by Joe O'Brien
Principal Dunstan was relieved to see Mick walk into his office with a toolbox in his hand.
‘Let me have a look at that,’ Mick said as he walked over to the radiator, kneeling in front of it. ‘Ah! You’ve just knocked the pipe out. Easily fixed.’
Danny returned back to his class while Mick went to work on the dodgy pipe.
‘There you go,’ Mick said after a short while. ‘All fixed. I don’t think that will give you any more problems, but if it does, just get Danny to let me know.’
The principal couldn’t thank Mick enough. He persuaded him to join him for a cup of tea in the staff room.
‘Danny’s been telling me all about your friend’s daughter in America.’
‘Is that right?’ Mick asked. ‘Yeah, we even had a fundraiser for her. All Danny’s idea, of course. He’s a smashing lad.’
‘He is,’ Mr Dunstan agreed. ‘I believe you two are going over there at the end of the month?’
‘That’s right. Did Danny ask you for the Friday and the Monday off?’ asked Mick.
‘It’s fine.’ Mr Dunstan gave him a smile. ‘I’m a firm believer in allowing the odd day off from school when it’s for such a good cause. Danny was saying that your job is under threat!’
‘Yeah! It’s only a matter of time before it goes altogether. The good days with work are well and truly over.’
Principal Dunstan could see how worried Mick looked.
‘So you have a couple of spare days on your hands now?’
‘That’s right.’ Mick nodded. ‘We’re on a three-day week at the moment and that could even go down to two by the end of the month.’
‘I don’t know if you’d be interested in this, but every year around this time, the school has a fundraising day. We do a walk or something along that line. Last year, we had a reading marathon. Anyway, I was wondering if you would be interested in running a kind of football marathon this year for us. Most of the kids on your team are pupils in this school, so you’d be familiar with some of the boys, and of course, the rest would do well to have a proper football coach teach them a few new skills.’
Mick was flattered.
‘We usually donate the funds to various different charities. The school would be more than happy to donate any funds raised on the day towards your friend’s daughter’s operation. What do you think, Mick? Would you be interested?’
‘I think that’s a wonderful idea,’ Mick said. ‘And very generous of you.’
‘Right, then! I’ll get the sponsorship sheets printed up straight away so the boys can get some money in.’
Mick thought that was a great idea, and shook hands with the school principal.
Chapter Thirteen
Under 14s v Under 16s
Mick was in better form for Thursday night’s training. Principal Dunstan’s supportive words had given him a much-needed lift in confidence.
But that didn’t stop Mick from working his players hard and when Saturday’s game against Paddy Flynn’s under-sixteen’s squad came along, friendly or no friendly, Mick prepared his team in the dressing room the very same way he would before any game.
‘Come on now lads, settle down,’ Jimmy said. ‘No more messing now. Come on now, quiet down for Mick.’
Mick waited a few seconds to let the banter settle. ‘Okay, lads. I know this is only a friendly today, and most of yiz know one or two of the under-sixteens players.’
Mick glanced over to Paddy Timmons, then to Big Johnner Purcell, who was sitting up the other end of the dressing room, fiddling with his left boot.
‘Paddy, Johnner.’ Mick flashed them a smile. ‘Both your big brothers play for Paddy Flynn’s team, isn’t that right, lads?’
The two players nodded together.
‘Then you guys will know that there’s no way that they will want their younger brothers making a show of them,’ he went on, ‘friendly or no friendly, this game matters. Every game matters.’
‘My brother doesn’t need me to make a show of him, Mick.’ Paddy Timmons laughed. ‘He’s a big eejit at the best of times.’
All the other players laughed – Jimmy, too.
Mick managed a smile, but he wanted to stay serious.
‘I’m telling yiz for your own good, lads. Paddy Flynn’s under-sixteen’s are a fine team. They’re all big and strong and aren’t lacking in the skills department.’
‘Yeah, Mick, but they don’t have Danny playing for them,’ Little John Watson said.
‘Go on, Danny!’ shouted Doyler. The rest joined in. Mick knew that they had total respect and admiration for their captain. They had all the important things a team needed to show their captain that they were behind him one hundred per cent.
Jimmy let Danny have his moment of glory before he calmed the room again.
‘Let’s make the most of this game, boys,’ said Mick. ‘That’s all I’m saying. Yiz can be skilful, strong, fast – whatever, but you can’t beat experience, and the under-sixteens have two years on yiz. That counts for a lot. Isn’t that right, Jimmy?’
‘Oh! You’re right there, Mick.’
‘Jimmy, anything you want to add before we go out?’ asked Mick.
‘Not really Mick … well, um … just that you know, the runner-up decider is next Saturday and yiz might learn a few things today. That’s why we set this game up for yiz. If yiz can compete with these older boys, then maybe yiz might have an edge on Barnfield. That’s all really, Mick.’
‘Couldn’t have said it better, Jimmy,’ Mick said.
Mick instructed his team to their feet. It didn’t matter if they were playing a friendly. As Mick already said, friendly or no friendly, every game matters, which meant going through the same routine that worked for the team mattered too.
‘When you go out onto that pitch, lads, where are you playing?’ Mick asked with tremendous pride in his voice. He made sure the under-sixteen’s heard every word.
‘The Little Croker,’ replied his players.
‘And how do we play every game?’ yelled the manager.
‘Like the All Ireland final!’ cheered the whole dressing room. Even Heffo, Danny’s dog and team mascot, managed a howl of support.
Mick had been true to his word with Barry Sweeney and Doyler. Doyler had been slotted back into his old centre half forward position, while Barry Sweeney wore the number fourteen jersey that had brought him good scores at the beginning of the season.
Billy Stapleton, from Danny and Splinter’s class, turned up for the game. Billy loved horses and wasn’t particularly known for turning up for football matches, except of course the game earlier in the season against Chapel Hall, when he had stormed across the Little Croker on his horse.
Mick was tying Heffo to the training bag when he noticed Jimmy nodding towards him. Mick twisted his head around to see Billy standing behind him with his hands in his pockets. Billy was blowing a huge bubble from his mouth with his chewing gum.
It burst the second he heard Mick Wilde’s voice.
‘Not on your horse today?’ Mick asked.
Billy almost swallowed his gum.
‘Just watching the match,’ said Billy.
‘I never knew you had any interest in GAA. Haven’t seen you at any other game.’
Billy smiled.
‘Yeah, but this isn’t going to be like any other game. Is it?’
Mick looked at Jimmy.
‘What’s he on about Jimmy?’
Jimmy shrugged his shoulders.
Billy strolled over to Mick.
‘Is that your dog?’
Heffo snarled.
‘What do mean this isn’t going to be like any other game?’ asked Mick.
Billy smiled at Mick – a real cheeky smile, as if to say, Now! Wouldn’t you just love to know!
The referee blew his whistle, but Paddy Flynn waved his hands at him as if to ask for another few seconds. Somebody – a player – was fixing his boots over at the other line. He was kneeling behind a few of the under sixte
en’s subs. Nobody could see him.
Then he stood up. All six feet, two inches of him.
‘Who the jaysis is that?’ cried Jimmy.
Billy laughed.
Everyone on Mick’s team, including his subs who, for the first time ever, were delighted not to be starting a game, were dumb struck with fear.
‘That’s Hammer Hughes.’
‘The boxer,’ gasped Mick. ‘He’s only fifteen. What have they been feeding him?’
‘National champion boxer,’ Jimmy nervously added.
‘Do you want to know why he’s called the “Hammer”?’ Billy asked.
Both Mick and Jimmy turned their head to Billy. ‘Why?’
‘Cos when he lands his fist on ya, it’s like being hit with a hammer.’
Hammer Hughes, fitness fanatic and boxing champ, was making his debut for both the under-sixteens and the GAA.
‘They can’t let him play,’ Jimmy complained. ‘Look at the size of him, and he’s a boxer!’
‘Champion boxer,’ Billy smiled.
‘There’s nothing we can do, Jimmy. He’s not over age and he wants to play GAA, so who are we to stop him?’
Deep down, though, Mick was worried – very worried. He badly wanted this game to build up his team’s strength, but now he was worried about Hammer Hughes injuring his players.
Jonathon took a few steps back as the Hammer trotted into the middle of the park and took up his position right adjacent to him.
Jonathon looked terrified.
‘I’ll jump,’ Danny said. Jonathon didn’t argue. It was meant to be his turn to jump. He gladly changed positions with Danny.
Danny looked up and faced the gruesome stare of the Hammer.
Jonathon feared for Danny. He knew how brave his cousin was, but this was crazy. This over sized Hammer lad looked like he was ready to kill someone, and there was just one person between him and the ball – Danny.
‘Ready boys!?’ the referee asked, then he looked at Hammer again, as if making sure that he was a boy.
Danny nodded to the referee, who had given him a look and a little smile as if to say, Rather you than me!
The whistle blew and the ball was thrown in.
Mick put his face in his hands. Jimmy had just finished chewing all of the nails on his left hand and was now halfway through his right hand. Heffo barked, and Larry ran up to the line with the same expression on his face that everyone else had the second they saw the Hammer.
But everyone did the exact same thing the second they saw Danny pull off one of the craftiest manoeuvres they had ever seen.
They all cheered! Even the subs on Paddy Flynn’s side of the pitch.
Danny had managed to do what none of his teammates were able to do with their fear. He acknowledged that even though Hammer Hughes was built like King Kong, it was still his first time ever on a football pitch, and Danny remembered Mick telling everyone how much experience meant.
Hammer Hughes was so big that he hardly needed to jump at all for the ball. The second he caught it, Danny punched it down, knocking it out of the Hammer’s hands. The ball bounced and before the Hammer had a chance to steal it back, Danny fisted it up and over the Hammer’s head and caught it, then spun around the under sixteen’s number nine and rocketed a low pass out to Paul Kiely, Crokes’ right half forward.
Danny and the Hammer had looked like David and Goliath as they waited for the referee to throw the ball in, but Danny Wilde had overpowered the beast with skill and quick thinking and left the Hammer looking small and humiliated in the centre of the pitch.
Paul Kiely was beaten to Danny’s pass by the under sixteen’s left half back, who scooped up the ball with ease then swiftly turned Kiely inside out with a left shimmy, followed by a right.
The left halfback then unleashed a long and high ball up towards his centre half forward.
Alan Whelan put in a good firm challenge for the ball, but lost out to the number eleven, who quickly shifted the ball out to his right full forward.
The under-sixteen’s right full forward went on a powerful solo, beating both his marker, Kevin Kinsella, the Crokes’ left full back, and big Johnner Purcell, the Crokes full back.
Then with one final glance at the Crokes’ goal, he struck the ball with accuracy into the top left corner of the goal.
Crokes were already a goal down, even after Danny’s masterful manoeuvres in the middle of the field.
‘Come on, Crokes,’ Danny groaned as he clapped his hands together, and made eye contact with each and every one of his players.
Hammer Hughes had just been given a crash course in GAA, the previous Tuesday and Thursday’s training and was still struggling to grasp how to actually get himself into the game.
So Hammer did the next best thing. He stuck to his man like super glue. That meant that everywhere Danny went, the Hammer followed.
Danny was fast – very fast – and much more agile than the Hammer, but the under sixteen’s debut rookie was a fighter – literally – and that meant never giving up until the bell rang or in their case, the half time whistle blew.
Eventually, to Danny and all his team mate’s relief, the referee did blow the half time whistle, and Mick Wilde’s team slumped over to their coach, tired and bruised and behind by a score of 0-0 to 1-3.
Mick gave his players a couple of minutes to catch their breath before he delivered his half-time talk.
Larry felt the urge to have a word or two with his brother.
Jimmy dropped what he was doing and joined them. Jimmy always felt that Larry was trying to move in on his turf. Jimmy was assistant coach, and if anything was to be discussed at half-time, Jimmy Murphy wanted to be in on it.
‘They’re having a hard time out there, Mick,’ Larry said. ‘Those lads are far stronger than them. Do you not think this will only damage their confidence for next week’s game?’
‘No!’ huffed Jimmy.
Mick smiled at Jimmy. He appreciated how much Larry got on Jimmy’s nerves, but he also valued his brother’s opinion. After all, Larry was a fine GAA player in his youth, and knew a thing or two about the sport.
‘I get what you’re saying, Larry. I’ve seen Paddy Flynn’s team in action a few times and always felt that our boys could give them a good run, but it’s only when you actually put an under fourteen’s in a game against an under sixteen’s that you really see the difference two years makes.’
Jimmy felt the desire to speak again. ‘I think our lads are doing great.’
‘They’re doing superb,’ Larry agreed. ‘I just think that their heads might drop if they get slaughtered.’
‘That’s not going to happen,’ Mick said. ‘They’re fighters. Let’s see how they get on in the second half.’
Mick turned around to address his team.
‘Okay boys! How are yiz after that grilling?’
He didn’t get much of a response – just a groan or two.
Maybe Larry’s right! thought Mick. I’ll have to try and lift them. I’ll get Danny to have a word or two.
Mick looked over to Danny, who was the only player on the team who didn’t seem phased at all by the beating they were getting from their older club players.
‘What do you think, Danny?’ asked Mick. ‘Can we give these fellas a game in the second half?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Danny answered, sounding like a natural-born leader.
Danny stood up.
‘Look, lads. We were all freaked out when we saw Hammer Hughes jogging onto the pitch, but take away his size and his pretty face and there’s not much left to worry about.’
All the players laughed.
‘Yiz have to forget about them being bigger and older than yiz, and start playing football. Anyone of yiz can go in for a ball and win it, and anyone of yiz can score a point or even a goal. Just do what we do every week, and start believing in yourselves–’
Danny’s words of encouragement were interrupted by the referee’s whistle.
‘Go on now, boys,’ Larry cheered. Danny’s speech had even convinced Larry that the game wasn’t a waste of time.
‘Yeah! Go on, lads,’ Jimmy added. ‘Get stuck in to them!’
Mick said nothing. He was so proud of Danny. I better watch my job! thought Mick. Danny showed real coaching potential there!
Even though the Hammer Hughes didn’t impress Paddy Flynn with his inexperienced flapping around in the first half, Paddy felt that it would be better to leave the rookie on for the second half, if only to learn a thing or two from Danny.
Darren Lyons, the under sixteen’s number nine, nominated himself to jump against Danny for the throw in. Darren was determined to show the Hammer how not to be made a fool of by a younger club player.
Danny asked Jonathon if he wanted to jump; once Danny had one hundred per cent convinced Jonathon that he wouldn’t have to face the Hammer, Jonathon accepted.
The whistle was blown and the second half was away.
Darren Lyons easily beat Jonathon to the ball, but Jonathon put a fair challenge to him and the ball fell lose into the path of Danny and the Hammer.
The Hammer had been watching Danny carefully in the first half and had learnt a thing or two about this new sport he had chosen to play.
The Hammer craftily turned his back to Danny and shielded the ball from the Crokes’ captain.
Danny, who never pulled out of a challenge and gave everything to win every ball, crashed into the Hammer’s back side and was sent tumbling head first across the middle of the field.
‘Is he alright?’ gasped Jimmy.
Mick watched, worried, as Danny slowly picked himself up. He was a bit shaken, but not injured.
‘Watch this, Jimmy.’ Mick smiled with relief.
Danny shook himself off as he got to his feet, and nodded over toward the Hammer with a smile.
The Hammer had sent a good solid pass up field to his forward line, and then turned around to see if Danny was okay. Danny knew that Hammer Hughes wasn’t like Sean ‘Dirty’ Dempsey or Deco Savage. He had respect for his opponent no matter what the sport.
