.

  Danny’s granny went on to tell him all about how his dad and his uncle Larry were once very, very good GAA players.

  ‘Your daddy was probably a little bit better than your uncle,’ she explained, ‘but your Uncle Larry was very bright, a bit of an academic, and he was offered a scholarship to study and also play GAA. The two lads always got on well, but your uncle used to tease your daddy about not being as good at school.’

  She paused.

  ‘Then it happened,’ she said.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Danny.

  ‘The injury,’ said Granny. ‘And the fight.’

  Splinter was so delighted that he’d bunked off school. Being stuck in solitary confinement under the stairs with hot gossip like this was savage.

  Granny told Danny how the day after Larry announced his big news, he broke his hand in two places from a tackle made by Danny’s dad, Mick, in a kickabout on the road.

  Danny couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Mick Wilde despised dirty tackles and foul play.

  ‘It must have been an accident!’ Danny defended his dad.

  ‘That’s what y
our daddy said, and to this day, Danny, I believe him!’ said Granny, ‘but your Uncle Larry’s hand never healed properly and he missed out on his scholarship. He and your daddy had a huge row and your uncle wouldn’t believe that it was an accident. Larry was convinced that your daddy was jealous and he intended to injure him.’

  Poor Danny. This was all too hard for him, and although he was convinced that his dad would never deliberately have set out to ruin Larry’s hopes, he couldn’t stop the little haunting doubts that were nibbling away at him.

  Finally, Granny went home, but before she left, she made Danny swear on the Holy Bible that he wouldn’t ever breathe a word of their conversation to his dad.

  Splinter’s legs were killing him when he finally got out from under the stairs.

  ‘No wonder your uncle doesn’t like your da!’ said Splinter as he tried to stretch out every crease and knot in his muscles.

  ‘Splinter!’ said Danny in a grown-up tone. ‘Don’t repeat any of that to anyone. There’s no way my da did that on purpose. No way!’ insisted Danny.

  ‘No he didn’t, Danny,’ agreed Splinter. ‘Your da is sound.’

  ‘Promise me, Splinter, you won’t say anything.’

  ‘Water off a duck’s back!’ said Splinter, and he and Danny set up the PlayStation game again until it was time for Splinter to head off home.

  Chapter 7

  Disaster!

  Even though Danny was dying to question his dad about the incident with Uncle Larry, he had sworn to Granny not to breathe a word.

  Mick noticed Danny was extra-quiet at dinner.

  ‘You’re very quiet, son,’ quizzed Mick. ‘Are you worried about your trial?’

  ‘Well, a little bit.’

  ‘You’ll be fine, son. Your leg should be as good as new by tomorrow. I’ll tell you what – if you don’t think you’re up to it tomorrow, I’ll dig out that card and ring Mr Jenkins and explain everything. He’ll be sound, son. He’ll probably reschedule. How’s that, Danny?’