Little Croker (2 page)

A
s always, reliable Jimmy took down the nets while Mick followed the boys into the dressing rooms to congratulate them and have his post-match chat.

Sean ‘Dirty' Dempsey and his dad weren't in the dressing rooms. They had gone off home sulking before the match had even finished.

Mick was itching to tell Danny about his trial with the Dublin team, but he thought it would be better if he didn't say anything in the dressing room.

I'll tell him on his own first, thought Mick, and sure he can tell the other lads himself.

Mick, Danny, Jimmy and his son Splinter, their left full forward, carried the gear and balls home, as they only lived around the corner from the playing fields.

‘Danny, are you coming over for a game on my PlayStation?' asked Splinter who had just got a new game for his birthday.

‘Nah! I can't, Splinter,' replied Danny. ‘It's my granny's birthday and we're going straight over there to see her.'

‘Thanks Jimmy, I'll see you on Tuesday night,' said Mick. ‘I'll see you, Damien,' he said to Splinter. ‘You played a great game!'

‘Can we bring Heffo to Granny's?' asked Danny.

‘I suppose so. Tie him to the gate and I'll bring in the bags. Then you run in and wash your face for Granny.'

Mick and Danny set off to visit Mick's mother, Maureen, who only lived a ten-minute walk away in an old folks' complex of flats called ‘Shady Cedars'. 

During the walk, Mick broke the good news to Danny.

‘Are you for real, Dad?' asked Danny.

‘Yep! Next Friday evening, you're going to be training with the Dublin development team, son. It will be the proudest moment of my life, Danny,' said Mick with unexpected emotion.

‘Savage!' said Danny. ‘Mammy would be chuffed. Wouldn't she, Dad?'

‘Your mother will be shining down on you, Danny, like she does at all of your games.'

Danny's mam had passed away when Danny was just a baby, but Mick always tried to keep her very much in Danny's life by talking to Danny about her as much as possible.

‘Come on, Dad, we'll run the rest of the way. I can't wait to tell Granny,' said Danny excitedly.

Danny and Heffo raced ahead of Mick, but almost immediately Danny came walking 
back around the corner towards Mick, who had pulled up for a breather.

‘I'm all right, son. Just give us a second!' gasped Mick. ‘You're too fast for me.'

‘Dad, you're not going to like what you're going to see when you turn the corner,' warned Danny.

‘Not the Bentley!' said Mick. He sounded gutted.

‘Yep!'

Mick and Danny had been trying to get to Granny's early to avoid meeting Danny's rich and snobby Uncle Larry, Mick's brother.

The only time that the brothers crossed paths was on their mother's birthday and Mick didn't want a repeat of last year's row. Mick and Larry despised each other.

‘We'll come back later,' said Mick.

‘Ah, Da!' moaned Danny. ‘I'm dying to tell Granny my good news.'

Good news! thought Mick. That's right. I'll relish the look on Larry's face when he hears 
about Danny's trial.

‘You're right, son,' said Mick. ‘Why should we back down?'

Mick let Heffo off his lead at the gates and he instantly ran over to Larry's Bentley and cocked his leg.

Mick was thrilled because he knew that all Larry ever did during his one and only annual visit to their mother was stand at her window and watch his precious car.

‘Come on, Heffo!' called Danny as he rang his granny's door bell.

‘He's all right, son,' grinned Mick. ‘Better on your uncle's wheels than on Granny's floor!'

Danny laughed with his dad.

The front door was opened by Larry's wife, Regina.

‘Michael, darling!' screeched Regina. ‘And Daniel! Oh, you've grown so tall since last year!'

Danny smiled politely at his aunt and 
quickly brushed past her into the house. He only met Regina once a year, but once a year was enough for him to come to the conclusion that she was away with the fairies.

‘Regina,' acknowledged Mick.

Danny ran over to Granny Maureen and gave her a big hug. She was in her new, leather, multi-functional reclining chair that Larry had had delivered for her birthday.

Larry made an effort to turn away from the curtains just to see the look on poor Mick's face when he saw his mother's present.

‘Nice chair!' said Danny.

‘It's very cosy,' answered Granny, ‘but I don't know about all these buttons. It's like sitting in a space ship.'

Mick laughed.

‘You want to watch yourself, Mam. We don't want you taking off now, do we?'

‘Did you tell your granny your news, son?' asked Mick.

Danny announced his good news to all. His 
cousins – Jonathon who was twelve like Danny and Lowry who was fourteen – came in from the kitchen to politely congratulate him. Regina didn't really want to be there and she certainly didn't want her children there, but she always – especially in public – insisted on good manners, politeness and smiles.

‘The cake!' said Granny after she'd praised Danny. ‘Are we going to cut the cake?'

‘In a jiffy,' said Regina and she rushed out to the kitchen and quickly came back in with a delicious fresh cream chocolate gateau.

When Regina asked who wanted a slice of cake, everyone put their hand up, even Larry. The atmosphere was brutal and everyone knew that if they were busy eating cake then they wouldn't have to make any effort to strike up stupid, pointless conversation.

‘Danny,' said Mick while licking the last of his cream from his fork. ‘Get your ball out from the cupboard and bring Jonathon 
outside for a kickabout.'

Danny jumped up.

‘Are you on, Jonathon?'

Before Jonathon even considered answering he glanced over at his dad.

Larry said nothing, but his facial expression said clearly, No way, young man!

‘Ah come on, Larry,' said Mick.

Regina became very twitchy in her seat, wondering if a repeat of last year's episode between the two brothers was going to start off again.

She decided to take control.

‘Darling, Jonathon, just go out for a few minutes with Daniel. We'll be leaving shortly.'

‘Why don't you go and play too, Lowry,' suggested Granny with more cake in her mouth than teeth.

Lowry panicked.

‘I don't think so, Gran. I just got a new pair of shoes.' 

Granny looked down to check.

‘Oh! They're lovely. Did you get them in Dunnes Stores? Yes! I'm sure I saw them in Dunnes.'

Jonathon laughed as he and Danny were going out the door.

Lowry couldn't keep up the polite game. Granny had gone too far with that comment and the thought of Jonathon repeating it to any of her friends made her heave.

‘Oh my God! Granny! These are Nine West!'

Outside, Danny was telling Jonathon more about his trial with the Dublin team.

‘Here, catch!' said Danny and he fisted the ball to his cousin.

Jonathon caught the ball and just stood there with it.

‘Kick it back!' said Danny.

Jonathon looked around to check if his dad was watching.

Danny noticed his cousin's reluctance to be 
seen participating.

‘Why won't your dad let you play football?' asked Danny.

This conversation was leading him into unfamiliar territory. Danny didn't know anybody who wouldn't be allowed to play football.

Jonathon was a little embarrassed now, so he copied Danny's pass and fisted the ball back to him.

‘Nice pass! Would you like to play football?' asked Danny.

‘I suppose so,' answered Jonathon. ‘I've never had the opportunity, so I'm not sure if I'd like it or not.'

‘Are you mad?' argued Danny. ‘You'd love it. It's great fun. A real buzz!'

‘Really?' Jonathon was beginning to like the sound of it.

Just as the two boys were beginning to enjoy the game, the Bentley bleeped three times and Larry barged out of the flat. 

‘Into the car, Jonathon!' ordered Larry.

Regina followed him, with Lowry trailing behind.

‘Laurence!' screeched Regina. ‘You can't leave on these terms.'

Danny and Jonathon looked at each other, and without saying anything each cousin knew what the other was thinking. Their dads had just had their annual disagreement.

‘Come on in, Danny,' said Mick as the Bentley disappeared down the road.

‘What happened?' asked Danny. He was a bit annoyed; he was actually enjoying talking to his cousin.

‘Your daddy and your uncle,' answered Granny. ‘That's what happened. I'm sick to death of yiz at each other's throats. For heavens sake, I'd wish yiz would just bury the hatchet and try to move on.'

‘Right, Mam! We're off. Happy birthday. I love you!' said Mick as he grabbed his coat with unusual urgency. 

‘What's Granny on about?' asked Danny.

‘Just give your granny a hug and a kiss, son,' insisted Mick, and he nodded a look to Danny as if to say, And mind your own business as well.

O
n Monday morning in Irish class Danny was telling Splinter how excited he was about his trial on Friday and that he felt sorry for his cousin Jonathon who wasn’t even allowed to play football.

‘What colour is your uncle’s Bentley?’ asked Splinter, who was car-mad. ‘Is it a soft top? Marky Byrne saw a soft top one in town last week. They’re dead rare!’ babbled Splinter.

Just as Danny was about to answer, Mr O’Shea stopped reading.

Danny and Splinter looked up to see Mr O’Shea staring down at them.

‘Would Mr Wilde and Mr Murphy care to
share with us exactly what is so important that you have to discuss it while I’m reading?’

Danny and Splinter buried their heads in their books. They weren’t even on the right page.

‘Stand up, boys,’ ordered Mr O’Shea.

As Danny stood up, the teacher asked the question again – he wasn’t about to let it go.

‘Em, football, sir,’ answered Danny. ‘Gaelic football.’

This was a clever move by Danny; he knew that Mr O’Shea was a passionate GAA supporter. Sure it would be a county crime if he wasn’t as he hailed from ‘The Kingdom’ itself!

‘GAA you say, Danny.’

This was a good sign, he had addressed Danny by his first name.

Danny quickly elaborated on his answer.

‘Yes, sir! We were just talking about how Kerry has won the most All-Ireland Finals.’

Mr O’Shea smiled. He was onto Danny, 
but he admired the boy’s ingenuity and also enjoyed the fact that all the other boys were now looking at Danny and wondering why he was talking about Kerry and not the Dubs.

‘Is that right, Wilde?’

Bad sign! thought Danny. O’Shea’s reverted back to surnames.

‘So tell me, Wilde. Do you know how many times Kerry has won the All-Ireland, then?’

Splinter leaned his right leg against his desk, just enough to discreetly rest a sufficient amount of body weight on it without being accused of slumping. Splinter, along with Danny and every other pupil in the class, knew what was coming. Mr O’Shea was about to kick into ‘Kerry Mode’, and they were probably in for a long speech about how wonderful the ‘Kingdom’ was and how Kerry was the best GAA team.

Danny thought he had worked out the right answer. 

‘Em! I think it’s about twenty-five times, sir.’

‘Wrong, Wilde, by a long shot!’ Mr O’Shea was chuffed. He had a smile now on his face that Danny recognised – the same smile that Danny had seen on the faces of forty thousand Kerry men, women and children in Croke Park, the day he witnessed Kerry knock the Dubs out of the All-Ireland semis.

‘Thirty-five times the magnificent Sam has travelled down to the Kingdom!’ answered Mr O’Shea. ‘And do you know how many times Kerry has beaten the Dubs?’ continued Mr O’Shea. He was on a roll now; he could almost feel the insults that every pupil in the class was hurling at him in their minds. He didn’t care. He was enjoying the moment.

Danny decided that enough was enough. This was battle, just like on the playing field and he was going to hit back with a score of his own, a big score.

‘Em! I’m not too sure about that one either, 
Sir, but I can tell you one time when the Dubs beat Kerry.’

‘Is that right, Wilde? One time the Dubs beat Kerry!’ Mr O’Shea chuckled.

‘Yeah, Sir! It was the best game of football ever. The ’77 semi-final. And the Dubs won it!’

‘That’s right, Wilde.’

Mr O’Shea wasn’t smiling anymore. Danny had tugged on the one thorn that stuck deep in the side of every Kerry supporter. The ’77 semi. It was the greatest contest of football ever played in the land, and Danny Wilde knew it, and had just announced it to everyone else in the class.

‘You’re a bit young to know about that match, Wilde,’ quizzed Mr O’Shea.

‘It’s his favourite, Sir,’ intervened Splinter who was now half-sitting on his desk. ‘He even named his dog “Heffo” after the Dubs’ manager.’

‘Straighten up, Murphy!’ yelled Mr O’Shea. 

That was the end of all GAA talk. Mr O’Shea picked up reading where he had left off, just to show Danny that although he acknowledged that score – that very big score – he would have the last say.

The two boys remained standing for the rest of Irish class, which was almost like Chinese torture. It was hard enough to try and stay awake in Irish class sitting down without the burden of having to stand through it.

On the way home from school, Danny and Splinter swapped compliments on how the other had stood up to the teacher and put him in his place.

‘Ah! But you topped it off Danny, bringing up the ’77 semi!’

‘Yeah!’ smirked Danny. ‘My da always said …’ and Splinter joined in, ‘… If you’re ever in a battle of GAA talk with a Kerry supporter, just mention the ’77 semi.’

Later that evening, Danny told Mick all about that day’s Irish class.

‘Don’t be winding up your teachers, son,’ advised Mick.

‘But Dad! I couldn’t help it. He kept going on about Kerry this and Kerry that and then he started picking on the Dubs.’

‘Did you mention the ’77 semi?’ asked Mick with great anticipation of the answer.

‘I did!’ Danny answered with pride bursting from the seams.

‘I bet he went all quiet,’ said Mick.

‘Not another word, Da!’

Mick was in great humour now, and he decided that they should order a curry to celebrate Danny’s trial with the Dublin team, and just to top the evening off, he dug out the ’77 semi video.

When the doorbell rang, Danny answered the door. It was their curry arriving.

‘How much do we owe him, son?’ asked Mick. 

‘Nine eighty,’ answered the curry man.

‘I’ll be back in a second,’ said Danny.

When Danny returned with the money, the curry man was stretching his head as far around the door as possible to catch a glimpse of the match. He jumped back when Danny came running out.

‘Eh, that wouldn’t be the ’77 All-Ireland semi between the Dubs and Kerry, would it?’

‘It would indeed!’ Mick yelled out. ‘Do you want to watch a bit of it?’

Almost as soon as the words had left Mick’s lips, the curry man was on the couch, dipping the very chips he’d just delivered into poor Danny’s rapidly-declining tub of sauce, and howling, ‘Up the Dubs!’ at the telly.

Danny, his dad and the curry man rode an emotional rollercoaster as they watched the Kerrymen charge at the Dubs and, in rapid response, the Dubs counterattack the boys from the Kingdom. The ultimate Dublin piece of warrior showmanship came when 
Dubs’ defender, Sean Doherty, plucked a long Kerry free kick out of the air and harm’s way and sent it up field.

The three sofa spectators watched in awe as the Dubs battled and grinded the ball out of the chaotic midfield up to the hands of Tony Hanahoe, who passed it to Bernard Brogan, who charged towards the Kerry goal and then unleashed a thundering shot that saw the ball rip past the Kerry goalkeeper and smash into the now fragile and battered netting.

Danny, his dad and the curry man leapt off the sofa and celebrated as if they had travelled back in time and were amongst all the fans in Hill 16.

Danny fell asleep that night thinking about the legends of GAA history and dreaming that by Friday evening he could be taking his first steps to becoming a Dublin legend himself.