Specky Magee and the Boots of Glory

by Felice Arena

  ‘Yeah, right, like we’re worried about a couple of dumb stunts,’ replied Specky, trying to sound tougher than he was feeling.

  ‘Good, so that means you’ll do it then?’

  Specky was overcome with a sudden pressure to answer yes, even though he didn’t know what the boys had in mind for him. By the look on Tim’s face, Specky could tell he felt the same way.

  ‘Well?’ asked Grizza. ‘You’re gonna do it? Or you’re gonna be wimps?’

  Specky felt cornered – he wanted to be accepted by his new friends. Again he looked to Tim and together they shrugged in agreement.

  ‘Yeah, we’ll do it,’ Specky mumbled reluctantly.

  ‘Good,’ grunted Grizza. ‘This is what we want you to do.’

  7. initiation

  For a moment, Specky wondered when the boys had discussed this. Was there some special Gosmore initiation manual they all referred to or something? Specky had flashes of himself dumping a whole bottle of bubble bath into the school fountain, or covering a building in toilet paper.

  ‘Right, we’ll tell you about both stunts, and we’ll leave it up to you two to decide which one you wanna do,’ said Grizza. You can either get your ear pierced. Or you can paint Lance.’

  Everyone snorted and chuckled.

  ‘Who’s Lance?’ asked Specky.

  ‘Lance is Sir Lancelot. He’s part of Gosmore’s mascot. The Knights… get it? He’s one of the school horses.’

  Specky remembered the black stallion and the guy dressed as a knight he had seen parading around the oval last year when he and his Booyong team-mates had come to play against Gosmore in the Diadora Cup match. Danny had put a toy lion on Lance’s back at the end of the game. Back then, and even now, Specky couldn’t believe that a school could have its very own horse, let alone a stable of horses.

  ‘That’s it?’ asked Tim. ‘They’re the stunts? Doesn’t seem like a big deal.’

  Again the boys grinned. Specky knew there had to be a catch.

  ‘Yeah, it sounds easy,’ said Grizza. ‘But…’

  Here it comes, thought Specky.

  ‘Gosmore is really strict. If you get caught doing either of those things they’ll suspend you – you’ll be risking your scholarships.’

  Specky turned to see Worm shooting him a look that clearly said ‘See, I told you’ and ‘I don’t know if you should do this’.

  ‘Okay, I’ll pierce my ear,’ mumbled Tim, not giving Specky a chance to choose.

  ‘Good. Gosmore doesn’t allow any body piercing, so, you’ll have to go through a whole day without being caught,’ said Grizza. ‘Then, Magee, it’s you and Lance. We want you to paint on Lance, “Royals Suck!” then let him loose. Lance has broken out of the stables a few times. And when he does, he always runs off to Salisbury College, ’cause he has the hots for a Shetland pony they have in their stables. Here, hide this.’

  Grizza turned and grabbed a pot of water-based paint and a brush from Piggie and handed them over to Specky.

  ‘We can’t make him do that!’ Worm piped up. ‘What about Nails? Not to mention Lance! That horse is psycho. He’ll probably kill you if you get anywhere near him, Speck.’

  Specky thought of Danny again.

  ‘How bad can he be? When we played you last year, my mate, Danny, got close to him.’

  ‘Then he was lucky. Or maybe Nails was riding Nanny – one of the mares.’

  ‘Awwrh, your geeky little mate is worried for you,’ said Grizza, sarcastically.

  ‘Nah, he’s right,’ said Whispers, stepping forward. ‘Sir Lance is a freak. Sometimes he’s really quiet, but other times he’s just plain nuts! It all depends on what mood he’s in. The only person who can always calm him down is Nails.’

  ‘Who’s Nails?’ asked Specky.

  ‘Mrs Niles. But we call her Old Lady Nails, cause she’s tough as nails. She’s really ancient – I think she’s like eighty or something.’

  ‘But she could still snap Sticks in half! Isn’t that right, Sticks?’ interjected Grizza.

  Sticks didn’t smile. Whispers continued.

  ‘Nails is the equestrian teacher. She teaches Years Eleven and Twelve – but not on Lance. And she’s the one who dresses up as a knight and rides Lance whenever we have big footy games and special events.’

  ‘Okay enough! This is a bloody initiation. Not some girly gossip-about-teachers hour,’ snapped Grizza. ‘Tomorrow Barto’s got to get his ear pierced – I don’t care how you do it. Then the night after that Magee will paint Lance. And if any of you have a problem with that,’ Grizza continued, raising his voice, ‘then you’ll have to face me.’

  For several seconds no one said a word. Specky again caught Worm giving him a worried look. But there was nothing he could do or say. If they wanted to be a member of the team, Specky and Tim were going to have to do this initiation.

  The next morning, every boy on Specky’s floor was hassling Tim about his ear piercing.

  Worm had talked Tim out of trying to do it himself and that afternoon he was going to a chemist in Lovettville where he could have his ear professionally and safely pierced.

  ‘No pain, no gain!’ taunted Piggy. ‘And I thought all full-backs were tough as guts!’

  ‘At least we don’t have to see all the blood and pus and stuff,’ said someone else, laughing.

  ‘Pus and blood?’ Tim gulped, looking worried.

  The following morning Specky tried not to think about what was in store for him. Instead, he decided to stay by Tim’s side for the day.

  Tim was beginning to realise that keeping his stud out of sight from teachers was going to be a lot tougher than he had originally thought.

  In Drama their teacher, Mr Baker, asked the students to do improvisations, acting out personality types that were different from their own. When it was Tim’s turn, he wandered up to the stage area with his left ear stuck against his shoulder, to try to hide the stud.

  ‘Right, Tim, it looks as if you’ve already begun,’ he said. ‘Why the late Princess Diana tilted-head look?’

  Specky wondered how Tim was going to get out of this, and for a brief moment he thought his mate was going to blow it. That is, until Tim replied, ‘I’m shy.’

  The rest of the class broke out laughing, except for Grizza, Piggie and their mates. Specky knew they were hoping Tim would get caught.

  ‘Quiet!’ snapped Mr Baker. ‘This is great! Pretending to be a little shy kid – keep it up, Tim.’

  Specky could tell that even Tim had a hard time trying to keep a straight face.

  ‘Yes, I’m shy, and I’ve lost my mummy. Oh, Mummy, where are you?’ he said in a squeaky voice, getting into the act.

  Specky didn’t know which was funnier, Tim’s performance or the way Mr Baker was getting into it.

  ‘Bravo! Bravo!’ he roared theatrically, clapping loudly. ‘And look, he’s staying in character!’

  Tim wandered back to his seat, with his ear still on his shoulder.

  For the next three periods, Maths, Australian History and English Literature, Tim found it easier to keep his stud out of sight. He could place his hand over it, as if he was propping himself up and listening intently to the teacher lecturing up front. Just as the school day was drawing to an end, though, and Tim was starting to believe he had his initiation in the bag, Mr Stevens popped out of a classroom, in front of him and Specky. It was afternoon recess and both boys had been making their way back to their lockers. Mr Stevens called out to them, his booming voice echoing down the corridor.

  ‘Oh, no! I’m a goner!’ panicked Tim.

  ‘Just run off. I’ll make up some kind of excuse for ya,’ suggested Specky, looking just as worried.

  ‘I can’t. It’s too late. He’ll know something is up!’

  Mr Stevens was now only a few paces away from them.

  ‘Boys!’ he smiled. ‘I’ve been talking to Coach Farrell and he said that you two should… What are you doing, Tim?’

  Specky turned to see that
Tim had shoved his ear up against the corridor wall.

  ‘I’m listening for termites, sir,’ said Tim.

  Specky rolled his eyes.

  There’s no way he’s going to get away with this, he thought, nervously biting his bottom lip.

  ‘Termites?’

  ‘Yeah, termites. We have heaps of them in my place back in Wodonga. I heard some scratching around.’

  ‘Well, that’s very interesting, Tim. But that wall is solid sandstone. Now stand up, please,’ ordered Mr Stevens.

  ‘No, it’s okay…’ Tim answered back.

  ‘I said, stand up!’

  Specky knew this was crunch time. Any second now Mr Stevens would see Tim’s pierced ear. Specky gazed past the principal and saw that he and Tim were being watched by a group of their team-mates. Grizza was smirking, along with Piggie by his side. Specky then spotted Whispers, who had a football in his hand.

  He’s not gonna… Is he? he thought.

  Suddenly, Whispers kicked the footy, spearing it directly at them.

  ‘Look out!’ yelled Specky.

  Specky’s cat-like reflexes came into play. Football is such an unpredictable game that he had learnt to make split-second decisions, without the luxury of thinking them through. No one is ever out of the play in a game of football. A ball may slew off the side of a team-mate’s or opponent’s boot, and you have to be focussed and quick enough to take advantage of it. Greg Williams, the dual Brownlow Medallist, was once described as being a ‘good player in heavy traffic’. Specky had often wondered what that meant, and now he suspected he knew. In the school corridor there was a lot of ‘traffic’ around: students and teachers all rushing from one class to the other, and Specky had to be a good ‘driver’.

  Specky lunged forward and took a safe mark, only centimetres away from the back of the Principal’s head.

  ‘Right! Who did that?’ Mr Stevens shouted, swinging around to face the boys.

  Whispers didn’t own up, and all the boys just shrugged their shoulders as if they hadn’t seen a thing. Mr Stevens wasn’t impressed. For the next few minutes, he gave everyone an earbashing about being irresponsible and then ordered them to class. By the time he turned back to speak to Specky and Tim, Tim had run off down the hall.

  Mr Stevens seemed to have forgotten about Tim anyway. He just thanked Specky for warning him and marched back to his office.

  Thanks to the fact that he had a double period in the library, Tim was able to get through the rest of the school day by burying his head behind a stack of books. So when 9.45 pm rolled around, Tim was safe, and it was Specky’s turn.

  ‘Shut up, will ya?’ Grizza whispered loudly as he and the other boys watched Specky hop onto the windowsill, ready to sneak out. ‘If the monitors wake up, we’re all in deep trouble. Remember, Magee, once you’ve painted Lance, leave the stall and the stable door open for him to get out. He will have to run past here to leave the grounds, so we’ll see your great artwork.’

  ‘How will I know which horse is Lance?’ Specky asked nervously.

  ‘You’ll know,’ sneered Grizza. ‘He’s the one that will be kicking and bucking the most!’

  Specky didn’t know what to say. Worm wished him luck as he climbed out the window and balanced on a large branch of the snow gum that stood near the wall of the dormitory building.

  ‘Lance is in the end stall,’ Worm whispered out the window. ‘Be careful.’

  Slowly, with a torch and a paintbrush in his back pocket, and a tin of white paint in one hand, Specky quietly climbed down the tree.

  Once on the ground, he rushed off into the night in the direction of the stables. He was so nervous he could hear his heart thumping against his chest.

  This is crazy. I can’t believe I’m doing this, he thought, as he ran behind the school’s theatre and the indoor swimming pool.

  A few minutes later, Specky jogged up the steep hill that lead to the back end of the Gosmore grounds.

  As Specky approached the stables he could hear horses whinnying. But he could also hear an intimidating snorting sound. That had to be Lance. Specky was absolutely petrified. He knew the horses could sense he was there, and it looked pitch black inside the stables. Specky slowly unlatched the gate and shuffled a couple of steps inside. As his eyes adjusted a bit to the darkness, he stepped past the stalls of the four mares toward the frightening sounds coming from the end of the stable. Lance was now grunting and neighing loudly.

  ‘Okay, boy, it’s okay,’ Specky choked, inching toward the nervous beast and turning on his torch.

  ‘There you are. Whoa! You’re huge!’

  Specky caught sight of the stallion’s wild eyes staring down at him.

  ‘That’s it, boy. I’m not going to hurt you. So please, don’t kill me,’ continued Specky in his most calming voice, even though his heart was in his throat.

  Specky placed the tin of paint and the brush on the ground, reached for the latch to Lance’s stall and clicked it open. Lance suddenly kicked back, slamming his hooves into the wall behind him – Specky staggered backward and fell over.

  ‘Shoot!’ gasped Specky. ‘He’s gonna kick me to death.’

  He got back up on his feet and waited. He waited and waited – for what seemed an eternity. He stood there, frozen, agonising over whether he had the courage to go through with this initiation. If I don’t do this, so what? What’s Grizza gonna do? he thought. But then they’ll all think I’m a wimp. Which would suck. But I don’t wanna get killed either, or expelled…’

  A thousand thoughts swirled about in Specky’s head.

  Eventually, he gathered all his courage, unlatched the door, rested the torch on the side of the stall and crept inside.

  ‘That’s it. Come on, boy,’ said Specky, lightly stepping forward.

  He put out his hand, and, remarkably, Lance seemed to be settling down.

  The stallion warily moved toward Specky. He froze again – he didn’t even blink. Lance moved in a little closer and sniffed at his hand. Slowly, Specky raised his hand and stroked the side of Lance’s head.

  It took Specky some time before he felt confident enough to move his feet, let alone grab the tin of paint.

  ‘That’s it, boy. This won’t hurt. It might even feel nice. That’s it.’ Specky kept reassuring Lance, as he began painting the message across the horse’s flank. A few minutes later he had finished the job. Specky pushed open the door and tried to shepherd Lance out.

  ‘Come on, boy. Off you go! Go and visit your little pony girlfriend. Go!’ he said.

  But Lance wasn’t budging.

  Okay, let’s try something else, thought Specky, grinning.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ croaked Grizza.

  Grizza and the rest of the boys were pressed up against the dormitory window, shocked by what they saw outside. It was Specky, calmly leading Lance, his hand gripping a bridle that he had slipped over the horse’s face and head. Specky waved to the others as he left Sir Lancelot, with ‘Royals Suck!’ painted on his side, to gallop off freely into the night.

  8. to the office

  When Specky woke up the next morning, he was feeling pretty proud of himself. He was especially chuffed when some of the boys started calling him ‘The Horse Whisperer’ and ‘Dr Dolittle’. And he got a kick out of seeing Grizza staring at him in disbelief.

  But by the time he reached his locker his mood had changed. He and Tim were summoned to the Principal’s office by a Year 7 student.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Tim, rushing up to Specky. ‘You don’t think we’re in trouble, do ya? You don’t think he found out about the initiations, do ya?’

  Specky didn’t know what to say. He was just as worried as his mate.

  ‘Wait in my office,’ said Principal Stevens, poker-faced and not giving any hint about why they were there. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.’

  Specky and Tim wandered into the Principal’s office and sat down on the black leather couch against the back wall.
Specky and Tim looked around the room. It was an enormous office with a large desk and chair underneath a huge bay window. On one wall were photographs of former Principals, including John Regent, the guy who had created the Boots of Glory game. Against the opposite wall stood a glass cabinet filled with trophies, medals and flags.

  ‘Whoa, look at ’em all,’ Specky sighed, getting up to take a closer look. ‘This school has won trophies in everything. And not just footy: rowing, swimming, cricket, rugby, soccer, debating, even choral singing. Check it out, Tim!’

  Specky swung around to see that Tim had moved over behind Principal Stevens’s desk.

  ‘Tim? What are you looking at?’ Then he saw them…

  ‘Wow!’ he choked. ‘Are they the… ?’

  ‘Yep, the Boots,’ stuttered Tim, looking at them in complete awe.

  On top of a pedestal, in a glass case, sat the century-old boots of Fredrick Cooper – the Boots of Glory. Both boys were silent for a moment. Specky ogled the worn leather, the tattered laces and high-ankle padding. Even the scrapes and scratches around the heel and toe area seemed important – as if they had amazing stories behind them.

  ‘Unreal,’ Specky whispered under his breath. ‘Don’t you reckon?’

  Tim didn’t answer. He was sitting back on the couch with his head in the palm of his hands.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Specky asked, moving over to sit next to him.

  ‘This totally sucks!’ Tim mumbled into his hands. ‘If we’re in trouble and we get suspended, then the Board will take away our scholarships. Then we’re really stuffed!’

  At that moment, Specky glanced up at some photographs and saw a picture of Principal Stevens, Coach Farrell and five grey-haired men. Underneath the photo, a metal plaque read The Gosmore Grammar Board.

  ‘Look, we might not be in trouble,’ said Specky, trying to comfort Tim.

  ‘But what if we are? I can’t afford to lose the scholarship. Getting it was the best thing that ever happened to me and my family. I can’t let my mum down.’