Specky Magee (2 page)

‘Chewy on ya boot…woo, woo, ya gonna miss!’ The full-back and his team-mates waved their arms, teased, and did whatever they could to distract Specky. But Specky ignored them all. Determined not to get flustered, he even blocked out the excited screams of the coach and his team-mates’ parents. There was no way he was going to miss this goal. Specky was 15 metres directly in front. It would be a simple straight kick.

But just as he was about to connect his boot to the ball, the full-back player shouted out, ‘Too bad your dad can’t see this, huh?’

Specky’s concentration was instantly broken. The full-back’s comment ran over and over in Specky’s mind as he executed the kick. The ball
made contact with the side of his boot and veered in a wobbly, sharp-right direction—away from the goals. Specky had missed! The unexpected ‘shocker’ resulted in scoring only a measly single behind. It was the worst kick of Specky’s life. He had lost the game for his team—he couldn’t believe it. Nor could his team-mates, who stood there stunned as the opposite side celebrated their victory. Specky was so embarrassed. He couldn’t bear to look at his team as they sadly dawdled back to the changing rooms.

‘I’m sorry, Coach, I didn’t mean…’ Before Specky had a chance to apologise, Coach Pappas stopped him.

‘Don’t worry about it, kid, even AFL champions can have their bad luck moments. That’s what makes footy so great—it’s always so unpredictable. So let it go. You played a great game. In fact, I’m happy with everyone’s game today.’

Specky was slightly comforted by his coach’s sympathetic compliment, but he still couldn’t help feeling disappointed in himself, and sorry for his team.

‘See ya, Speck. Have a good weekend. Carn the Pies!’ shouted Danny Castelino.

Danny and his dad, and all of Specky’s other team-mates, were leaving to get on with the rest of the weekend. Danny was a die-hard Collingwood supporter, and most Saturdays after the game he and his family would go and barrack for their beloved black-and-white team. They were proud paid-up members.

‘You mean, “Go Swans!”’ shouted Robbo, an avid Sydney supporter whose family had moved from the harbour city to Melbourne a few years ago.

‘Did you want a lift home?’ asked Robbo’s father. Robbo’s family lived only two streets away from Specky’s house.

‘No thanks, Mr Roberts. Dad shouldn’t be too much longer,’ said Specky.

But Specky may have spoken too soon. He watched everyone leave, until he was the only one left, waiting patiently for his father to collect him. The time ticked by—ten, twenty, thirty minutes passed and still no sign of his dad. Specky decided to read a newspaper that one of the dads had left behind. He naturally turned to the sporting pages first and read up on the AFL weekend games. But a particular article caught his eye. He slowly read it. It was all about some university research which
speculated that having a talent for playing football could be genetically passed on from one generation to the next. Specky reread part of the article:

Football blood. How deep does it run? If your father and his father before him were footy champions, then it’s likely that you are destined to be a champion yourself—either at school, the local club or at a professional level. Look at the great champion families in AFL: the Hudsons, the Lloyds, the Silvagnis, the Fletchers, the Cloaks, the Abletts…

Huh? thought Specky. His mind was racing. He thought about his own dad and himself. They were total opposites. His father wasn’t into sport, especially football. He hadn’t even played it as a kid at school. He absolutely hated footy.

‘Football runs this city and state—it’s on most nights of the week nowadays. There’s footy TV shows on network and cable, you can’t get away from it!’ his dad would often whine.

In fact it was no surprise that when Specky expressed his interest in playing the game
several years ago by wanting to be a part of Auskick, his dad had forbidden it. ‘Football’s a barbaric sport! I’m not allowing my child to get hurt on purpose! What about if I arrange tennis or badminton lessons instead?’ he suggested. But Specky had persisted. He pleaded with his dad for weeks on end, until eventually it paid off. He was finally permitted to play. Since then, there had been many times when Specky privately yearned for his father to just join him in the backyard for a friendly kick-to-kick game, or come and watch him play for his school. Even his team-mates’ parents thought it was kind of sad that Specky’s dad hadn’t made any effort to support his son—especially since he was one of the team’s best players.

Specky knew his father loved him, but he was never going to share Specky’s enthusiasm for football. Specky was finding it increasingly difficult to get used to the fact that his father was a non-footy dad. Even his mother and his older sister couldn’t care less about the game. Not once did his family get excited about things like the Brownlow Medal or that special ‘one day’ in September.

Specky glanced down at the newspaper article again. He wondered if he had any footy-blood
in him at all. If he did, it certainly wasn’t from his mum or dad, he thought.

One hour later, Specky’s father finally turned up. Specky moped over to the car and got into the front passenger seat.

‘I’m sorry I’m late, son. I have to blame work again.’ Specky’s father was the owner of an art gallery. ‘I was stuck at the airport waiting for this incredibly talented Peruvian artist to fly in, and his plane was late. So, how did my front-forward man play?’

‘
Full-forward,
Dad, not front-forward!’ Specky sighed and gloomily dropped his head against the car window.

As soon as Specky got home he ran upstairs to the study, plonked himself in front of the computer and began surfing the net. He checked out all his favourite footy blogs and sites, which he loved to do.

‘Hey, squirt, my notebook is getting repaired. Get off!’ It was Specky’s older sister, Alice, barging in. She was 14, and very bossy.

‘No! Rack-off!’ snapped Specky. He wasn’t in any mood to argue with his sister after the day he’d had.

Alice leaned over his shoulder to take a closer look at the computer screen. ‘Arggh! Always footy. There’s more on the net than
footy,
you know,’ she scoffed, then stormed out of the room.

Specky frowned. ‘Well, not for me there isn’t…’ he mumbled to himself.

Specky clicked on to a footy forum site and was instantly messaged by someone called
CHRISkick
s. Specky’s user name was
FOOTYHEAD.
Not surprisingly, the username ‘Specky’ was already taken.

CHRISkicks
: Hi. Who do you think is going to win the game between the Crows and the Kangaroos today?

FOOTYHEAD
: The Kangaroos. How old are you?

CHRISkicks
: I’m 12 and that’s the truth, I swear. I know people lie heaps in these chat rooms.

FOOTYHEAD
: Yeah, I know. There’s a few freaks out there. I’m 12, too.

CHRISkicks
: So who do you barrack for? I barrack for Carlton. Come on the mighty Blues!

FOOTYHEAD
: Is that where you live, in Carlton?

CHRISkicks
: Yes. Do you live in Melbourne or somewhere else in Australia?

FOOTYHEAD
: Yeah, I live in Melbourne, in Camberwell.

CHRISkicks
: So, you must barrack for Hawthorn then? Since you live near there.

FOOTYHEAD
: No, I don’t.

CHRISkicks
: Then who do you follow?

FOOTYHEAD
: Well, I don’t barrack for one team exactly. I barrack for five teams!

CHRISkicks
: You what? That’s crazy! How can you barrack for five teams?

It was true. As long as Specky could remember, he was unable to support just
one
AFL team. His friends, especially Robbo and Danny, used to affectionately tease him about it. They originally thought it was a cop-out, and pressured him for a long time to make up his mind and choose only one team. But Specky couldn’t. He was an avid fan of the actual game
rather than any specific team. So he decided to support a group of teams that he felt he had some sort of personal connection with. They were Essendon, West Coast Eagles, Brisbane Lions, Collingwood and Sydney. Essendon, because if he wasn’t going to grow up to be a professional footy player, he would pursue a career as a fighter-bomber pilot. West Coast Eagles, because his grandfather lives in Perth, and he considers him to be pretty cool. Brisbane Lions because his school team are the Lions. And finally, Sydney because Robbo barracks for them; and Collingwood because of Danny.

CHRISkicks
: So what happens if two of your teams get in the Grand Final. Who do you go for then?

FOOTYHEAD
: I flip a coin to decide.

CHRISkicks
: That’s SO weird!

‘Simon! I need your help please!’ It was Specky’s mother calling for him. She always called Specky by his real name, Simon. Specky’s family members were the only ones to call him Simon. Everyone else, including
Specky’s teachers, called him Specky—which he preferred.

Specky said a hurried goodbye to his new online friend and logged off to join his mother. She was cleaning out her wardrobe.

‘Darling, I want you to take these boxes to the spare room. I’m making some more space here for my clothes. Thanks,’ she said.

Specky obliged. Most of the heavy boxes were filled with general family memorabilia. While stacking the boxes away, Specky’s curiosity got the better of him, and he casually started to sift through them. He was especially interested in one box that was piled to the top with loose photographs.

Specky chuckled to himself as he flipped through the images. In particular, a photo taken a year ago, showing Robbo, Danny and himself with birthday cake smeared across their faces. Specky remembered they’d had a huge food fight—it was full-on!

Specky continued to sift through the photos until he stumbled onto something that caught his attention, exactly the same way the ‘Footy-blood’ newspaper article had done earlier in the day. But this time he wasn’t smiling. It was an old photograph of him when he was about two
years old. Specky knew it was him, but he’d never seen any photos like this one! What made this picture stand out from the rest was how Specky was dressed. He was decked out from head to toe entirely in football clothing—Geelong Cats attire, to be exact. Specky was wearing a Geelong Cats beanie, scarf, jumper, and even baby football boots.

This is so weird, thought Specky. He wondered why his mum and dad had dressed him up in footy gear if they hated the game so much. And why Geelong? They didn’t even know anyone from Geelong.

Specky was totally baffled, but he was determined to find out the answers…

Specky continued to stare at the photograph. He flipped it over, only to discover that there was something written on the back in pen. It read:

Simon, 18 months old.

Future footy champ and Cats supporter.

But I don’t barrack for Geelong, thought Specky.

He examined the handwriting. It didn’t look like his mum or dad’s. He wondered who could possibly have written it.

Just then, Specky’s mum barged into the room. He hurriedly shoved the photograph into his back pocket.

‘I thought you were helping me!’ said Specky’s mother. She noticed the box filled with the family snapshots, and smiled. ‘Oh,
that’s what you’re up to. You’re having a nostalgic moment, are you?’

Specky looked up at her blankly. He was considering whether or not to ask his mother straight out about the strange photograph. But he didn’t know what to say, so he quizzed her with some lead-up questions instead, as if he were a lawyer on television.

‘Mum, do we have any relatives or friends in Geelong?’

‘No. Why?’

‘Just wondering. Do you or Dad have any friends who barrack for Geelong?’

‘You mean the football team?’

Specky nodded.

‘No, we don’t. You know we don’t. What’s all this about?’

‘Um, nothing.’ Specky knew he would have to be more specific. ‘When I was a baby, how did you dress me?’

Specky’s mother had a confused expression on her face. ‘What do you mean, how did I dress you?’

‘Did you ever dress me up in, you know, like funny costumes or anything?’ Specky felt he was closing in on his mum. Just as he had seen on TV so many times before. The lawyer would
surprisingly swoop down on the witness and put them on the spot, with nowhere else to go. His mum would have no other choice but to tell the truth.

‘Never. I never put you in tacky costumes!’ exclaimed Specky’s mum.

‘Well, what about AFL football clothes—scarfs, beanies, boots, all that sort of stuff?’

‘Definitely not! Is this all about you wanting to get football clothes? Because you can if you want, but out of your own pocket money.’

Specky reached into his pocket. It was time to swoop. ‘No, it’s got nothing to do with that.’ He pulled out the photograph and shoved it under his mother’s nose. ‘It’s got to do with this. If you and Dad are against footy so much, then why did you dress me up like this? Can you remember when it was taken? And who wrote on the back of it?’

Specky’s mother took a closer look at the picture, then flipped it over and read the inscription. Specky grinned to himself until he saw his mother suddenly turn pale and serious. Her voice began to quiver as she stumbled to give him an explanation.

‘Um, um, maybe the babysitter dressed you up or something, I can’t remember.’

Specky didn’t believe her. His mother quickly changed the subject. ‘Are you going to help me or not? I can’t stand here and chat all day!’ she snapped, then stormed out of the room.

Specky was more confused than ever now, and completely shocked by his mother’s reaction.

She was obviously hiding something very important from him. But what? he wondered. Specky needed desperately to get some air and to talk this over with a friend. So he decided to head over to Robbo’s house to get his opinion.

‘Hey, I’m glad you’re here!’ shouted Robbo. Robbo was heading out the front door of his house just as Specky was coming through the front gate.

‘Why?’ asked Specky.

‘You can help me try to find a birthday present for my dad. I’m just heading down to the shops.’

So Robbo and Specky made their way to the local shopping centre.

As they browsed through the sports store, Specky showed Robbo the unusual photograph, and filled him in on his mother’s strange reaction to it.

‘Don’t tell me you barrack for the Cats now!’ said Robbo.

‘No, well, I’m not sure. Look, don’t you think it’s weird?’

Specky was a little annoyed that Robbo hadn’t fully understood his concern.

‘I s’pose so,’ he answered. ‘Maybe your mum was right, and it was the babysitter or something. You know, Geelong’s the team to beat at the moment. Maybe you should go for them.’

Specky shook his head and rolled his eyes. Robbo just wasn’t getting it. Instead, he changed the subject and continued to help his friend search for a gift.