Specky Magee and the Best of Oz

by Felice Arena

  Specky felt the mood in the room change instantly. For the past day they had been in holiday mode, but now things were getting serious.

  After a hearty high-carb dinner, the boys filed into the hotel meeting room. Grub, Bobby and an unknown man stood in front of a large whiteboard covered in names, arrows and instructions.

  ‘Well, playtime is over, boys,’ said Grub. ‘D’you remember when the media was telling the entire country that you were sporting gods?’ Grub turned and picked up a newspaper from the table next to him. ‘Now, I don’t know if any of you have seen today’s paper, but it makes for interesting reading.’

  Bobby placed a scanned copy of an article on the projector and magnified it on the wall for everyone to read:

  AUSSIE’S KIDDING THEMSELVES

  By Mick O’Shea

  In two days time, the very best of Australia’s junior footballers will pit themselves against Ireland’s finest at Croke Park in the first of two International Rules Test Matches.

  If their performance against St Augustine’s College is anything to go by, they will leave this country with their tails between their legs, ashamed and embarrassed at their inability to match the speed and skill of the finest junior team ever assembled in this country.

  Having met the squad at the airport and observed their thuggish behaviour at St Augustine’s, I can only think that the Aussies have sent over a team of average club brawlers, totally unsuited to this form of compromised rules.

  How could they possibly stop Ireland from romping to a two-game victory?

  Groans and discontent rippled throughout the room. It was the first time any of them, all stars in their respective junior clubs back home, had been subjected to any real criticism – and it took some getting used to.

  ‘You’ve got to be jokin’,’ said Dicky.

  ‘Now settle down, all of you,’ commanded Grub. ‘This journalist will be covering every single thing we do and, trust me, he ain’t gonna do us any favours.’

  ‘But he’s a liar,’ protested Brian angrily. Specky knew how offended his friend would be to be called a ‘thug’ or a ‘brawler’.

  ‘This won’t be the last time this happens, boys,’ Grub said, as he walked over and put his hand on Brian’s shoulder. ‘He hasn’t lied, he’s just given his opinion. He’s clearly hoping to drum up interest in the game – and at the same time throw us off our focus. The lesson to learn here is not to take any of it personally.’

  Grub spent the next hour going over the game plan for the team. He concentrated on tackling – the Irish game didn’t involve tackling and the Australians’ ability to stop their opponents’ run had always been a major advantage.

  Grub completed his presentation and turned to the stranger, who had been sitting quietly in the corner.

  ‘Now, boys, I’m sure you’re wondering who this fine gentleman is.’

  All eyes turned to the short, stocky man as he moved towards the centre of the room.

  ‘Let me introduce Brother O’Donnell. Brother O’Donnell spent some time as an exchange teacher in Melbourne and developed a great love for Australian Rules Football while he was there. He contacted us a couple of months ago and offered to be our “forward scout” for the series, providing us with some details and information on our opposition. We were delighted to take him up on his offer. I want you to give him your full attention and make him feel welcome.’

  Specky and his mates applauded enthusiastically.

  ‘Thank you, thank you, Jay,’ beamed Brother O’Donnell. ‘I’m honoured to be here and to play a part, however small, in the series. I will go through the Irish team in a moment and show you some footage of them playing for their local counties, but I just want to warn you about one thing.’

  Specky leaned forward in his chair. It seemed as though Grub had found them a secret weapon against the Irish – it was hard going into a game not knowing anything about your opponents.

  ‘The Irish lads will have heard stories of the facilities that you boys enjoy back at home and the help, support and training that the junior academies provide, while they themselves have to work so they can afford to travel with the team. They have a great sense of pride and don’t want to let their family and their townsfolk down. These lads are hard and tough. They fear nothing. They look at you boys as privileged and so, for them, this series is almost personal.’

  Brother O’Donnell turned to insert a disc into the DVD player.

  ‘Now, let me run through their squad for you …’

  Brother O’Donnell showed the team a twominute clip on each player in the Irish Squad. He narrated as the slideshow flickered from boy to boy:

  ‘This kid is O’Conner. He’s a tough running back. Flanagan – quick, skilful half-forward who rarely misses when shooting for goal. Kavanagh – the team’s enforcer who will never take a backward step. One of the few who like to tackle. Gallagher – he plays in the midfield. Reads the game like no other …’

  Specky scribbled furiously in his notebook.

  Brother O’Donnell pressed the pause button on the next frame. The image froze on a scruffy red-haired boy with an intensely self-assured and determined expression on his face.

  ‘Boys,’ said Brother O’Donnell. ‘Many people think this fellow is the most talented young sportsman in Ireland today. His name is Eamon O’Sullivan and he has represented the country in athletics, rugby, soccer and Gaelic Football. The athletics director of Ireland says he’s good enough to run the fifteen hundred metres at the next Olympics. The Rugby Federation of Ireland have been trying to get him to commit to their game for three years – they’ve even guaranteed him a place in the National Squad when he turns seventeen. The GAA have awarded him their most prestigious junior award and have every club in the country chasing him. And, as if that’s not enough, Manchester United have invited him to try out for their elite academy school early next year.

  Specky took in a sharp breath. Brian and Dicky both turned to him and grinned. If he agreed to take up Manchester United’s invitation, he would surely cross paths with this gun.

  ‘Yeah, but can he play cricket?’ joked Skull.

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘Actually,’ interrupted Brother O’Donnell. ‘He had never played the game before last year, but decided it looked like fun and promptly made a century the third time he went out to bat.’

  ‘I’ll take him,’ said Special K, jumping out of his chair. ‘Let me play on him!’

  ‘We’ll see, Kevin,’ replied Grub. ‘We’ll see. I like your attitude, though, son. He’s only one player, but he’s one we’re obviously going to have to keep an eye on.’

  It was late in the evening by the time Brother O’Donnell completed his presentation and Grub had finished what he had to say. Specky felt pumped up, but slightly overwhelmed as he shuffled out of the meeting room with his excited team-mates. He knew that this was going to be some battle. He just hoped he was ready for it.

  15. test one

  Specky was nervous as the team bus drove slowly through the mighty gates of Croke Park. A big crowd was pouring into the stadium. A huge number of Dublin schools, had organised tickets for their students.

  ‘Woah,’ said Dicky, his face pressed up against the bus window. ‘Can you believe we’re back here, Speck? The crowd looks just as big as the one that turned out for the hurling game.’

  The butterflies that had been churning in Specky’s stomach now felt like elephants with wings.

  ‘Yeah, and get a load of those Irish hotties,’ chimed in Skull. He waved to a group of highschool girls who had their hair painted green, orange and white, the Irish national colours. ‘They’ll be talking about the Skullanator after this game, I promise you.’

  Specky wished he had Skull’s confidence. Nothing seemed to phase him. Skull was obviously one of those players who relished the chance to play on a big stage. Specky took a deep breath and hoped his nerves would settle down a bit.

  The Aussies stepped off the bus, gathered thei
r bags and made their way into the change rooms. Specky chose his locker and went into the property steward’s room where the Australian guernseys were all neatly laid out.

  Since Specky was the goalkeeper, he had to wear a different-coloured jumper from his team-mates. His was bright orange with a navyblue-and-gold ‘V’ on the front.

  ‘Nice look, mate! You could direct traffic in that,’ joked Brian as they pulled on their shorts, socks, and runners in preparation for the warm-up.

  ‘Yeah, the Irish will need sunnies, it’s that bright.’ Specky grinned.

  ‘Can you believe where we are, Speck?’ said Brian. ‘It’s a long way from the Rivergum Redfins.’

  Specky thought back to the time when he, Danny, Robbo and Gobba had helped Brian’s country team win a senior game against their archrivals.

  ‘Yeah, but I reckon old Razorback Jack would be handy to have in our team right now,’ said Specky, referring to Rivergum’s footy legend, Jack McCracken.

  ‘All right, boys! Slow jog around the rooms,’ ordered the Australian team’s fitness coordinator, Rick Cosker. ‘This is it. Time to switch on.’

  While Grub and Bobby ran the show, Specky and his team-mates were happy to see Rick step forward. Rick was a fitness fanatic who had become an extremely important influence on the team. He competed in triathlons in his spare time and was completing a Masters degree in health and fitness. He controlled each player’s training load as well as monitoring their diet and nutritional needs. Specky and his team-mates admired and respected him enormously, and the fact that he was just twenty-seven years old provided a nice balance since Grub and Bobby were both well into their fifties.

  Specky fell in behind Special K as the Australian team suddenly came to life.

  ‘Let’s make every tackle count!’

  ‘Gotta start well, boys. Take our opportunities!’

  ‘Kick the goals when we get a chance.’

  As always, Dicky was leading the charge. ‘Tackle those blokes into the ground, boys! Let ’em know what we’re all about early. Play for the jumper, fellas! Don’t forget who we’re representing today!’

  Specky loved Dicky’s passion. He was always the most vocal and enthusiastic player in the room.

  ‘I’m not letting the Aussie flag down, no way! And neither are you!’ Dicky roared as he stomped around the room with a manic look on his face.

  Specky’s nerves began to fade. He was now in the zone – acutely aware of everything that was happening around him. He felt fresh and he was running up on his toes. As he made his way from one end of the room to the other, he noticed some familiar faces behind the barricades quietly watching the team go through their warm up. Among them he saw Michael, Patrick and Mr O’Leary. Patrick winked at Specky, and Michael gave him a thumbs-up. But then Specky did a double-take. Were his eyes playing tricks on him?

  No, they weren’t. There in the crowd was that pushy agent Brad Dobson, trying to hand out business cards. And just behind him was Kevin Sheedy! Locked in conversation with Guy McKenna! Specky’s jaw almost hit the ground – what were the coaches of the Greater Western Sydney Giants and the Gold Coast Suns doing here?

  Woah, this is huge, he thought, as they started their hamstring stretches.

  Grub gathered the boys in the race just minutes before they were to go out onto the ground.

  ‘Keep it simple, boys,’ he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. ‘Don’t forget that the series is played over two Tests and it’s an aggregate score situation. This game is really just the first half of a very long match. Every point counts, and every point saved makes an enormous difference. So support Magee in the goals, boys. It’s not going to be easy so he needs all the help we can give him. Get back in numbers and protect the net.’

  ‘I’m right there with ya, Speck!’ bellowed Dicky.

  ‘Yeah, let’s go, Speck! You can do it, man!’ encouraged Spiro.

  The crowd’s roar from outside intensified.

  ‘It’s just us against them and their thirty thousand fans,’ said Grub, his voice now rising. ‘Let’s score early and quieten this crowd right down. Give ’em nothing to cheer about.’

  Specky and his team-mates shuffled into a tight huddle.

  ‘Don’t get frustrated with mistakes,’ Grub said. ‘You will make them, you know that. The round ball is our greatest challenge. Flick it around by hand, run hard to support your mates, and tackle those kids so hard they’ll never want to see an Aussie jumper again. Now get out there and play like an Australian!’

  The boys roared as one, and made their way to the entrance, waiting for the ground announcer to welcome them.

  Specky had never felt so proud in all of his life. When the Australian team was announced, he floated onto the playing arena behind Special K, who was captain for the day. The crowd went absolutely nuts. Rather than boo or taunt the Aussies they burst into song. A chorus of thirtythousand voices resonated throughout the entire ground.

  Specky and his team-mates had never experienced anything like it. They jogged a slow lap before moving in a couple of ball drills.

  Rick Cosker grabbed a ball and took Specky down to the goals. As Specky took up his position, the vocal Irish fans behind the net jumped to their feet and started chanting:

  ‘You’ve got no i-de-a! You’ve got no i-de-a!’

  Their voices grew louder and louder. Rick fired balls at Specky who did his best to keep them out of the net.

  Specky knew that much had been made in the local press about the fact that there was no such position as goalkeeper in Aussie Rules. They saw it as an enormous advantage and were fully expecting to slam plenty of goals into the back of the net.

  ‘You’re right, mate,’ encouraged Rick. ‘You’re gloving the ball beautifully.’

  Specky joined his team-mates at the centre of the ground for the singing of the national anthems. They stood in line with their arms linked. The Irish team mirrored them several metres away.

  ‘Stare ’em in the eyes, boys! And sing loud and proud!’ Dicky called out, reminding Specky and the others that Grub wanted them to belt out the anthem with pride.

  But as the first few bars of ‘Advance Australia Fair’ blared out over the loudspeakers, Specky and most of his team suddenly became selfconscious about their singing. They mumbled their way through the lyrics. Even Dicky, who had belted out the first verse with gusto, quickly pulled back once he realised he was the only one really singing.

  When the Australians reached the end of their anthem, Sean Kavanagh, the huge Irish half-forward and captain of Ireland, started yelling at his team:

  ‘What a joke!’ he shouted. ‘Have a look at ’em, would ya! They don’t want to be here. They don’t want to play for their country. They don’t even want to sing their own anthem.’

  Specky felt embarrassed and ashamed. And he suspected most of his team-mates did too. He glanced over at Dicky and could see in his eyes that if he could’ve charged at Sean Kavanagh he would have.

  ‘You’re a disgrace to Australia!’ the Irish captain taunted them. ‘Ya think you’re too good to sing your own song. You’re a flippin’ disgrace!’

  ‘You’re the disgrace, mate,’ grumbled Skull through clenched teeth.

  ‘He should shut his gob. Or I’ll shut it for him,’ said Spiro.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll show him who’s a disgrace,’ said Dicky, taking a step out of line towards the Irish team.

  Specky grabbed hold of Dicky’s arm and pulled him back in.

  ‘He’s just baiting us, mate. Don’t,’ he whispered, just as the Irish National Anthem struck up.

  Unlike the Australian boys, the Irish team sang with passion and spirit, mouthing every word loudly and proudly. Specky looked on with a mixture of admiration and guilt. The crowd sang in unison with the Irish team, holding their hands over their hearts.

  Specky held the gaze of the player opposite him, the legendary Eamon O’Sullivan. All right, then, let the fun begin, thought Specky, as he made his way to
the end of the pitch.

  16. lunacy

  Specky stood nervously in front of the Irish goals as the umpire threw the ball into the air to get the game underway. An almighty roar rang out around the ground.

  Only two players from either side were allowed in the centre third of the ground to contest the ball-up.

  Specky glanced up into the crowd and took a deep breath. This is it, he thought. The next hour won’t just determine whether we win this game – it will tell me if I’m cut out to be a goalie or not.

  Specky looked up into the stands, at the TV commentary box, where he knew Brian Paylor, the Australian commentator, and the legendary Irish television sports personality Tommy Finnigan were about to call the game.

  Both of them were keen to inject a bit of friendly rivalry into the commentary.

  It looks like it’s going to be Freeman and Kottersley for the Australians up against Gallagher and O’Sullivan for the Irish. My word, Brian, that Freeman boy is a massive lump of a lad.

  Don’t you worry about that, Tommy. He’s as big as an elephant, but he moves like a panther.

  It’s Freeman that gets first hands on the ball and directs it into the path of Kottersley, who gathers the ball at full pace and drives it in the direction of Edwards. Oh no, it’s a horrible kick and it skews off the side of his boot, but only to see Morgan, the boy with no hair, swoop on the loose ball and dodge around his opponent.’

  Specky held his breath, watching the action from the goal square.

  ‘Put it through,’ he urged his team-mate as Skull ran towards the goals. ‘This is just the start we need.’

  Morgan looks like he’s going for an ‘over’. He lines it up, and … oh no, what a horrible attempt. It just sneaks in for a minor score, but nonetheless the Aussies have made a bright start to the game.

  And there’s plenty more of that to come, Tommy.