Specky Magee and the Boots of Glory

by Felice Arena

  Specky did as he was told. He retrieved Lance and calmly paraded him around outside the front of the stables.

  ‘And that’s how I know you’re a good kid, Specky,’ Nails said. ‘Sir Lancelot won’t let just anyone get near him. He has good taste.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Specky.

  She had a reputation for being tough, but as the afternoon progressed Specky found himself liking Old Lady Nails. She loved to talk, and told Specky all about her family, her grandchildren, and Lance and the other horses in the stable.

  Man, if this is all I have to do – just talk to her – then this is gonna be a total bludge, Specky thought. Tim’s gonna wish he got this punishment.

  But as Specky was starting to feel smug about not having to lift a finger, Nails caught him off guard.

  ‘Right, that’s enough of the chit-chat – time for some work,’ she announced. ‘I want you to go around to the outside stall at the back of the stables and attend to the horses’ masterpieces.’

  ‘Masterpieces ?’ asked Specky, blankly, as Nails motioned for him to follow.

  ‘Yep,’ grinned Nails, pointing to the middle of the enclosed corral.

  ‘What, sorry?’ asked Specky.

  ‘Look a little closer,’ she said. ‘Lance and the girls have outdone themselves today. It must be the extra barley I’ve been giving them. Anyway, they’ve created some real masterpieces. Or, as everyone else calls them, giant piles of horse poo.’

  Specky’s eyeballs almost popped out of his head.

  ‘So, what are you waiting for, boy?’ said Nails, smiling broadly.

  Specky reluctantly picked up a nearby shovel and a sack.

  ‘I want you to get in there and scoop up all of Lance’s artwork.’ Nails continued. ‘I can get good money for a bag of horse manure in town. It does wonders for roses! And put down that shovel and pick up that big one with the heavy handle.’

  ‘What’s wrong with the one I’ve got?’ asked Specky.

  ‘Well, I watched you doing your fitness test last term, and you were really struggling with those chin-ups. Use that heavy shovel for a couple of weeks and you might just build up a bit of muscle in the process. It can’t hurt anyway.’

  Specky gulped. He entered the stall and slowly approached the first ‘masterpiece’. He dreaded the smell. Trying to breathe only through his mouth, Specky shovelled the dung into the sack. The shovel was certainly heavy, and each time he picked up a deposit he could feel the muscles in his forearms and shoulders working overtime. Maybe I will get a bit stronger, thought Specky. It’ll be the only positive thing to come out of all this.

  Specky’s eyes watered as he attended to each giant mound. Fortunately, the dried-up stuff was easy enough to handle.

  Don’t freak. It’s just grass and stuff, really, he kept telling himself.

  But then Specky reached the last pile. It was his biggest nightmare come true – a fresh batch. This particular ‘masterpiece’ was still hot, steamy and covered in blowflies. Specky’s stomach churned as he stabbed the shovel into it. As he tried to shuffle it into the sack, Specky caught a good whiff of it.

  ‘ORRRRRRRRGHHHH,’ he complained.

  He could hear Old Lady Nails laughing at him from all the way across the corral.

  Twice a week, Specky continued to help Nails at the stables. He hadn’t had to deal with Lance’s ‘masterpieces’ again, and Nails had been kind enough to assign Specky to other not-so-messy chores, like brushing and washing Lance and the four other horses: Nanny, Sparkles, Vanity and Miss Jane. She even gave him a few riding lessons on the mares.

  Nails often gave him jobs that would help him build strength in his upper body. One time, when a large load of hay was delivered, she made Specky not only unload the heavy bales, but carry them for twenty metres and stack them up against the side of the stable wall. After an hour, Specky’s arms and chest burned from the hard work. He looked forward to taking a well-earned break. But Nails changed her mind.

  ‘On second thought,’ she said. ‘I think you can put them back where you got them. I don’t think we need that much hay after all.’

  Specky couldn’t believe it. He felt like telling the old lady to do it herself, but he bit his lip. Specky had a long drink of water and set about the task of re-stacking the hay bales in their original resting place.

  On the afternoons when he wasn’t at the stables, Specky was busy with footy training. As the first game of the season approached, Coach Farrell had increased the intensity of the team’s training sessions. At the end of Thursday night’s session, the coach made a special announcement. He had selected Whispers as captain and Grizza as vice captain of the team, not only for the season, but also for the Boots of Glory match. This was an auspicious moment for both boys – they’d now be immortalised in the Gosmore history books. Specky and Tim also received their official Gosmore season guernseys that day.

  ‘How lucky am I? Awesome!’ Specky said, as he held the jumper in front of him. ‘It’s the number five! My number!’

  ‘Yes, I thought you might be happy with that,’ said Mr Brennan, patting Specky on the back. ‘I heard it was your number at your old school. And since no one had it on this team, I made sure you’d get it. You know, it was my old number many years ago, too.’

  ‘For Gosmore, as well?’ Specky asked excitedly, thinking that was pretty cool.

  ‘No, I went to St Paul’s in Melbourne,’ Mr Brennan added.

  ‘St Paul’s in Carlton?’ asked Specky, wondering if it was the same school Christina went to.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Mr Brennan. ‘You know it?’

  ‘Um, sort of, my girlfriend goes there,’ said Specky.

  ‘Well, it’s a great school. Boy, it’s hard to believe it’s been twenty-three years since I graduated. But I’m not complaining. I don’t feel forty. I wouldn’t be dead for quids. It all goes so quickly, though. So enjoy every moment of this, Simon.’

  ‘Thanks… And thanks for the jumper.’

  When Friday night rolled around, Specky and his team-mates were more pumped up than usual as they gathered around the dinner tables. Most couldn’t wait for the next day to arrive. Everyone knew that tomorrow’s game would be a good indicator of how they would perform in the Boots of Glory match in a few weeks’ time. And everyone was wondering how Specky and Tim, the team’s newest players, would perform.

  Specky tried his best not to think about it too much – that would only add more pressure to what he was already feeling. He managed to relax, and even got involved in some of the dinnertime antics – like a mashed-potato food fight and an arm-wrestling competition organised by Grizza.

  ‘Come on, who’s gonna take me on? You’re all losers!’ he stirred.

  ‘Whispers! How about the captain taking on the VC? Come on. Don’t be weak!’

  ‘Find someone else,’ shrugged Whispers. ‘I’ve got dish-stacking duty.’

  Specky watched Whispers and a couple of other boys, including Tim, gather empty plates and wander through the kitchen doors to help the dinner ladies clean up.

  ‘Sticks! Try your luck, Muscles,’ Grizza continued. ‘I’ll even use my left arm. Come on! Prove you’re not a weakling! Come on!’

  Specky noticed that Sticks was taking Grizza’s comments to heart, just as he had at their first training session. His face was flushed and his lips were tightly closed.

  ‘Stickman! Stickman! Stickman!’ Grizza began chanting. Soon all the other boys joined in. Sticks couldn’t handle the pressure. He gave in and took up Grizza’s challenge.

  ‘Hey, how’s it going?’

  It was Worm, plonking himself, his dinner and his latest book down next to Specky.

  ‘Where have you been?’ asked Specky.

  ‘Salisbury College.’

  Specky responded with a what-were-you-doing-in-enemyterritory look.

  ‘I’m president of the Royals and Knights Book Club. We joined forces cause there weren’t enough members at either school. Actually, I gotta say,
I really like Salisbury’s library. You should join our club.’

  ‘Um, I’m not sure if that’s my sort of club, mate. But thanks anyway,’ replied Specky.

  ‘So what’s going on?’ Worm asked.

  Specky filled Worm in, and they watched Grizza win the arm-wrestling competition after a few short attempts. Sticks couldn’t stand the ribbing that followed and sulked off to the dormitory.

  ‘By the way,’ added Worm. ‘Can I have my balaclava back?’

  ‘Oh yeah, sorry. With all that’s been happening, I totally forgot about it. I’ll get the one off Tim for you, too.’

  ‘No, just the black one is fine. The red one’s not mine. I found it near my bed one night. No one wanted it, so I just kept it.’

  After dinner, Specky made his way back to the dorm. When he sat down at his desk, ready to do some homework, something caught his attention. It was another envelope sticking out from underneath his pillow.

  Specky quickly ripped it open and read the typed message:

  Don’t kick more than three goals tomorrow. If you do, you’ll regret it…

  17. first game

  ‘Gosmore Knights! Gosmore Knights! Gosmore Knights!’

  Parents, teachers, and students turned out the following morning, chanting and barracking loudly for their footy teams. Among the crowd were Principal Stevens and Old Lady Nails – minus her horse, and knight outfit. The Gosmore spectators hugged the boundary line of their home ground and had already seen their Under 13s and Under 14s win their first games of the season. But there was much anticipation to see how the Boots of Glory team would perform.

  ‘Good luck!’ said Tim to Specky, as they jogged out onto Regent Oval in their crisp new blue-yellow-and-white uniforms.

  ‘Yeah, you too,’ replied Specky, whose mind was miles away.

  ‘Look, I still think it’s a dumb joke,’ Tim added, noticing Specky was deep in thought.

  Specky had told Tim about the second note and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  ‘Yeah, but why would anyone here want to sabotage our chances of winning this game. I don’t get it. And why –’

  ‘Keep it down, will ya? Someone might hear you,’ interjected Tim.

  The boys were jogging around the oval a few paces behind the team.

  ‘I dunno, Speck. I don’t know what I’d do. Are you seriously not going to kick more than three goals?’

  ‘Nah! Of course not,’ said Specky. ‘There’s no way I’m going to be threatened or blackmailed, if that’s what this is.’

  ‘What if it is ?’ stuttered Tim, nervously.

  ‘Hang on! Didn’t you just say it had to be a joke?’

  ‘Yeah, but now you’re starting to freak me out!’

  Specky and Tim gave each other final looks of concern before sprinting off to join their team-mates at the pre-game warm-up session.

  After a spirited pre-game rev-up talk from Coach Farrell, Mr Reager and Mr Brennan, the Gosmore Knights were pumped and raring to take on their opposition, the Lovettville High Eagles.

  It was clear from the opening moments of the first quarter that the Knights were the superior team. They dominated out of the middle and moved the ball quickly to a dangerous forward line, where Whispers and Specky both scored goals in the opening minutes. This was to set the pattern for the first half of the game.

  Grizza was sensational in the ruck, getting his fist to the ball and thumping it hard and long at every single ball-up. Gosmore now had the luxury of kicking the ball long into the goal square with confidence, knowing that both Specky and Whispers were going to be a handful for the defence.

  The Lovettville High boys continued to struggle against the quicker and more skilful Knights. Sticks took a strong mark in the right forward pocket and wasted no time in centring the ball to the top of the goal square. Specky and Whispers now found themselves surrounded by five opponents, who had pushed back to the goal square to try and curb their dominance. As the ball whizzed through the air and drew nearer, all seven boys leapt for the sky. Specky, who was sandwiched in the middle of the pack, propped his right knee onto the back of Whispers and his left knee on the shoulders of the Lovettville full-back. Without taking his eye off the ball, he propelled himself further upwards, flying half a metre above everyone else. His arms were outstretched and his hands were poised beautifully. Specky latched his fingers onto the ball and hung there for a second. It was an incredible specky – one of his absolute best.

  The crowd and the Gosmore camp gasped as Specky fell safely to the ground with the ball securely clutched to his chest. Ecstatic cheers and whistles echoed around the ground, as Specky went on to kick the ball through the middle of the big sticks – his third goal for the game so far.

  Soon after the siren sounded, the scoreboard read: Gosmore Grammar – 9.3.57. Visitors – 3.5.23.

  ‘That was amazing!’ said Worm rushing up to Specky at the half-time huddle. ‘You should have heard some of the parents in the crowd and Principal Stevens. They were blown away.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Specky, swigging down some water.

  ‘And you have twenty-one possessions so far – just awesome. Well done!’ added Worm, flipping through the pages on his clipboard.

  Specky could tell that Worm took great pride in being the team’s statistician. He moved on from player to player to share their stats with them.

  Specky was aware that statistics had become an increasingly important part of football over the years. They gave the coach and the players important feedback on whether or not they were achieving the goals set at the start of each match. Once upon a time, statistics were all about simply recording the kicks, marks and handballs. During these times some players became too conscious of their stats, and were occasionally accused of playing for themselves by chasing possessions in an attempt to be the highest possession winner on the ground. This worked against everything that coaches preached to their teams about the importance of placing the side ahead of the individual.

  Statisticians now recorded tackles, shepherds, smothers, knock-ons, blocks and spoils, tap outs, clearances, hard-ball and loose-ball gets, effective and ineffective disposals: all of the little things that are so important to a team’s chances of winning, yet used to go unrecognised.

  ‘Keep it up, Magee.’

  ‘Brilliant grab, Simon.’

  Specky and his team-mates replenished their energy with plenty of water, cut oranges and power bars.

  ‘That’s three goals,’ Tim hissed into Specky’s ear. ‘Are you gonna kick any more?’

  ‘Yeah, if I can, I will,’ replied Specky. ‘Look, I’d be an idiot to let some anonymous note tell me what to do, wouldn’t I?’

  Specky was trying to sound less worried than he actually was – even though he could see that Tim was looking increasingly concerned.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. Stuff the note,’ he exclaimed.

  Early in the third quarter a few Gosmore players slacked off a little, believing they had the game in the bag. The Eagles took advantage of this, found some form and clawed their way back into the match. Specky and Whispers were lucky to see the ball come up to their end at all. But even though Lovettville High snapped a couple of quick goals, it wasn’t because Gosmore’s back line hadn’t tried to stop them. In fact, while Specky starred earlier in the game, the third quarter was Tim’s turn to shine. With an incredible combination of disciplined defence and fantastic attacking runs from the back line, he single-handedly prevented the Eagles from bagging a few more goals. He reminded everyone of a young Matthew Scarlett – and he had consistently cleared the ball from the danger zone on a number of occasions.

  At three-quarter time, Coach Farrell let the team know how impressed he was with Tim. He told them that his work rate hadn’t dropped off and asked everyone else to follow his example. Gosmore needed to finish the last quarter as they had started the match.

  The Knights took heed of Coach Farrell’s words and jogged back out onto the oval determined not
to let him down. Within the first few minutes of the last quarter Specky’s team-mates had taken control again. Specky was on fire. He blitzed his opponent, outrunning and marking him at every opportunity.

  Specky was beginning to get a reputation throughout the competition. His high marking was legendary, and a lot of the opposition teams’ planning centred around limiting the opportunities he had to take one of his famous marks.

  They would often have their ruckman drop back a kick behind the play so that Specky was actually competing against two opponents. Back at Booyong High that didn’t present a big problem, but the quality of opposition that Gosmore played against meant that he had to be prepared to take his marks in more than one way.

  He had decided that he was going to lead to the football more often in the last quarter against the Eagles, and it worked beautifully. The full-back sat back in the goal square expecting Specky to try and take big, high marks every time. Specky simply sprinted away from him, and straight past the big ruckman, and took mark after mark. Luckily he had his kicking boots on.

  When Specky lined up for his fifth goal, the note didn’t even cross his mind. He was so into the match – lost in the pure exhilaration of playing good footy. He went on to boot an incredible four more goals before the final siren sounded – helping Gosmore win their first game of the season by over 58 points.

  Both Specky and Tim were congratulated by the coaches, teachers and the team. Their sensational start to the football year gave a huge boost of confidence to the Gosmore camp, and Specky and Tim felt they had justified their scholarships and made their mark in the team.

  For the rest of the weekend, Specky enjoyed being the centre of attention. Everyone except Grizza was inspired by how Specky and Tim had played. Grizza was just as prickly as he had always been.

  The following morning, just before first period, Mr Stevens’s voice boomed angrily over the school speakers.

  ‘The entire school is to assemble in the Randall Theatre immediately. This is an emergency assembly regarding the Boots of Glory.’