Name: Michael Griffin
Nickname: Michael Griffin
Age: 12
Position: Left-back
Player you’re most like: Lahm
Favourite player: Lahm
Favourite goal: Lahm
Likes: Films
Dislikes: Meeting people
What you like about football: Playing it
Messi or Ronaldo: Lahm
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
‘Sporting Lisbon in their green and white hoops, looking like a team of zebras’
Peter Jones
The next hour and six minutes was a very unpleasant experience for Noah as Mrs Power swung her car round each bend at an inventive new angle. His head bounced off the window as Stevie, who was beside him in the back seat, slammed into him before rebounding when his seatbelt pulled him back.
‘Ow,’ Stevie cried.
‘Ow? You’ve been too mollycoddled, young man. You need to get used to a bit of rough and tumble.’
‘Sorry, you’re right. My parents have been a little bit overprotective by shielding me from certain death,’ Stevie said as the countryside whizzed past them, a blur of green and brown. ‘You get quite a bit more speed out of a Fiat 500 than I would have suspected.’
Once they’d raced through the town, jumping a couple of lights along the way – ‘They’re not red. They’re just a very dark shade of orange’ – Mrs Power explained the situation to them.
There had been a last minute objection to their participation in the tournament and the person who was going to decide whether or not St Mary’s should take part, a man by the name of Mr McGlinnigle, was making his decision within the hour. He was a member of the national schools’ football committee and one of the chief organizers of the Dublin tournament. As the closest committee member to the town of Carraig Cruach – only 123 km away – he had been delegated as the person to deal with the anonymous complaint made against the St Mary’s team.
Due to a misplaced letter, which she darkly suspected was the interfering work of Jacinta Hegarty, Mrs Power had only found out about the meeting at the last minute, which is why she was driving at top speed now. If they missed the appointment, she told the two boys in the back seat, McGlinnigle would almost certainly find against them and they’d be out of the competition. They had a lot of road to cover and very little time in which to do it.
She crunched through the gears and overtook a motorbike that happened to be in the middle of overtaking a car.
‘We’re on the wrong side of the road, Noah. We’re on the wrong side of the road,’ Stevie squealed.
‘What’s her problem?’ Mrs Power shouted moments later as she blasted the horn at an elderly lady driver who had the temerity to follow the rules of the road by staying on her own side in between the yellow and white lines.
‘To be fair, I think she was in mortal terror. We were only inches away from her.’
‘An inch is as good as a mile.’
‘Then, if it’s not too much trouble, could you stick with the mile in future, Mrs Power?’
Stevie turned to Noah. ‘You know, when I rang my parents to ask permission to go on this trip, they said I’d be safe with a school principal. I’d be safer if they tried to send me to Mr McGlinnigle’s office by attaching a rocket to my bum and lighting the fuse.’
After a few minutes had passed in silence and with only an additional two terrifying incidents, Noah remembered something. ‘Hey, Stevie, back at the house, before Mrs P called, you were going to say—’
‘What? Oh, that. It was nothing. Forget about it,’ Stevie said.
By the time they’d pranged the front bumper by parking a little too vigorously, Stevie was greener than a slimed Hulk.
‘You OK?’ Noah asked.
‘Am I still alive?’ Stevie replied.
‘Yes.’
‘That’ll do for now.’
As it turned out, Mr McGlinnigle had gone for a late lunch so in the end they were waiting for almost half an hour before he turned up. His office was quite small, as was the man himself. Even though he was a solicitor he had a kindly face. He reminded Noah of his late grandfather. If he had believed in signs he might have taken that as a good one, but he didn’t so it was nothing more than a pleasant coincidence.
McGlinnigle adjusted his tie, rummaged through a file and then looked at the three people sitting across the desk from him.
‘Now then,’ he said, his false teeth rattling slightly. ‘We appear to have a wee dilemma.’
‘It would appear so,’ Mrs Power said. Her lips grew thinner. ‘Before you say anything else, Mr McGlinnigle, let me state for the record that no law has been broken, that we have followed all the procedures laid down by your football association’s governing body and we are outraged at this last-minute attempt to derail all the good done by our poor pupils.’
‘Really?’ Mr McGlinnigle said, peering at Mrs Power over his glasses. ‘Is that how you wish to proceed – by faking outrage? No, Mrs Power, technically your school has not broken any rules, but you know full well that the rules were not intended to be interpreted in this way.’
‘I—’
‘Let me finish, Mrs Power.’
To Noah’s surprise, she shut her mouth immediately.
‘Thank you. You have broken the spirit of the law. Now, you can call me old-fashioned, but the spirit of the law is important to me. Some people take football very seriously indeed. I don’t. I know what football is: it’s a wonderful distraction from real life, a place where the best of human nature can be seen. Sportsmanship, athleticism, team spirit, joy – these are the things I hold dear. A football pitch is a place where it doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, pretty or ugly, a saint or a sinner. Once you cross that white line, you’re all equal and all woes are forgotten. Now that may be idealistic, but that’s what I believe and with your shenanigans you’ve gone against what schools’ football is all about and I’m afraid I can’t allow it.’
Noah felt a familiar feeling of disappointment creep up on him. No matter how often he tried, everything seemed to be conspiring to stop him playing in this tournament. He tried to think of something to say, but his mind drew a blank.
The intercom on Mr McGlinnigle’s desk buzzed. He leaned forward and pressed a button to allow his personal assistant to speak.
‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop them,’ the voice crackled.
‘Stop them?’ McGlinnigle said, a little confused. ‘Stop who?’
Noah thought his eyes were deceiving him. The office door swung open and there was Piotr, larger than life.
‘Hello, my friends,’ he roared. ‘Sorry I am late.’
‘How did—?’ Noah began.
‘Stevie texted us,’ Maggie said, bundling in the door behind the goalkeeper. ‘My mam gave a few of us a lift. Piotr’s dad has a minibus and he took everyone else. Luckily, most of them were in Dee’s Diner.’
‘No rules of the road were left unbroken,’ Piotr bellowed.
‘Shhh, he’s a solicitor,’ Barbara said.
‘And a barrister, but I’m not a policeman,’ McGlinnigle said. ‘Now, what is the meaning of this?’
He was normally an extremely calm man, at ease in almost any situation, but as more and more of the St Mary’s team barrelled into the room he began to feel increasingly uncomfortable.
‘You can’t stop us playing,’ Maggie said.
‘We were hoping for a more subtle approach, Miss O’Connell,’ Mrs Power said.
‘Er, who are you exactly?’ McGlinnigle asked.
‘Oh, hey there, Mrs Power,’ Maggie said, before turning her attention back to McGlinnigle. ‘We’re the team you’re trying to ban from the tournament. Don’t stop us playing.’
‘As I was explaining to your . . . Ahm, could you ask that boy not to stare at me so intently?’ McGlinnigle said.
‘He means you, doofus,’ Maggie said, shoving Kevin McCooley in the back.
‘Ahem, yes, now where was I? Oh yes,
my problem, the committee’s problem, doesn’t lie with the players, rather the underhand methods you’ve used to gain entry to the competition.’
Noah was amazed. Within thirty seconds all the players on the team had managed to squash themselves into the office. They were followed by McGlinnigle’s extremely harassed-looking personal assistant.
‘If it wasn’t for these so-called “underhand methods” then we wouldn’t have been able to play,’ Darren Nolan said. ‘I don’t stand a chance of playing on my own school team yet I want to play in this tournament more than anything.’
‘Well, the nature of sport is competition and if you couldn’t make the team then—’
‘I could make the team,’ Maggie said. ‘If St Mary’s entered a team, I’d have made it, but there weren’t enough girls interested. And I wouldn’t have been interested in playing for a girls’ team anyway.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘I want to be the best footballer in the world. Not the best woman footballer, the best footballer. I can’t do that if I only play against the girls,’ Maggie said.
‘Yes, well—’
‘Ever heard of Bobbi Gibb?’ Maggie asked.
‘The runner?’
‘Yes, she was the first woman to run the Boston marathon back when women were told they wouldn’t physically be able to run twenty-six miles. She didn’t let that stop her and you don’t want to be the person who tries to stop me.’
‘Well, as beautifully threatening as that is—’ McGlinnigle began.
‘The school’s insurance policy covers them. I’ve checked it out. Just in case you’re worried about that,’ Mrs Power said.
‘I’m sure it does, but if you wouldn’t mind letting me finish . . . You, boy, could you not eat that burger in my office? You’re dripping pickle juice on the carpet.’
‘Sorry about that, man. I’m starvin’ like Marvin,’ Hawk Willis said.
‘The actor Lee Marvin?’
‘It’s rhyming slang for hungry,’ Mrs Power said.
Everyone began to speak at once, all putting forward their case for remaining in the tournament in a terrible cacophony. There were so many competing voices that nobody could be heard clearly.
‘Oh, now . . . please all of you . . . be quiet,’ Mr McGlinnigle said.
Beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow and on the back of his neck. There were far too many people in his office. Three was quite a lot and made the place seem a little cramped, but there had to be nearly fifteen here now. He was growing increasingly exasperated.
‘Could someone open a window, please?’ he asked. ‘I need some air.’
‘I got it,’ Limbsy said. His gangling limbs knocked over a glass trophy. It bounced off the windowsill and crashed on to the tarmac outside. ‘I’m so sorry about that. I’m sure I can repair it –’
As he reached out, he knocked McGlinnigle’s framed degree off the wall. It hit the floor and the glass in the frame shattered into hundreds of pieces. Limbsy leaned down and began to pick up the pieces of glass.
‘Just leave it,’ McGlinnigle said. ‘Please just—’
‘Yowsers. I cut my finger.’
Cormac McHugh was on his mobile. He waved frantically until he caught the solicitor’s attention. ‘What’s the address here?’
‘Fourteen Greville Place. Why?’
‘I’m ordering in a few pizzas. Half of us left our lunch behind in Dee’s Diner and it’s a long journey back.’
‘Anyone got a plaster?’ Limbsy asked. ‘And a cloth to clean the carpet. I’m pumping blood everywhere.’
‘Right, that’s it,’ McGlinnigle said, getting to his feet. ‘All of you, please listen to me. SHUT UP!’
It took some time for his words to have an impact, but in the end they hushed each other until finally there was silence.
‘Thank you. Now, what happens if I refuse to allow you to play in the tournament?’
‘Nothing,’ Frank said. ‘We’ll keep trying to persuade you until the very last minute.’
‘So, I’ll have nearly another week of this,’ McGlinnigle said, more to himself than to anyone else. He turned to Noah. ‘Now that I’ve met your team, I can see that, despite being the most infuriating bunch of people I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet, they don’t seem to be as unsporting or devious as I first suspected. If I allow you to play, will you give me an undertaking that you will play in the spirit I outlined to your principal earlier?’
Noah smiled broadly. ‘Definitely.’
‘And one final stipulation – I will never see or hear from any of you ever again. Is that clear?’
Fifteen heads nodded in agreement.
‘Mr Lenihan, can you type up a letter to that effect?’
‘I’m already on it,’ his assistant said, scurrying into the outer office.
As cheers rang out around the room Mr McGlinnigle buried his face in his hands. He’d got into schools’ football for all the right reasons, but sometimes he really, really hated young people.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
‘If that had gone in, it would have been a goal’
David Coleman
After they’d driven back from Mr McGlinnigle’s office, and Mrs Power had said her goodbyes, the group gathered in Dee’s Diner, much to the owner Jack’s delight.
‘You kids are my best customers by far,’ he said as they squashed themselves around a couple of the immovable tables.
‘That doesn’t reflect well on us as human beings,’ Frank Courtney muttered.
They ordered some food, mostly burgers and chips.
‘Let’s get down to business,’ Maggie said. ‘What was all that about?’
‘The meeting with McGlinnigle?’ Limbsy asked.
‘No, Cormac’s weird new haircut. Yes, of course, the meeting. It’s serious, right?’
‘My haircut’s not weird. I like it,’ Cormac said. He’d modelled it on Neymar Junior’s and he was proud of it.
‘It’s very nice, Cormac,’ Barbara said.
‘The whole McGlinnigle thing happened because someone objected to us being in the tournament,’ Noah said.
‘Yeah, but who?’
‘I think it’s my school principal.’
The St Mary’s team knew that Noah had been banned from playing, but they weren’t aware that Hegarty might go that far.
‘Mr Hegarty? Why would he object? He got rid of you from the St Killian’s team because he thought you started some fight. Why would he care about anything else you got up to?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Noah said.
‘He might think you’re trying to circumvent his authority,’ Stevie said.
Noah stared at his friend blankly.
‘Dumb it down a little, man,’ Hawk Willis said, expressing exactly what Noah was thinking.
‘His punishment was to stop you from playing football, but then you go ahead and play football anyway. He might think you’re being cheeky or rebellious or something and making him look bad at the same time,’ Stevie said.
‘Or maybe he really did recognize us that time I tried to break into the school and he’s paying me back.’
‘No, he’d have probably tried to kick all four of us out of school if he’d really seen us that night. And he’d definitely have brought our parents in for a meeting,’ Sunday said.
It was the first time Kevin McCooley had heard about the attempted break-in.
‘Whoa, back up there a second, Murphy. You tried to break into the school? When?’
As the smell of microwaved burgers wafted across the diner, Noah explained the events of that night again, even though most of those gathered at the tables already knew the story inside out.
‘Wow, I’m impressed. You’re not as much of a wimp as I thought,’ McCooley said when Noah had finished the story.
‘I get that he might hate you, but Stevie’s the best student in school and he can’t have anything against Darren, Sunday, Cormac or Adam,’ Maggie said.
‘Or me
,’ Hawk Willis said.
‘Well, let’s not go that far,’ Maggie said.
‘She zinged you there, my friend,’ Piotr yelled.
Maggie turned to Michael Griffin. ‘Hegarty doesn’t have anything against you, does he?’
Michael shrugged his shoulders.
‘And he doesn’t know me. There’s no reason for him to be against St Mary’s, so his problem must be with Noah and nobody else. Did you do something to annoy him?’ she asked.
‘Like what?’ Noah wondered.
‘I don’t know – date his daughter, let the air out of his tyres, toilet-roll his house?’
‘No, nothing like that. He never even noticed I existed until a couple of months ago.’
‘You should do them things. It’d really get under his skin,’ McCooley said.
‘If he’s so determined to stop you succeeding at the tournament, then maybe he’s willing to go further than getting in touch with McGlinnigle,’ Frank said.
Stevie exchanged glances with Barbara, as if they’d both been thinking the exact same thing.
‘Like what?’ asked Noah again.
‘He could poison you,’ Hawk Willis said.
Sunday threw his eyes up to heaven.
‘No, nobody’s poisoning Noah. What I mean is,’ Frank continued, ‘he could bribe the referees so results go against us or, I don’t know, lots of things.’
‘We need to figure out what he’s doing. If we’re one step ahead of him rather than one step behind, then we’ll be all right,’ Noah said, even though he wasn’t sure if that was true.
‘If he was lying about the fight or just using it as an excuse, then what other reasons could he have for banning you?’ Sunday asked.
‘Because Noah’s the best player in town,’ Darren said.
Maggie laughed out loud, but then she realized Darren wasn’t joking. ‘Wait, are your eyes not working properly? You’ve seen me play. My skills are far better than his.’
‘It’s not all about skills,’ Sunday said.
‘You’re just jealous of me. You’re going to have to settle for a boring life cos you’re not going to make it as a professional footballer.’
The Mighty Dynamo Page 17
