Rugby Spirit

by Gerard Siggins

  Duffy started to speak, but closed his mouth and glowered back at the coach.

  Castlerock started the second-half brightly and panicked Rostipp players gave away a string of penalties. The score stood at 16-3 to the visitors with five minutes remaining when Duffy made a huge mistake.

  The Rostipp boys were forming a line-out when Duffy called out to Charlie Johnston, ‘Get someone to sort out Rodge there – or is it Podge?’

  The Savage brothers stopped and stared at Duffy. They took a couple of steps towards him before the referee whistled and ordered them back to their positions. The atmosphere on the field changed immediately, with real tension on the Rostipp side that their team-mates would do something appalling, and real fear among the Castlerock boys that they would suffer for their captain’s stupidity.

  The ball was deflected back to Rory from the line-out, and when he found Duffy the out-half couldn’t get rid of the ball quick enough. His rapid delivery opened up more space for Eoin and after a couple of passes the ball found its way back to him. He saw a gap on the outside and went for it, sprinting along the touchline towards the try-line. Just as he got there he felt as if the sun had gone behind a cloud, as a huge figure loomed into view. Eoin dived towards the patch of grass in the corner and shouted ‘yes’ as the ball touched the turf.

  His next roar came with extreme pain as he felt the green grass of Tipperary banging against his right side and a large rugby player crushing him into it from the left. Roger Savage stood up and looked down at Eoin.

  ‘Sorry, Madden, I thought you were that out-half.’

  Eoin couldn’t speak, as his whole left hand side was in agony.

  To his embarrassment, the first person who knelt down beside him was his mother, who had charged across the field when she heard his scream.

  ‘Oh, my poor boy, are you all right?’ she cried.

  ‘It’s sore,’ said Eoin, ‘But I think I’m all right.’

  He stood up, but every time he moved, or even took a breath, a sharp pain shot through his side.

  ‘It could be a rib,’ said Mr Carey, ‘We’ll need to have him X-rayed.’

  That was the end of Eoin’s game and, once he had been examined in the local hospital, it looked like an enforced break in his new rugby career too. Roger Savage’s bulk had cracked two of Eoin’s ribs and he would need plenty of rest.

  ‘There’s nothing much we can do,’ explained the doctor. ‘The cracks have settled back already and we’ll let biology take its course.’

  Eoin was disappointed that there was none of the glamour of a plaster cast for his friends to sign, instead he had weeks away from anything energetic and pain every time he moved.

  ‘Mr Carey rang,’ his dad told him as they drove home that evening. ‘He was just checking that you were all right. He seemed very disappointed that you’d be out for a few weeks. Oh yeah, and they won twenty-one three. He says they’re playing Cedric’s in the semi-final.’

  When his dad said ‘they’re’, Eoin realised that he had no chance of being in the team for the game. He would just have to hope he could get back on the team as soon as possible and force his way back in for the final.

  He stepped gingerly from the car, every step a serious discomfort.

  ‘I hear you’ve been in the wars,’ came a voice from the sitting room as he walked through the front door.

  ‘Grandad!’ called out Eoin. ‘Yes, I was knocked down by an oversized Rostipp bullock.’

  ‘Tell me all about it,’ said the old man, who was sitting in the armchair beside the fire wrapped in a blanket.

  Eoin told the story of the game up to the injury, when his mother and father disappeared to the kitchen and garden.

  ‘I had a cracked rib once,’ his Grandad said. ‘It was half-time in the Junior Cup final. The headmaster wouldn’t let me go off, and they strapped it up in a half-mile of bandage. He gave me two aspirin and sent me back out!’

  ‘And you won, of course,’ said Eoin.

  ‘Yes, that was a funny game. Not that I was laughing much at the end. The lads wanted to carry me off on their shoulders, but I had to run away because the rib hurt so much.’

  Eoin winced as his ribs gave a twinge.

  ‘Don’t worry, lad,’ said Dixie. ‘They wouldn’t be let do that sort of thing these days. You’ll come back when you’re ready.’

  ‘The semi is in five weeks and the doctor told me to rest for six. I hope I’ve enough time to get back for the final at the end of February.’

  ‘I’m sure you will, Eoin,’ he replied. ‘You’re a big, strong lad and three weeks of your mother’s home cooking will cure anything. Sure look at me, I’m thriving on it!’

  CHAPTER 18

  The Christmas holidays passed quickly, and Eoin had plenty of chats with his grandad about rugby. He had already heard lots of the stories from Mr Finn and the other teachers, but it was still fascinating to hear them from the mouth of the great Dixie.

  Once, Eoin tried to ask why he had given up the game so suddenly, but his grandad just pursed his lips and shook his head.

  ‘I’m sorry, Eoin,’ he said, sadly. ‘I promise I’ll tell you, but I find it all very upsetting and I’m not in the whole of my health. Get yourself fit for that cup final and sure we’ll have plenty of chances to chat before then.’

  Eoin kept away from the subject then, deciding it was best to let his grandad tell him in his own time.

  His ribs had stopped hurting every time he moved, although he still couldn’t lift anything heavy or break into anything faster than a gentle trot. His dad carried his cases to the car on the day before term began.

  ‘Good luck, Eoin,’ called out his grandad, ‘I’ll be watching out for your scores.’

  Eoin grinned and tapped his ribs. ‘Give me a chance to get them right first. But it won’t be long now – you were dead right about mum’s cooking!’

  The journey dragged, with traffic hold-ups all the way as the capital prepared to welcome back all those who had left for the holidays. It was dark by the time they reached Castlerock and Eoin was tired.

  Mr Finn helped them lift the cases into the hall and took Mr Madden aside as Eoin went to find his pals.

  ‘How’s Dixie, Kevin?’ he asked. ‘I sent him a Christmas card, but I haven’t heard anything back. Is he OK?’

  ‘He’s fine, Mr Finn,’ Mr Madden replied. ‘It’s just that, back then, he cut everyone off, and has never talked it out. I see a great change in him though since Eoin started at Castlerock and he’s really taken to watching the rugby again. He’s in good form, but still very reluctant to visit the dark parts of his past. We’ll just have to give him time.’

  ‘Ah time, the great healer,’ said Mr Finn.

  ‘Yes, and I’m sure he’d be delighted to see you. We’re planning a trip up to one of the Six Nations games, if he’s in his health. And sure, who knows, maybe Eoin’s team could make the Under 13A final. He wouldn’t miss that.’

  Eoin had persuaded Kevin and Fiachra to lift his cases up to the Dixie Dorm, at the cost of a packet of liquorice laces.

  The trio sat on their beds munching the sweets and swapping stories about the holidays when Alan and Rory strolled in.

  ‘Hey, Eoin, how’s the spare ribs?’ chuckled Rory. ‘Maybe a bit of barbecue sauce might make it better!’

  Eoin tossed a shoe, which skimmed Rory’s red curls just as he ducked.

  ‘Hey careful now, we don’t want to lose another star player off the 13As, do we?’ said Rory; he grinned as Alan explained that Mr Carey had just pinned up the 13A panel for second-term and Rory was down as first-choice scrum-half.

  ‘I bet David Vincent is feeling sicker now,’ laughed Eoin.

  Eoin wandered down to watch the first training session the next day, and the pain in his ribs got worse as he watched.

  Mr Carey came over to ask him about his progress as Flanagan dropped the ball for the third time in ten minutes.

  ‘Hurry back, Eoin, we need you pretty badly,�
�� he said, casting his eyes upwards.

  ‘I will sir, it shouldn’t be long now,’ grinned Eoin.

  But Eoin’s recovery was not as quick as he had hoped. Miss O’Dea took him down to the local hospital for an X-Ray which showed that one of the cracked ribs still hadn’t knitted.

  ‘Another two weeks, I’d say,’ explained the doctor, ‘and no rugby for two weeks after that.’

  ‘But that means I’ll definitely miss the semi and have less than a week before the final,’ Eoin moaned.

  ‘I’m sorry, Eoin, but ribs can be tricky,’ the doctor explained. ‘A cracked rib is a weakened bone, and if you were to break it, you could cause serious internal injuries. You’ll have plenty more chances to play rugby.’

  Eoin was devastated, and Mr Carey even more so when he told him that evening.

  ‘Ah, that’s terrible news, Eoin. You’ve made such fantastic progress this year and you bring real flair and imagination to that backline. I hope they can squeak past St Cedric’s in the semi and sure maybe you’ll be right for Lansdowne Road …’

  It was only at that moment that Eoin realised that the final would be held at the Aviva Stadium.

  ‘Wow, I never knew that the final would be there!’ he said.

  ‘Yes, it’s being played this year as the warm-up game for the crowd before Leinster’s Heineken Cup game against Lourdes,’ explained Mr Carey.

  ‘Well, I hope I don’t need a miracle to be ready for it,’ said Eoin, smiling as Mr Carey went back to the training.

  The semi-final against St Cedric’s was held in Castlerock, and there were hundreds of boys and their parents gathered around the pitch. Eoin was allowed to join the replacements on the bench, and he noticed his ribs no longer stung when he sat down.

  Rory had indeed held his place on the team, but he was no longer quite as friendly to Alan and Eoin in class or in the Dixie Dorm. In the dressing-room before the game, Eoin realised why.

  Rory was sitting in the corner beside Richie Duffy, and the two were whispering to each other and laughing as they dressed for battle.

  Eoin walked over to his friend, and wished him luck.

  Rory looked up from tying his bootlaces, saw it was Eoin, and shrugged. ‘Whatever,’ he muttered.

  ‘How’s the soft boy with the broken ribs?’ sneered Duffy. ‘Better luck next year.’

  Rory laughed.

  Eoin turned away, annoyed that Rory could be so cruel, and so stupid.

  Out on the field the half-back pairing were just as close, and the combination seemed to be working well. Duffy continued to kick too often, and Mr Carey continued to shout at him for doing so.

  St Cedric’s was a small school, but always produced strong teams and this year was no different. The score was level at half-time, 10-10, and remained so until eight minutes before the end.

  Castlerock won a scrum close to the opposition line, and Charlie Johnston kept the ball at his feet as the pack drove forward. About four feet from the try-line, Rory snatched the ball from between Charlie’s ankles, twisted and dived low through the Cedric’s scrum-half’s legs. The ball was grounded on the line and Castlerock were ahead.

  Duffy converted and time ran out before St Cedric’s could score again. As the final whistle blew the Castlerock boys pounced on Rory and lifted them over their heads. The tiny, red-head screamed with delight and was still laughing throughout the lap of honour as the school hailed a new hero.

  When they finally set him down, Eoin was there to stick a hand out in congratulation. Rory looked from side to side, saw Duffy staring at him, and turned his back on Eoin.

  ‘Fair enough, Rory, have it that way if you like,’ Eoin muttered. ‘But don’t coming running to me when you’re out of favour again.’

  CHAPTER 19

  Rory’s decision to join the Duffy gang made life quite awkward in the Dixie Dorm. There were four weeks to the final, and Mr Carey had the 13As out for training every evening after school. He asked Eoin along to be part of the tactical discussions, but it was hard to concentrate after a day in class, and when your best friend on the team has jumped ship.

  ‘How is the injury?’ Mr Carey asked as they walked back to the school after one training session.

  ‘Much better sir, there’s no pain even when I laugh,’ Eoin replied.

  ‘There’s no danger of you laughing at these sessions, is there? I’ve never seen you looking so miserable. Is everything all right?’

  ‘Yes, sir, everything’s fine,’ he lied.

  Back in the dorm, Rory tried to be friendly, but Eoin and Alan had enough of his double playing.

  ‘Look, Rory, cutting me dead ‘cos Duffy is watching is so stupid,’ said Eoin, ‘We’re not in senior infants here.’

  ‘You know what sort of pup Duffy is, and you’ve chosen to become just like him,’ said Alan. ‘Fire away, but don’t expect us to be your buddy when you get back to the Dixie Dorm.’

  Rory looked at Anton and Fiachra for support, but they were just as grim-faced as the others.

  Rory grunted, shrugged his shoulders, and lay down on his bed and stuck in his iPod earphones.

  Ten days before the big game, Eoin was summoned to see Miss O’Dea at the staffroom.

  ‘Mr Carey has asked me to organise an X-Ray for you today,’ she said. ‘I’ll take you down to the hospital, but I’m afraid I can’t stay – will you be OK to get the Dart back to the school?’

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ Eoin replied. ‘When do we leave?’

  ‘Right now,’ she said, ‘do you mind missing double Maths?’

  Eoin grinned and followed the teacher outside towards her small red Mini.

  Miss O’Dea showed him into the ultrasound department and, as soon as he was signed in, she checked that he knew the way to the Dart station and back to the school.

  The morning dragged as Eoin spent most of his time staring at posters about healthy eating and activities. He should have brought a book, he realised, even a Maths book.

  The X-Ray took a few minutes and then he was back to the corridor to wait. After an hour a tall doctor came out and introduced himself as Dr Shukla.

  ‘OK, Eoin, it looks like you are completely healed,’ he said, holding two sets of X-Rays against a lightbox on the wall. ‘Any pain?’

  ‘No, doctor,’ he said. ‘Would it be OK If I went back to rugby?’

  The doctor frowned. ‘Well .. that mightn’t be such a good idea. Have you been exercising much?’

  ‘Well, no …. said Eoin.

  ‘Hmmm … You see your muscles won’t be back to their best, and you just won’t be as fit after seven or eight weeks off activity. I’d say get back to some light jogging for a week or two before you start back training. What’s the rush?’

  Eoin told him about the final in Lansdowne Road just ten days away.

  Dr Shukla’s face fell. ‘Oh, that’s very, very soon for an injury such as this. I think it would be a mistake to try to get back so quickly.’

  Eoin shrugged his shoulders and let out a big sigh, ‘OK, Dr Shukla, thank you very much anyway.’

  ‘There’s always the cricket season!’ the doctor joked.

  ‘Not in Ormondstown there isn’t,’ Eoin fired back.

  Eoin crossed the dual carriageway and walked through the leafy lanes to the train station. He was still in torment over missing the big game, as he really wanted his grandad to come up to watch him play.

  He took the next train and was staring glumly out the window when he noticed they had arrived in a station named ‘Lansdowne Road’.

  ‘Oh no,’ he realised. ‘This is heading north – into the city!’

  He dashed off the train in time to see a southbound train pull out of the station. He checked the timetable – the next one wasn’t for almost an hour. Already frustrated by his hospital stay, Eoin decided he would kill the time, and begin his road back to fitness, by taking a jog out the gates of the station.

  As he trotted onto the road outside, he spied a gate open in the s
tadium walls, and his natural curiosity took him through it. He emerged behind the West Stand, and while there were a few people milling around they were all too busy to notice him.

  ‘I wonder is Brian about?’ Eoin thought aloud, as he wandered through the tunnel towards the arena.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ came a voice as Brian appeared from behind a pillar.

  ‘Wow, that was pretty neat,’ said Eoin, ‘I never heard you coming.’

  ‘What has you here on a midweek morning,’ asked Brian, ‘have they thrown you out of that school?’

  ‘I wish!’ said Eoin. ‘No, I got the wrong train and got off at this station to go back. But there’s no Dart for ages. I thought I’d come in to see what was going on.’

  ‘It’s quiet today,’ said Brian, ‘but there’s a couple of big games coming up.’

  ‘Sure, don’t I know,’ interrupted Eoin, ‘I might be playing in one myself on the day of the Leinster game. The 13A final.’

  ‘Gosh,’ said Brian, ‘That’s wonderful. Why the “might” though?’

  ‘I’ve just come from the hospital. I’m only back after cracking a couple of ribs against Rostipp,’ explained.

  ‘That shower of bowsies, always a tough bunch the Rostippers,’ grinned Brian. ‘Did you ever try comfrey? That was a herb we used to use to treat cuts and breaks. Fierce powerful stuff. Mash it up with water in a poultice. Give it a go.’

  The pair wandered out through the darkened players’ tunnel into the bright, sunlit stadium. They sat down in the grandstand; Eoin in the row in front of Brian. He noticed how pale Brian’s legs were, and how ridiculously old-fashioned his boots.

  ‘Were did you get those things?’ Eoin asked, pointing at the antique footwear.

  ‘I got them in Elvery’s in Nassau Street,’ Brian replied, ‘Thirty bob they cost me.’

  ‘What’s a bob?’ asked Eoin, puzzled.

  ‘It’s a shilling,’ said Brian. ‘Of course, it’s all euros nowadays I believe.’

  ‘When exactly did you buy those boots?’ asked Eoin, starting to get a little anxious, but not knowing quite why.