Specky Magee (3 page)

‘I think I might get him this.’ Robbo and Specky had wandered into a bookstore, and Robbo was holding up a book about footy legend Tony Lockett.

‘Is this gift for you or for your dad?’ asked Specky, smirking.

‘For Dad, what d’ya reckon?’ said Robbo.

‘Do you think Lockett’s a legend because of his dad? I bet
his
father loved footy.’

Robbo looked confused. He wasn’t sure what Specky was getting at. ‘Yeah, um, sure,’ he replied.

Specky watched his friend walk over to the counter to purchase the book. For a moment, he wished
he
was the one buying a gift like that for his father. It would be really cool to
flip through the pages of a footy book with Dad, he thought. That would never happen though.

Specky and Robbo made their way back to Robbo’s house. Once there, they grabbed Robbo’s Sherrin and headed out onto the quiet tree lined street for a friendly kick-to-kick.

‘So, did you find any other pictures?’ asked Robbo.

He booted the ball to Specky, who marked it on his chest.

‘No, just the one.’

Specky kicked the footy back. Robbo fumbled, letting the ball drop to the road.

‘Car!’ yelled Specky.

Both he and Robbo strolled over to the footpath, to let the vehicle pass.

‘Let me have a look again,’ shouted Robbo.

‘What?’ asked Specky.

‘Let me look at the picture again.’

Specky made his way over to Robbo and handed him the photograph.

Robbo squinted his eyes so he could thoroughly examine the photo.

‘What? What are you trying to look for?’ asked Specky, looking over Robbo’s shoulder.

‘Was this picture taken at your house?’

‘No, it looks like someone else’s, we don’t have yellow walls,’ said Specky. ‘Why?’

‘Did you notice that in the background there’s a photograph hanging on the wall? It looks like a portrait of a couple or something, but it’s too small to see it clearly. I bet whoever is in that picture is probably the owner of the house,
and
the person who took this photo.’

Specky screwed up his face at Robbo. ‘When did you become Sherlock Holmes?’

‘Look, I’m just trying to help. If you don’t…’

‘No, no, I do!’ said Specky. ‘It’s just too bad we can’t see the background more clearly.’

‘Maybe we can,’ said Robbo. ‘Follow me.’

Specky followed Robbo back into his house, and they made their way into Robbo’s father’s study.

‘Give me your photo,’ said Robbo. ‘I’m going to scan it, then put it on the computer screen.’

Specky watched as Robbo swiftly operated his father’s super-advanced computer equipment. Robbo’s dad was a graphic designer, so he always had the latest stuff.

‘There you go.’ mumbled Robbo. Robbo had successfully managed to transfer the baby image of Specky onto the computer screen. ‘Now all we
have to do is enlarge the background section.’ With a few clicks of the mouse, Robbo blew up the image.

‘Oh man, I thought it would work. Sorry, Speck.’

Unfortunately, when the image was enlarged, it was very blurry. Specky could make out the shape of a man and woman’s head but couldn’t exactly see their faces.

‘That’s all right, thanks for trying,’ said Specky, somewhat disappointed.

‘Why don’t you ask your dad about the picture?’

‘Yeah, I s’pose I should. I hope it doesn’t freak him out like it did Mum.’

‘Well, if it does, then you know for sure they’re hiding something from you. Maybe they really love footy and they just don’t want to admit it,’ said Robbo.

‘Yeah right!’ scoffed Specky. ‘In my dreams! Nah, it’s something else…but what?’

For the rest of the afternoon, Specky and Robbo listened to the AFL games on the radio. In particular they liked listening to Rex Hunt. They loved the way he would make any game sound so exciting! Occasionally they paused to play some Wii games, but Specky couldn’t
concentrate—his thoughts kept turning back to the photograph.

Eventually, Specky left Robbo’s house and headed home. When he walked through the front door, he was surprised to see his father and mother seated together on the couch. It looked as if they had been waiting for him.

‘How are you, son?’ asked Specky’s father nervously.

‘I’m fine,’ answered Specky, in a confused tone. There was an awkward pause. The way that Specky and his folks stared at one another without saying a single word was very strange. Specky could tell that his parents had been discussing something quite serious before he walked in. And by the looks on their faces, it was obvious that the discussion was about him.

‘Well, if that’s all, I’ve got things to do,’ Specky said as he quickly thumped up the stairs to the study, where he hopped in front of the computer.

Specky chewed at his fingernails as he waited for the screen to boot-up.

That was really weird, thought Specky. He was totally baffled by his parents’ odd behaviour.

Specky clicked his way into a football chat room, and a message appeared on the screen. It was from CHRISkicks.

CHRISkicks
: Hey!

FOOTYHEAD
: Hey!

CHRISkicks
: The Blues won! Did all your teams win?

FOOTYHEAD
: Um…I think so.

CHRISkicks
: What did you do this afternoon?

Specky decided to tell his online friend everything about the photograph, how his family were a non-football family, and how he missed kicking a goal that day. He practically told this complete stranger his entire life story.

CHRISkicks
: Wow! That’s some story.

FOOTYHEAD
: Yeah, well, sorry I bored you.

CHRISkick
s: No, you didn’t. Weird, about that photo. Hey, did you ever wonder if you were adopted?

CHRISkicks
: Hello?

CHRISkicks
: Are you there?

CHRISkicks
: HELLO???

Specky froze. ‘That’s it. Maybe I’m adopted?’

Specky abruptly ended his conversation with CHRISkicks. The thought of being adopted wasn’t to be taken lightly. Specky wasn’t sure how he would feel if it turned out to be true.

He went into his bedroom and nervously kicked a plastic toy football around, bouncing it off the walls.

Specky started to wonder who his real parents were if he was adopted. And why did they get rid of him? It would explain a lot of things, though, like why he was so good at footy and his dad wasn’t.

Specky suddenly had another thought. He took out the photograph from his pocket and stared at it again.

He decided that his
real
dad must have taken the picture and that
he
was the one who wrote on the back of it. Maybe he barracked for Geelong, which would mean that he loves footy, too. And maybe he was a champion player himself, and that was where Specky got his talent from.

Specky grinned to himself as he fantasised about the endless possibilities of having a dad who loved footy. Then he snapped out of it and his smile vanished.

This is crazy, he thought. He couldn’t be adopted. He loved his mum and dad. They were his
real
parents.

Specky shoved the photograph into his sock drawer, determined to forget the whole thing, believing he was just being foolish to even consider such a thought. But that was easier said than done. For the next week, Specky went about his usual everyday business. He attended school, did his homework, watched his favourite TV shows, went to football training, and hung out with Robbo and Danny. But as hard as he tried, he couldn’t keep his mind off the photograph and the idea that he could be adopted.

‘Hey, Alice, can I ask you something?’ Specky said as he entered his sister’s room.

‘What? Can’t you see I’m on the phone!’ she snapped. Alice was always on the phone. She lived on it. ‘Hang on, my little brother is annoying me again,’ she said to the person on the other end, then pressed the phone up against her chest. ‘What? What do you wanna ask me? This better not be another lousy footy question.’

Specky cleared his throat. He was going to ask his sister straight out about the possibility of being adopted. If anyone knew anything to do with family matters, she did. Alice knew everything about everyone, he thought.

‘Um, well, it’s about…’

‘What? Hurry up! I haven’t got all day. What’s your question?’

Specky felt pressured by his sister and decided to change his question at the last second.

‘Um, can you remember when I was born and when Mum brought me back from the hospital?’ he asked.

Alice let out a huge annoyed huff. ‘You’ve got to be kidding! I was only two years old when you were born. Honestly, how should I know? You were always there following me, getting in the way—like now! So if you have
no more questions, get lost! I’m only talking to the
hottest
guy in school.’

Specky left Alice’s room and pondered his sister’s answer.

‘Well, maybe I’m not adopted. And if I was, then she definitely doesn’t know a thing about it,’ he concluded.

Saturday morning arrived and Specky was scoffing down his breakfast. He was rushing to get ready for another footy game with his school team.

‘Slow down or you’ll choke!’ said Specky’s dad, who was reading the morning papers, which he had spread out across the table.

‘So Dad, you think you might see me play today, catch the last quarter maybe?’ said Specky hopefully, as he gulped down the last spoonful of his cereal.

‘Sorry?’ Specky’s dad looked at him blankly.

It was obvious that his father had forgotten that today was the day that Coach Pappas was going to hold a mid-season barbecue after the game, in honour of the team’s parents. Specky
had told his dad a few weeks back about the event.

‘Oh yes, yes, I remember. What time is that again? Yes, I’ll try to be there for the barbecue but I can’t be sure if I’ll make it to see you actually play. And we won’t be able to stay long at the barbecue either. You know this is a big day for me. I’ve got the launch of the Vladimir Belsky exhibition later this afternoon.’

Specky gave his father a questioning look as if to say, Vladimir who?

‘You know, Vladimir Belsky the world-famous Russian sculptor. It’s taken me years to get him and his work down here to Australia. There’s going to be press, photographers—everyone. Which reminds me, take some good clothes with you to change into after the game. I’ll pick you up and then we’ll head straight to the gallery. Your mother and sister will meet us there. This is going to be a great day for all of us.’

Yeah, it would be an even better day if you came to see me play, thought Specky. He forced himself to smile back at his father, deeply hoping that, Russian sculptor or not, this wish would come true.

When Specky got to the school oval he was greeted by his team-mates and Coach Pappas.

‘Alright, boys, warm-up time. I don’t want any of you doing yourself an injury ‘cause you haven’t loosened up properly.’

Specky and his team-mates did their usual interval sprints and stretching until they were ready for the game to begin.

Specky made his way to the goal square. He was chosen to play full-forward again, and was determined to make amends for last week’s game.

‘Okay, focus, no thinking of Dad, the photo, or anything other than the game,’ Specky said to himself.

The other team made their way onto the oval. Specky’s opponent marched his way over towards him. Specky went to shake his opponent’s hand as he did at the beginning of every match, to wish the other team a good game.

But this particular full-back was having none of it. ‘Yeah, whatever!’ he sneered, ignoring Specky’s sportsman like gesture.

‘Great, another one,’ Specky mumbled to himself.

The umpire blew his whistle and held the ball aloft to signal the beginning of the game. He
bounced the ball hard against the centre of the turf and the game began. Robbo was the first to get his clenched fist to the ball. He punched it long and direct to one of Specky’s team-mates. Coach Pappas and the parents, who were standing either side of the oval, cheered. It was a great start for Booyong High.

In less than a minute the ball had already made its way down to the forward-line. Specky tussled with the full-back as the ball was kicked in his direction. The full-back grabbed hold of Specky’s jumper, deliberately not letting him break away. The umpire quickly spotted this unfair play and sharply blew on his whistle. He awarded Specky the free kick. Specky’s opponent protested and swore at the umpire.

‘Another outburst like that from you, and you’ll be sent off the ground!’ warned the umpire.

Specky knew how hard it was to umpire a game. He had volunteered to umpire an Under 8 Auskick game earlier in the year and couldn’t believe how difficult it was to make split-second decisions. He made a promise to himself that he would never argue with the umpire and would always accept their
decision whether he thought it was right or wrong. Specky thought that some of the AFL players who argued with the umpire looked silly and childish, and he suspected that they only did this as a way of covering up their own mistakes.

Specky went back to take his free kick. He was positioned in the same place as he had been the week before, when he had missed his chance of getting the winning six points. But this time there was no room for mistakes. Specky punted the ball directly through the middle of the big sticks.

For the rest of the first quarter and for the rest of the game, Specky’s team trampled all over the opposition, Tremont High Tigers. Their ball handling and team skills were simply far superior.

As for Specky, he was on fire. He was playing the game of his life. He had already kicked an incredible nine goals and there were still ten minutes remaining in the last quarter. Tremont High did everything they could to stop him. They even resorted to playing dirty, keeping in line with their reputation. They tried to trip, punch and
injure Specky in any way they could. But Specky was too nimble and agile for them all. He ducked, twisted and turned, avoiding all their dirty tactics. None of them could lay a hand on him.

It was times like this that he was thankful Coach Pappas had introduced skipping rope as part of their training. At first the boys complained that skipping was for sissies, but Specky soon realised that it really helped him with his fitness and kept him light on his feet during the game. He skipped for 10 minutes before and after training.

Specky glanced over towards the boundary line. He quickly looked for his dad—but there was no sign of him.

‘Specky!’ It was Danny signalling that the ball was on its way. He had just kicked it towards Specky. Once again, Specky made a remarkable dash for it. He then athletically leaped for the ball like some World Cup soccer goalie, grabbing it securely with the tips of his fingers then sliding across the damp grass on his stomach. Specky had successfully taken another mark.

He then got up, casually pulled up his socks, flipped the ball in his hands a couple of times then lined up his kick.

Former Western Bulldogs legend, Chris Grant, had once come to Specky’s school and conducted a football clinic, and had spoken about the importance of having a set routine when kicking for goal. You need to know exactly where the man on the mark will stand and how many paces you will take before you kick; the importance of keeping the ball still in your hands and over your kicking leg leading up to the kick; and the need to drop the ball straight onto your boot and finish with a strong follow-through. Specky also liked to pick out a target directly behind the goals, like a tree or a lamppost, to aim at. It sounded like a lot to remember at the time, but Specky had practised for hours each night, and now he was able to go through his routine without even thinking about it.

Before making contact with the ball, Specky took one last look over towards the boundary line. He wished his dad were there to see this at least.

But he wasn’t. Specky took his kick, and booted his tenth goal for the game—a personal record. The umpire blew his whistle and the game was over. Specky’s team-mates rushed to his side to congratulate him on his sensational performance, and to celebrate their convincing win.