Specky Magee

by Felice Arena

  ‘What? Can’t you see I’m on the phone!’ she snapped. Alice was always on the phone. She lived on it. ‘Hang on, my little brother is annoying me again,’ she said to the person on the other end, then pressed the phone up against her chest. ‘What? What do you wanna ask me? This better not be another lousy footy question.’

  Specky cleared his throat. He was going to ask his sister straight out about the possibility of being adopted. If anyone knew anything to do with family matters, she did. Alice knew everything about everyone, he thought.

  ‘Um, well, it’s about…’

  ‘What? Hurry up! I haven’t got all day. What’s your question?’

  Specky felt pressured by his sister and decided to change his question at the last second.

  ‘Um, can you remember when I was born and when Mum brought me back from the hospital?’ he asked.

  Alice let out a huge annoyed huff. ‘You’ve got to be kidding! I was only two years old when you were born. Honestly, how should I know? You were always there following me, getting in the way—like now! So if you have no more questions, get lost! I’m only talking to the hottest guy in school.’

  Specky left Alice’s room and pondered his sister’s answer.

  ‘Well, maybe I’m not adopted. And if I was, then she definitely doesn’t know a thing about it,’ he concluded.

  7 SENSATIONAL SPECKY!

  Saturday morning arrived and Specky was scoffing down his breakfast. He was rushing to get ready for another footy game with his school team.

  ‘Slow down or you’ll choke!’ said Specky’s dad, who was reading the morning papers, which he had spread out across the table.

  ‘So Dad, you think you might see me play today, catch the last quarter maybe?’ said Specky hopefully, as he gulped down the last spoonful of his cereal.

  ‘Sorry?’ Specky’s dad looked at him blankly.

  It was obvious that his father had forgotten that today was the day that Coach Pappas was going to hold a mid-season barbecue after the game, in honour of the team’s parents. Specky had told his dad a few weeks back about the event.

  ‘Oh yes, yes, I remember. What time is that again? Yes, I’ll try to be there for the barbecue but I can’t be sure if I’ll make it to see you actually play. And we won’t be able to stay long at the barbecue either. You know this is a big day for me. I’ve got the launch of the Vladimir Belsky exhibition later this afternoon.’

  Specky gave his father a questioning look as if to say, Vladimir who?

  ‘You know, Vladimir Belsky the world-famous Russian sculptor. It’s taken me years to get him and his work down here to Australia. There’s going to be press, photographers—everyone. Which reminds me, take some good clothes with you to change into after the game. I’ll pick you up and then we’ll head straight to the gallery. Your mother and sister will meet us there. This is going to be a great day for all of us.’

  Yeah, it would be an even better day if you came to see me play, thought Specky. He forced himself to smile back at his father, deeply hoping that, Russian sculptor or not, this wish would come true.

  When Specky got to the school oval he was greeted by his team-mates and Coach Pappas.

  ‘Alright, boys, warm-up time. I don’t want any of you doing yourself an injury ‘cause you haven’t loosened up properly.’

  Specky and his team-mates did their usual interval sprints and stretching until they were ready for the game to begin.

  Specky made his way to the goal square. He was chosen to play full-forward again, and was determined to make amends for last week’s game.

  ‘Okay, focus, no thinking of Dad, the photo, or anything other than the game,’ Specky said to himself.

  The other team made their way onto the oval. Specky’s opponent marched his way over towards him. Specky went to shake his opponent’s hand as he did at the beginning of every match, to wish the other team a good game.

  But this particular full-back was having none of it. ‘Yeah, whatever!’ he sneered, ignoring Specky’s sportsman like gesture.

  ‘Great, another one,’ Specky mumbled to himself.

  The umpire blew his whistle and held the ball aloft to signal the beginning of the game. He bounced the ball hard against the centre of the turf and the game began. Robbo was the first to get his clenched fist to the ball. He punched it long and direct to one of Specky’s team-mates. Coach Pappas and the parents, who were standing either side of the oval, cheered. It was a great start for Booyong High.

  In less than a minute the ball had already made its way down to the forward-line. Specky tussled with the full-back as the ball was kicked in his direction. The full-back grabbed hold of Specky’s jumper, deliberately not letting him break away. The umpire quickly spotted this unfair play and sharply blew on his whistle. He awarded Specky the free kick. Specky’s opponent protested and swore at the umpire.

  ‘Another outburst like that from you, and you’ll be sent off the ground!’ warned the umpire.

  Specky knew how hard it was to umpire a game. He had volunteered to umpire an Under 8 Auskick game earlier in the year and couldn’t believe how difficult it was to make split-second decisions. He made a promise to himself that he would never argue with the umpire and would always accept their decision whether he thought it was right or wrong. Specky thought that some of the AFL players who argued with the umpire looked silly and childish, and he suspected that they only did this as a way of covering up their own mistakes.

  Specky went back to take his free kick. He was positioned in the same place as he had been the week before, when he had missed his chance of getting the winning six points. But this time there was no room for mistakes. Specky punted the ball directly through the middle of the big sticks.

  For the rest of the first quarter and for the rest of the game, Specky’s team trampled all over the opposition, Tremont High Tigers. Their ball handling and team skills were simply far superior.

  As for Specky, he was on fire. He was playing the game of his life. He had already kicked an incredible nine goals and there were still ten minutes remaining in the last quarter. Tremont High did everything they could to stop him. They even resorted to playing dirty, keeping in line with their reputation. They tried to trip, punch and injure Specky in any way they could. But Specky was too nimble and agile for them all. He ducked, twisted and turned, avoiding all their dirty tactics. None of them could lay a hand on him.

  It was times like this that he was thankful Coach Pappas had introduced skipping rope as part of their training. At first the boys complained that skipping was for sissies, but Specky soon realised that it really helped him with his fitness and kept him light on his feet during the game. He skipped for 10 minutes before and after training.

  Specky glanced over towards the boundary line. He quickly looked for his dad—but there was no sign of him.

  ‘Specky!’ It was Danny signalling that the ball was on its way. He had just kicked it towards Specky. Once again, Specky made a remarkable dash for it. He then athletically leaped for the ball like some World Cup soccer goalie, grabbing it securely with the tips of his fingers then sliding across the damp grass on his stomach. Specky had successfully taken another mark.

  He then got up, casually pulled up his socks, flipped the ball in his hands a couple of times then lined up his kick.

  Former Western Bulldogs legend, Chris Grant, had once come to Specky’s school and conducted a football clinic, and had spoken about the importance of having a set routine when kicking for goal. You need to know exactly where the man on the mark will stand and how many paces you will take before you kick; the importance of keeping the ball still in your hands and over your kicking leg leading up to the kick; and the need to drop the ball straight onto your boot and finish with a strong follow-through. Specky also liked to pick out a target directly behind the goals, like a tree or a lamppost, to aim at. It sounded like a lot to remember at the time, but Specky had practised for hours each night, and now he was able to go through his ro
utine without even thinking about it.

  Before making contact with the ball, Specky took one last look over towards the boundary line. He wished his dad were there to see this at least.

  But he wasn’t. Specky took his kick, and booted his tenth goal for the game—a personal record. The umpire blew his whistle and the game was over. Specky’s team-mates rushed to his side to congratulate him on his sensational performance, and to celebrate their convincing win.

  8 MORE IMPORTANT?

  Specky and his team-mates headed towards the parents and Coach Pappas. The portable barbecues were already set up. Mr Roberts and Mr Castellino were turning the sizzling sausages and hamburgers. Specky scanned the crowd, hoping to see his father, but he still hadn’t arrived.

  Once everyone had eaten, Coach Pappas got up to make an announcement.

  ‘Welcome, everyone!’ he began. ‘It’s great to see such a huge turnout. The boys should be happy that they have you supporting them. As you saw today, we have a great team this year, and I think we can go all the way.’

  There was spontaneous applause and a cheer from everybody. Coach Pappas continued.

  ‘Every year I have a tradition where I get each boy and one of his parents to participate in the annual mid-season barbie Longest Kick Competition. Every team member gets the chance to kick the ball as far as he can. Then we get one of his family members to also have a kick. And mums, it doesn’t always have to be the dads who do the kicking. After everyone has had his or her kick, we tally up the measurement of both kicks. The family with the longest distance will win a great hamper full of gourmet goodies…’

  Everyone cheered again. Specky looked back over his shoulder.

  ‘Come on, where are you, Dad?’ he said under his breath, not wanting to be left out.

  Danny and his dad started off the competition, followed by Robbo and his father, then the rest of the team. There were some lousy, wobbly kicks and equally some terrific ones—but no matter how far the ball was booted, everyone was having fun.

  Everyone but Specky. Specky was the only one in the team who didn’t have a family member representing him. Coach Pappas and Mr Roberts offered to be his partner, but Specky politely declined. This scene was all too familiar for him. Specky couldn’t help but be reminded of another time when he was so embarrassed. It was when he was eight. The Auskick team he was a part of organised a dads versus sons game. Each boy was to play directly against his own father. Unfortunately, Specky’s dad was nowhere to be seen. So he was forced to play opposite Mrs Kavensky, the sausage sizzle lady and a former Olympian shot-putter who weighed over 100 kg. Specky was slaughtered by her, especially when she executed a ‘hip and shoulder’! He felt so humiliated and now he found himself again not wanting his friends and coach feeling sorry for him.

  Finally, everyone had had a kick and the friendly barbecue competition was over. Danny and his father had won. Specky congratulated his friend.

  ‘Thanks. I’m sorry your dad wasn’t here,’ said Danny.

  ‘That’s okay. He doesn’t know how to kick a football anyway,’ Specky said with a brave smile.

  Eventually Specky’s team-mates, their parents and Coach Pappas headed home. Once again, Specky was left alone waiting for his dad to pick him up.

  One hour later he finally arrived. Specky hopped into the passenger seat of the car, and slammed the door behind him.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Simon. I just couldn’t get away. I wanted to make sure Vladimir was comfortable, and the caterers needed direction. Anyway, the launch is all set to go and I got word today that the Premier of Victoria will be making an appearance. Isn’t that exciting! Why aren’t you out of your footy gear? You’ll have to get changed on the way.’

  Specky was fuming, but he stopped himself from saying anything. He felt as if he was going to explode, especially since his father continued to ramble on about himself and the exhibition all the way to the gallery, without even noticing that he was upset.

  An elderly lady with a big blonde hairdo shaped like a motorbike helmet, and who smelled of way too much perfume, rushed over to greet Specky’s dad as they hopped out of the car and made their way into the gallery.

  ‘Dar-ling! There you are! Where have you been? Who would’ve thought that they’d all come on time. The gallery is already full! Lady Jane, the Farrahs and Dame Stanistreet have all asked about you. And Vladimir is getting terribly anxious,’ she said.

  Specky’s father hurriedly introduced her to him as the gallery’s publicist, but the woman was far too caught up in herself and the event to acknowledge Specky. But he didn’t care. As he mingled his way through the champagne-sipping crowd just behind his father, Specky heard a familiar voice.

  ‘Hey, squirt!’

  Specky turned to see it was Alice tapping him on the shoulder.

  ‘You should let Dad go and do his schmoozing with everyone. Mum’s over there keeping the sculptor’s wife company. She’d trying to speak some Russian—it’s tragic!’

  Alice was totally unimpressed and bored by the whole event. Specky watched his sister wander off through the vast, white-walled gallery to get herself an orange juice, while he forced himself to check out the exhibition.

  There were ten sculptures on display, each representing a part of the human body. They were all about a metre in height, and sat carefully on individual white podiums. What made the sculptures supposedly ‘unique’ was that they were crafted entirely out of broken eggshells—painstakingly glued together piece by piece. Specky pushed his way to the front of the crowd of art lovers to take a closer look. He stood directly in front of a large eggshell nose. Specky had to stop himself from laughing, especially since everyone around him was so serious about it. He couldn’t help overhearing the conversation of two ladies standing right beside him.

  ‘You know, it takes him an entire year to complete just one sculpture,’ said one. ‘This piece alone is made of a thousand eggshells. Now that’s dedication.’

  ‘And look at the realism of it all. The inner strength it depicts, while at the same time conveying a sense of vulnerability. That truly speaks to me, Penelope.’

  ‘I know what you mean, Gloria. I also heard that every egg was eaten by the sculptor himself. But he’s recently stopped doing that, as he then began to suffer from major constipation.’

  ‘Huh!’ Specky snorted uncontrollably.

  The two ladies glared at Specky, unimpressed, then turned and disappeared back into the crowd.

  ‘I did one just like that in my art class last term—I should’ve brought it along,’ said an unfamiliar voice.

  Specky turned to see who was talking to him. It was a boy about his age.

  ‘Kind of dumb, isn’t it?’ the boy added, staring at the eggshell nose.

  Specky nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s for sure. But I’d better not tell my dad what I think. He owns the place, that’s my reason for being here. Why are you here?’

  The boy who introduced himself simply as Greg, told Specky that he was with his father, who was an art collector. They were visiting from South Australia for the weekend.

  ‘Hi, Greg. I’m Simon, but everyone calls me Specky. So do you barrack for the Crows or Port?’ asked Specky, hoping that Greg knew his football.

  ‘The Crows,’ said Greg proudly. ‘My dad and I are going to see them play tomorrow. I can’t wait!’

  ‘Your dad likes footy, then?’

  ‘No, he hates it,’ said Greg. ‘But he’ll go for me. Like I’ve come with him to this and I hate art. You like footy then?’

  Specky nodded, not having really heard his question. He was thinking how cool it was that this boy and his father supported each other in things that neither of them liked.

  ‘Wanna have a kick now?’ Greg asked Specky. ‘I have a footy in our car outside.’

  Specky didn’t need to be persuaded—before he knew it he and Greg had left the boring exhibition launch and were having a kick-to-kick in the alleyway directly behind the gallery building.


  After a few minutes of back and forth punting and marking, Greg said, ‘How close do you think you can kick the ball to that open window up there?’

  Specky grinned as he looked up at the window. It was about twenty-five metres from the ground. ‘I bet I could get pretty close to it!’ he said, ready for a little friendly competition.

  Specky carefully aimed and booted the ball. The ball swished passed the window, and hit the wall about a metre above it.

  ‘Too powerful! I have to pull back a bit! Here, you have a go,’ said Specky, as the ball dropped back down to the ground.

  Greg then took his turn but didn’t get as close to the target as Specky’s kick.

  Both boys continued to take turns kicking the ball towards the open window, each time edging a little closer to it and declaring themselves the winner. Until Specky took his ninth try at it.

  Thump! sounded the ball, as it left his foot and glided its way once again towards the target.

  ‘Closer! Closer!’ Specky said to himself in an effort to mentally push it along. ‘This is going to be the closest. It looks as if it’s going to get only centimetres away from it!’ he grinned confidently.

  Then, as if it had taken on a life of its own, and aided by an unexpected gust of wind, the ball floated through the open window and into the building.

  The boys’ jaws dropped.

  ‘They stared at the window, nervously smiling, not sure what to do next. Moments later there came from inside a spine chilling crash! Then a number of screams, followed by complete silence and then…‘S I M O N!!!’

  The boys turned to each other, the same horrified expression on both their faces.

  ‘That was the window to the gallery,’ gasped Specky.

  9 THE TRUTH

  Specky’s first reaction was to run. If he could’ve fled the country that very minute, he would have. But instead he decided to face the consequences. He and Greg reluctantly made their way back inside the building. As they entered the gallery, all heads turned directly to them. Specky caught sight of Alice and his mum first. Their faces were frozen in utter disbelief, like everyone else’s. He looked towards the other end of the room to see that there, spread out on the floor, lay two very smashed sculptures, and in the middle of it all was the football he had accidentally just kicked through the open window. Thousands of tiny eggshell pieces were scattered all over the place.