Rugby Spirit (7 page)

T
raining next morning was cancelled, to Eoin’s relief, as the first snows of winter had started to roll in off Dublin Bay. It reminded Eoin that Christmas was just around the corner and he would soon be going home to Tipperary.

The next week was spent studying for tests, but Mr Carey told them at practice that the second round of the cup would be held on the Saturday after the end of term, so Eoin would have to delay his return home.

‘Good news for you, Madden, we’re playing away in Rostipp – not too far from your place I think?’ Carey said.

Rostipp
, thought Eoin,
that’s where a few of the lads from primary school went. If they had taken up rugby, that would make it interesting.

The Christmas exams went well enough for Eoin,
although he still struggled with Maths and was
completely
outfoxed by Mr Finn’s History paper.

‘I always mix up Daniel O’Connell and Charles Stewart Parnell,’ he explained to his father when he called to the school to collect his cases on the last day of term.

Mr Madden laughed and told his son not to worry.

‘Mr Finn is a decent man, he knows how hard you’ve been working.’

That shut Eoin up for a few seconds as they finished packing the car.

‘I hate having to stay over tonight,’ he said, ‘but Mr Carey wants us all to go down on the bus together.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said his dad, ‘It’s just one more night and your mum and I will be there tomorrow.’

‘And Grandad?’ asked Eoin.

‘Well … I don’t think he’s up to it really. He’s been home a few weeks now, but he hasn’t been out and a trip like that might be too much for him. You’ll see him a lot when we get home – he’s moved into your room!’

Eoin was a bit put out that he wouldn’t be getting his old room, but if there was anyone in the world he would give it up for, it was his grandad.

He said goodbye to his dad, and wandered back into the school. Most of his friends had left for home and just
Rory – who was on the bench for the As – remained in the Dixie Dorm.

‘Well, Eoin,’ he said, ‘that was quite an introduction to Castlerock for you!’

‘I know,’ he replied, ‘I think I would have preferred to keep my head down and stay on the Cs, but it’s been fun some of the time.’

‘Come on!’ said Rory, ‘There’s hundreds of guys in this school who would love to have half your talent as a player. Forget the likes of Duffy and Flanagan, the rest of the school are delighted that you’ve come here, even if they don’t know it yet.’

Eoin looked out the window as the last of the
boarders
drifted away. A knock came to the door.

‘Madden, Grehan, come with me,’ said Mr Carey, ‘team meeting.’

They followed the coach downstairs to the dining hall, where the table was set for about thirty.

‘The 13As are a fantastic group of players, in whom we have great hopes for the future,’ said Mr McCaffrey. ‘We’ve decided in the circumstances to throw a little Christmas party for a special group of young men.’

Eoin and Rory squeezed in at the end of the table just as a dozen of the teachers carried in plates piled high with turkey and ham.

‘Do enjoy yourselves,’ said Mr McCaffrey, ‘But remember there’s an important game at 1pm
tomorrow
in County Tipperary. We won’t have any Christmas pudding or cake for you after this, and I hope you all get a good night’s sleep and head into the holidays with another victory under your belts.’

An hour later Eoin and Rory hauled themselves upstairs with grave doubts about their ability to run anywhere fast within the next twenty-four hours.

‘At least I’m just keeping the bench warm,’ groaned Rory.

‘At the rate David Vincent was tucking into seconds I’d say you’ve a good chance of starting,’ came back Eoin.

Next morning Eoin was proved correct, as David Vincent was a peculiar shade of green when they all met up for breakfast. Richie Duffy waved a sausage in front of his face, which caused the scrum-half to leap from his seat and race out of the hall.

‘Looks like you’re the man today, Grehan,’ sneered Duffy. ‘You better be quick getting the ball out to me.’ Rory turned an even darker shade of green than
Vincent
as Duffy’s words sank in.

The bus journey down was quiet, with few takers for the sing-song Charlie Johnston tried to start several times.

Rory and Eoin sat at the back of the bus and, for once, it was Eoin doing all the reassuring. ‘You’ll be fine, Rory,’ he said, ‘You’ve had a great season on the Bs and our pack will mill these guys. Just keep it simple and give Duffy the ball – let
him
mess it up.’

‘Yeah, but if he messes it up he’ll blame me,’ he groaned.

Eoin didn’t have an answer to that.

The bus pulled into the school in Rostipp just as Eoin’s mum and dad were parking their car. He queued to get off the bus, then he trotted over to them.

‘Hi, Mum,’ he called, backing away as his mother tried to give him a hug.

‘Not in front of the guys, eh?’ she chuckled, but with a little disappointment in her voice.

‘I’d be dead if they saw that,’ he replied.

‘Good luck today, son,’ said his dad, ‘we’ll be
supporting
you all the way. It’ll be the first time I’ve ever watched a Madden play rugby.’

Eoin jogged away, realising that his father had never seen Dixie in action and couldn’t tell him about all the great man’s deeds like Mr Finn had.

The team changed into their green and white hoops and ran out to prepare for battle.

‘Madden,’ roared a voice from the other half of the
field, ‘You’re only a fairy.’

Eoin looked across to see a huge, red-faced boy in the colours of Rostipp. ‘Curry’ Ryan was famous in Ormondstown for his enormous appetite and the
loudest
laugh in the county.

‘And you’re only an oversized leprechaun,’ he called back at him.

Duffy turned and glowered at Eoin.

‘Shut up you culchie idiot,’ he snarled. ‘We don’t want to banter with these yokels, we want their blood.’

Eoin turned his back on Richie Duffy and prepared for kick-off.

Rory looked even more nervous now he had seen that the Castlerock pack wouldn’t have it their own way – even Eoin gulped as he saw how big the Tipperary twelve-year-olds were. ‘Curry’ Ryan was enormous, but even he had to tilt his head back to look at the pair of brothers who were playing in the second row.

Eoin’s former primary school classmates, Roger and George Savage, were the youngest sons of a man who once played in goal for the Tipperary hurlers. Neither he nor his sons were the sharpest pencils in the pencil case, but he famously went two whole seasons without conceding a goal for the county. It looked like nothing much got past the sons either.

The game started cautiously, with Castlerock taking their time to assess their opponents. Rory was careful to ensure the ball went straight to Duffy’s hands, and the out-half kicked the first three balls he received.

‘OK, Duffy, time to bring the backs into it,’ called out Mr Carey.

It became clear as the game went on that Rostipp were a limited side, and that there was little pace in their backline. The forwards were strong and pushed the
Castlerock
pack around, but Glen Fox at hooker was very quick with the heel and Rory was getting plenty of possession.

With ten minutes to the break Castlerock won a scrum and Rory flicked the ball quickly to Duffy, who was so surprised at how fast the ball came back that he instantly passed it on. Eoin realised that he had the ball in his hands for the first time in the game, and wasn’t going to waste a rare opportunity.

The Rostipp centres looked nervously at each other as Eoin headed for the gap between them. He waited till the last moment when the two defenders dived, and his sidestep left the Rostipp players with only each other for company.

Eoin was through then, and jogged over the line to touch down under the posts. Duffy converted and at
half-time the Dublin school were still 7-0 up.

‘I’m not too happy with this,’ griped Mr Carey, ‘We’re letting a far inferior team push us around and we’re not playing to our strengths at all. You’re getting great
service
from Grehan, Duffy, and you’re not getting the ball out to the wings. This can’t go on.’

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!’

T
he 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.’