Rugby Runner

by Siggins, Gerard;

  ‘You’re a shoo-in, Eoin, for starters,’ grinned Paddy.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ smiled Eoin. ‘You’re pretty useful, and I hear the Connacht lad is a good kicker.’

  ‘Really?’ frowned Paddy. ‘I had my heart set on getting on the bench as your shadow. I know I’ve no chance of making the starting fifteen…’

  ‘Who do you reckon for scrum-half?’ asked Eoin. ‘Don’t tell Killian I said this, but I reckon Sam has a good shout to be the starter.’

  ‘I agree, he’s got very quick hands and he’s as brave as the bravest brave in Braveland.’

  Eoin smiled. They went right through the team making their choices, and agreeing on a side that was probably a little heavy on Ulster and Leinster players, but undoubtedly a strong one.

  ‘Good luck tomorrow,’ Eoin yawned as he said goodnight. ‘You’ve an early start, but we’ll drop down to watch you when our training is over.’

  Back in the room, Rory was fast asleep and Eoin spent a few minutes staring out the window and up at the stars. He was fascinated by the sheer size of the universe, which always made him feel very small.

  He looked across at the rugby pitches, now lit by the full moon, and was startled to see a figure standing under the posts, who seemed to be staring straight into Eoin’s eyes. He was wearing odd clothes, and something that looked like a cloak, but he didn’t move a muscle. Eoin continued to watch him for five minutes, but the man never budged so he went to the bathroom to wash his teeth. On his return he checked the window again, but the strange figure had gone.

  Eoin had seen several ghosts over his time at Castlerock, and had no fears about them. But something disturbed him about this one. It took Eoin a while to get to sleep after that, and he didn’t sleep well.

  Next morning, before the training session, Ted told the boys who would be playing in each of the weekend games and divided the forty-five-boy squad to reflect this. Eoin was in the Sunday group, but Ted also wanted him to sit on the bench for the first game, against Connacht, in case of emergencies.

  The session wasn’t the best Eoin had ever been involved in – in some ways it reminded him of his very first back in Castlerock – and Ted grew more and more exasperated with the Saturday team. He had stacked his Sunday side with most of his best players, reckoning they would be needed more against Munster.

  But the team he had planned to field that afternoon against Connacht was a mess. All the new players in the squad were in the line-up and they had yet to settle into the system the coach wanted them to operate.

  ‘Quicker to the ball, quicker!’ he shouted as they again failed to get to the ruck in time to protect their own player. The understanding of line-out calls was all over the place, and there was also little of the smooth relationship between the No 9 and the No 10 that was the mark of any good team.

  After training Ted called Eoin over to join the huddle where he was conferring with the other Leinster coaches.

  ‘That was a complete shambles,’ said Ted. ‘Now, I don’t want to risk making the weekend worse by weakening the Sunday team, but there’s guys out there that should be at home working on basic skills.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ asked the attack coach. ‘We’ve picked the best from what we have.’

  ‘Well, for a start, I think that scrum-half is useless. We’ll bring up Rory from the bench – he did well when he came on for the last twenty minutes.’

  Eoin smiled to himself. He knew Rory had been disappointed at being left out and this would give him a great confidence boost.

  ‘Eoin, I’m starting to think we’ll have to bring you on for the last twenty today. I promise I’ll take you off early tomorrow – we can’t be flogging our best player too hard!’

  The rest of the coaches laughed, and Eoin nodded his agreement.

  ‘This Connacht side aren’t bad, but even that team should be able to beat them,’ Ted finished, but he didn’t seem too convinced by his own words.

  After lunch, Eoin, Charlie and Killian rambled over to watch Ulster play Munster. Eoin was born and bred in the southern province, and cheered them to the rafters in the big European games. Maybe it was because Dylan wasn’t on the team, or because he’d firmly allied himself to Leinster, but he surprised himself at how disinterested he was in the result of this game.

  ‘Come on, Paddy,’ he called out as the Ulster out-half made a break early in the game.

  ‘Is that a Tipperary accent shouting for Ulster?’ came a voice from behind him.

  ‘Dixie!’ Eoin gasped as he turned around.

  ‘It is indeed,’ said his grandfather. ‘And your dad’s here too, he’s just off parking the car.’

  ‘What are you doing here? I never told Dad where we were playing, just that I’d be home tomorrow night.’

  ‘Ah, sure isn’t this competition all over the local papers down here. There was a big write-up in the Ormondstown Oracle all about how there were three lads from the town involved – I was sorry to see Dylan wasn’t picked.’

  ‘He hasn’t been right since he got that bang in England and they’ve told him to sit it out. I think he’ll be back playing for the school when we get back from mid-term break.’

  ‘Hi, son, what time is your game on?’ asked Eoin’s dad, who had arrived wearing one of his son’s blue Leinster beanie hats.

  ‘We kick off half-an-hour after this one finishes,’ Eoin explained. ‘And I hope none of the neighbours see you wearing that yoke.’

  But Bob Savage, father of George and Roger, Eoin’s pals from Ormondstown who were on the pitch for Munster, had already spotted him and was wagging a finger from the other side of the pitch.

  Munster were no match for Ulster, who had been together for several training sessions since term began and looked very slick. Eoin’s pals, Paddy O’Hare and Sam Rainey, dovetailed nicely at half-back and were the source of many attacks. Each of them scored a try, and Paddy kicked three conversions and a penalty in an easy 34-5 win.

  Roger Savage gave Eoin as wink as they wandered off at the end. ‘You’ve a tough job there Madden, they’ll give you lot a serious going-over next week.’

  Eoin nodded. He agreed that the Ulstermen looked very impressive, and that they would be tough opponents in what everyone expected to be the tournament decider. But Eoin was far more worried about the game that was up next, and whether Leinster would get their act together.

  Chapter 9

  Eoin was right, of course. Before the game Ted gave the team a serious talking-to, but too many of the players just didn’t seem to understand. They saw their opponents as the weakest of the provinces, barely worthy of being on the same pitch as them. Eoin noticed several of the players sniggering as Ted’s voice rose. Marcus McCord, who was playing second row, flicked his index and middle fingers against his thumb several times to signal that he thought the coach was talking too much.

  Eoin was seething at this disrespect to Ted by someone who had no right to be on the team – and at the stupidity involved. He had only been playing rugby for four years, but he knew that no opponent could be underestimated, especially by a side that had shown itself to be a disorganised rabble that very morning.

  When Ted finished, the boys wandered out onto the pitch in dribs and drabs, looking nothing like a team. All the spirit and unity that had been shown in London was missing.

  And that became more and more obvious as the first half went on. The Connacht lads were strong and brave, and they had a nippy winger. And while their out-half, Joe Kelly, was hampered by receiving the ball too slowly from his No.9, he was an excellent kicker and his skill in finding touch put pressure on Leinster.

  That pressure finally told when he darted a kick over the backs into the corner, weighted just perfectly for the winger to chase, pick up and score beside the flag. The small crowd erupted, with all the neutrals delighted to see the favourites falling behind.

  The conversion, far out on the touchline, was one of the hardest place kicks of all and Eoin crossed h
is fingers as the out-half took aim. And when the ball split the uprights perfectly Eoin gulped. Another penalty before half-time put Connacht 10-0 up and Leinster looked shattered.

  Ted was white-faced with shock when he began to speak to the side in the huddle, but his features turned red with anger as he saw the blank faces of some of the players.

  ‘Do you listen to me at all?’ he thundered. ‘McCord, take that grin off your face or, so help me, you will never wear that shirt again.’

  The players were shocked at Ted’s reaction, and all stared at Marcus McCord.

  ‘I think I will, Ted – while that name is printed across the middle,’ he snipped back, pointing at the sponsor’s name on his shirt.

  Ted’s face turned purple, but he just about held his tongue.

  ‘OK, I want you to keep it tight for the next ten minutes,’ he said. ‘No mistakes. I’m going to make a few changes half way through and hopefully we have more bench strength than they have. We can still win this, so go out there and do your best to make sure we do.’

  However, his call for ‘no mistakes’ was almost immediately forgotten as McCord dropped the ball from the kick off and Connacht piled through the defence. Their out-half, Joe Kelly, kicked to touch right in the corner. McCord caught the ball in the line-out, but as he fell he slipped and the ball squirted forward to the Connacht scrum-half. With the ref playing advantage the Leinster defence was at sea and when Kelly side-stepped his opposite number it was a straight run in under the posts.

  Ted’s complexion had gone through the spectrum in the last ten minutes but Eoin had never seen him as angry. The coach signalled to Eoin to come with him for a quiet chat behind the dug-out.

  ‘This is awful, Eoin, it’s embarrassing. If we lose today there’s no chance of winning this competition. That out-half is just creaming us. We’ve no leaders – Rory needs to be more vocal. I’m going to send you on immediately, you’re our best hope of salvaging something.’

  ‘OK, Ted,’ Eoin nodded.

  As the players returned to half-way to restart the game, Ted gestured to the referee that he was bringing on a replacement. Eoin felt sorry for the boy he was replacing in such a humiliating way – and also felt under great pressure to turn the game around.

  Eoin had a quick chat with Rory, passing on some of Ted’s suggestions, but mostly just trying to boost his shaken confidence.

  ‘It’s 17-0 Eoin, we’ve no chance,’ the scrum-half groaned.

  ‘We need to run it more,’ Eoin replied. ‘Our line-out is a mess and they are trying harder than us in the rucks. But I reckon we can find the gaps.’

  Eoin kicked off, and was annoyed, but not surprised, that McCord again fumbled the ball as soon as he caught it. This time he’d dropped it backwards though, and Rory was quick to the scene and able to tidy up.

  Eoin had passed on Ted’s message that Rory needed to be more vocal, encouraging his forwards and letting the backs know his plans.

  ‘Now drive,’ Rory roared, passing the ball to one of the props and sending him off on a thunderous run. ‘Support,’ he roared, driving the rest of the pack off in pursuit and ready to take his pass or protect him in the ruck.

  Rory’s new attitude paid off five minutes later. Leinster had been camped in the Connacht 22, but without being able to break through, when the scrum-half suddenly plucked the ball from the ruck and slipped around the side like a salmon sliding through rocks.

  ‘Chaaaarge!’ he roared, rattling the Connacht winger who, fatally, took half a step back. Rory ran straight for the corner and beat the diving tacklers to touch down beside the flag.

  ‘Nice one, Ror,’ grinned Eoin. ‘We’re on the way back.’

  As he lined up the conversion, Eoin was suddenly conscious that Joe Kelly had slotted over a kick from the very same place, and he made sure he wouldn’t lose out in comparison, although his kick slid over just inside the post.

  Ted had been right about Connacht not having as strong a bench, and as their battling front row tired he was able to bring in fresh legs and Leinster began to compete more up front.

  Connacht kicked a penalty goal, but their forwards conceded some needless penalties, and Eoin kicked two of them over the bar to reduce the margin to 20-13. But try as they might that was it until the last minute of the game.

  Leinster won a scrum in the corner 15 metres from the Connacht line, and Rory held back to check his options. Eoin pointed right but glanced left, their code to confuse opposing defences. Rory took off with the ball, charging to his left and as he was tackled offloaded to the nearest man following up. He dived and just managed to get the ball over the line before being buried by green shirts.

  When the dust settled, the last man up with the ball in his hand was Marcus McCord, a sneering grin all over his face as he made a triumphant gesture towards the Leinster bench.

  ‘Try and drop me now, Ted,’ he laughed, as he tossed the ball to Eoin for the conversion.

  Eoin was angered by this new show of disrespect, and refused to congratulate McCord. He was still distracted when he set the ball up on the tee to kick what would be the equalising conversion.

  He stared at the posts and went through his pre-kick routine, but was distracted by a laugh behind him from McCord, still basking in the glory of scoring the try. It was just too much for Eoin, who let his emotions get in the way of the job he had to do, and sure enough his kick was weak and sliced wide.

  He hung his head as he walked back to the middle, and mercifully there was barely enough time left to kick off before the referee blew the final whistle.

  Chapter 10

  The Connacht boys went wild as their blue-shirted opponents skulked off. Rory put his arm around Eoin, ‘Hard luck,’ he commiserated. ‘They don’t all come off.’

  ‘No, I was stupid,’ snapped Eoin. ‘I let McCord get to me. And it’s cost us the game, maybe the whole tournament.’

  Ted walked up and put his hand on the young out-half’s shoulder. ‘Thanks Eoin, you made a huge difference and nearly saved the game.’

  Eoin shrugged, unsure what to say. He didn’t want to blame McCord, and anyway Ted had his own problems on that score.

  Dixie and his dad consoled him too. Eoin wouldn’t be travelling back to Dublin with the squad, instead he would be taking the chance of spending a day or two with his parents during the midterm, so they made arrangements to collect him the following day.

  ‘We’ve a team meeting now,’ Eoin explained, ‘I’d better be getting back to the hall. I’m sorry I dragged you all the way out from home for that.’

  ‘Ah go on,’ laughed Dixie. ‘I’ve seen a lot worse.’

  Ted tried to be as positive as he could be at the team meeting. He didn’t see any point singling out individual errors, but he explained what the team had done wrong and how they might have executed things better.

  He told the players to have a warm-down and a shower, and be back at the hall in two hours. It turned out the IRFU tournament organisers had hired buses to bring all four teams into the city for a meal and on to a cinema.

  In the restaurant, Eoin took a fair bit of banter − especially from the Ulster boys – but Paddy and Sam were more sympathetic.

  ‘What do they expect? You’re not a miracle worker,’ insisted Sam.

  ‘I know, and they’d have lost by fifty if they hadn’t brought you on,’ said Paddy.

  The trio were munching on their chicken when they spotted that the Ireland Under 16 coach, a well-known former international who had played with Munster, had arrived. He called by each table to say hello, but stopped to chat to one boy for more than five minutes. Eoin and Paddy looked at each other, nervously, and gulped.

  ‘I wonder what he’s saying to that fella?’ asked Sam. ‘Who is it? … Oh, I see him now … it’s that lad Joe Kelly.’

  Eoin did his best to put the day’s events behind him when he hit the pillow later that night, but he was still seething at the antics of McCord. The big second row had been waltzing arou
nd the restaurant as if he had scored the winning try, conveniently forgetting all the mistakes that had handed Connacht the points that actually did win the game.

  It took him a while to sleep, and his night was punctuated by vivid dreams starring Marcus McCord as a Frankenstein monster with the Leinster sponsor’s name tattooed on his forehead.

  Eoin laughed at the memory when he woke up, and resolved that today would be a better day.

  Chapter 11

  It was a better day, too. Ted had been as good as his word and took Eoin off at half-time but the stronger Leinster selection proved far too good for Munster anyway and ran out 27-10 winners.

  Eoin was secretly happy that the Savage brothers had played well, reckoning that the more good second rows there were, the less chance McCord had of winning Ireland selection. There was no way the big second row was even near that standard, but who knew what strings he could pull.

  Eoin and a few of the other players stayed back after the game to watch Ulster play Connacht. It was a good game, with the northerners showing a wary respect to the team that caused a surprise the day before. But Connacht tired in the last fifteen minutes and Ulster won by eight points.

  Ted had been tapping furiously at his tablet, making notes and drawing diagrams as the game developed.

  ‘We’re going to meet up at Belfield on Wednesday,’ he told the players. ‘I’ll talk to you tonight on the bus about the details. We’ll probably get a run out on Friday too. I have a few plans about how to beat these boys and I know we have the players to do it.’

  ‘I’m not going home on the bus, Ted,’ Eoin explained. ‘We live about half an hour out the road so I’m going to have a couple of days at home. But I’ll be there on Wednesday.’

  Ted promised he’d get Leinster HQ to send Eoin an email and the group broke up. Eoin sauntered over to the carpark to wait for his dad’s arrival. He texted Alan to tell him how the games had gone and to say he’d be back in Castlerock early from the mid-term break. He hoped Alan would take the hint and come back early himself.