by Felice Arena
‘Magee, what d’ya think you’re doing?’ shouted Coach Farrell. But Specky had already sprinted off toward Lance.
‘Whoa, boy, settle down…’
Specky motioned for some of the teachers to move back, and Lance came to a sudden halt, his lungs heaving and his wild eyes fixed firmly on Specky.
‘Simon Magee, come back here now!’ ordered Mr Stevens.
‘Simon, don’t!’ yelled Mrs Magee from the stand.
But Specky ignored them.
‘That’s it, boy, it’s me…’ continued Specky, stepping slowly toward Lance.
The crowd collectively held their breath. The silence was eerie.
‘That’s it. You just got a little scared, didn’t you, boy?’
Specky slipped his hand under Lance’s reins and softly stroked the side of the horse’s neck. Everyone let out a sigh of relief, and some of the spectators even broke out into quiet applause, like at a tennis match.
Mr Stevens allowed Specky to take Lance back to the stables, and as he led the still-jumpy horse off the field, he looked up into the stand and waved at his parents, Alice and the Great McCarthy who were looking on in shock. As for Christina, she was smiling from ear to ear.
‘There you go, boy, back home. Away from all that noise.’ Specky said, as he pulled off the saddle and blanket and locked Lance into his stall. ‘Can’t chat with you now, boy. I’ve still got a second half to play.’
Specky hurried back to Regent Oval, but as he passed the music building he was startled by a figure leaning against the wall. It was Mr Brennan. Specky looked from side to side. There was no one else around. Mr Brennan looked as if he hadn’t slept for days.
‘Simon Magee,’ he snapped. ‘Do you really think you can threaten me? I’m your coach!’
Specky felt it best not to reply. He sensed that anything he might say to Mr Brennan could set him right off. He tried not to appear frightened.
‘Don’t look at me like that, Magee – like I’m some kind of crazy person.’
Specky looked down at his feet. He wanted to answer back, ‘Well, you are!’ But he didn’t. It was strange and scary to see a grown-up behaving so oddly. Especially someone he had looked up to.
Mr Brennan continued. ‘I hope you never know what it’s like to be ostracised by your friends and team-mates. To be blamed by everyone for losing something as precious as those bloody Boots of Glory.’ Mr Brennan’s voice grew louder and angrier. ‘If I had only marked that ball or not touched it at all… I had to leave Salisbury the following year, you know. I liked St Paul’s, but my father, a real Royals man, never let me forget the biggest mistake of my life. For twenty-five years, Magee, I’ve had to live with losing that game for Salisbury.’
Specky didn’t answer. A part of him was still angry, a part of him felt sorry for Mr Brennan, and a big part of him was telling him to just get out of there as quick as he could. But he had to ask Mr Brennan one question. A question that had been bugging him for a while. ‘Once you knew we stole the boots why didn’t you just get Tim and me expelled?’ he blurted. ‘Then we wouldn’t have been able to play the Boots of Glory in the first place.’
Specky felt his mouth dry up. Mr Brennan sighed heavily. ‘What sort of man do you think I am?’ he sniffed. ‘I love football. Football was, is, my life. I would’ve been a hero if I hadn’t touched that ball. We would have won the Boots of Glory. I’d probably be a professional footy player now instead of a footy coach. I don’t want to crush your dream. You boys are great players. I just want to ruin one match, not your lives. So I want you to go back out there and do as I told you to. And convince your mate, Tim Barton, to do the same. I don’t want to have you expelled – if you won’t do it for me, do it for yourself.’
Specky felt sorry for Mr Brennan, but he knew that he needed help, and it wasn’t going to come from Specky or Tim. Specky had had enough. He wasn’t going to be intimidated any longer by Mr Brennan. He took a nervous breath.
‘Yeah, well, I don’t think that’s gonna happen,’ he said, courageously turning his back on the coach and heading back to the game.
He didn’t look back. He picked up his pace and jogged all the way to Regent Oval.
30. boots of glory
‘I was about to send someone to find you. Is the horse okay?’ said Coach Farrell, when Specky finally showed up, just a minute before the start of the third quarter.
‘Yeah, Lance is fine. It took me a while to settle him down.’
Specky caught Tim looking at him, as if to say ‘What’s up?’ Specky decided now was not the right time to tell him about Mr Brennan.
Both teams jogged out to take up their positions for the second half. Fourteen points was nowhere near a comfortable lead against a talented team like the Royals, and they knew the Knights were in for a torrid second half.
Worm also made his way out to the middle of the ground. This was his big moment as the school’s representative umpire. And for the first ten minutes of the quarter, his allocated time, Worm did a brilliant job. He made fair, precise calls for both sides – maybe too precise for some.
‘Come on, Bookhead! You can’t be serious! I tried to get rid of it,’ complained Grizza when Worm penalised him for holding the ball. ‘That totally sucks! You’re meant to be on our side,’ Grizza continued to growl. Worm sharply blew on his whistle and awarded fifty metres to the Salisbury player. The Gosmore team went right off at Grizza. After Specky had given away that fifty-metre penalty against the Booyong Lions, the team had made a rule that they would never back chat the umpires again. The fact that the umpire was Worm had obviously got the better of Grizza, but it didn’t save him the embarrassment of being dragged from the field by Coach Farrell.
Team rules were team rules, and it didn’t matter if it was the captain or the twenty-second player who broke them, the penalty was the same. Even so, it was going to make the job of winning the game even tougher for the Knights.
Specky had seen it all from where he stood. He was proud that Worm had stood his ground. Neither the Royals nor the Knights scored during Worm’s umpire period.
Next it was the Salisbury student umpire’s turn. It was clear from the start that he wasn’t going to be as fair as Worm. All of his decisions were in favour of the Royals. It was so obvious that at one stage the main umpire had to overrule a couple of the student’s decisions.
At one point Specky took a safe mark right in front of goals, but his opponent was awarded the free kick for an imaginary push out. The Gosmore supporters went crazy – booing and screaming in protest, but Specky had learnt his lesson and quickly threw the ball to his opponent and stood on the mark. As he was standing there he suddenly had a hunch about who this student umpire was. He had nothing to lose, so, after the ball was cleared of the area, he ran up beside him and whispered: ‘Hey, Crusha. Don’t be too obvious. Someone might know who you are.’
Judging from the way the boy’s face dropped, Specky knew he had guessed right.
For the remaining couple of minutes of his allocated time, Crusha, remarkably, umpired fairly for both sides.
When the third-quarter siren sounded, Gosmore still held their lead of fourteen points.
Coach Farrell, normally a quiet man who did not often raise his voice, gave one of the most stirring three-quarter-time speeches Specky had ever heard. He appealed to the boys’ sense of history, the fact that they had the opportunity to write their names into the record books at Gosmore. He made reference to a number of people among the hundreds that gathered around the huddle.
‘There is Billy Blackless,’ roared Coach Farrell, pointing to the Gosmore Grammar legend. ‘Do you think he wants to see his old school give up this lead when we have worked this hard?’ The boys turned to look at the former star student who had graduated to a fantastic career with the Cats in the AFL. Blackless looked a little embarrassed to be singled out by Coach Farrell, but Specky wasn’t sure if it was because there were so many people there, or because Billy was tucking into a
big meat pie at the time, and some of it had dribbled down onto his shirt. It was all Specky could do not to start laughing.
‘Wayne Crawfort is here, Byron O’Donnell, Neil Baneher. They all wore the Gosmore colours and they are here to see you retain the Boots of Glory.’ Coach Farrell was red in the face and his veins were popping out. He composed himself and finally said, ‘I will be proud of you, boys, whatever the result. I just think you deserve to win.’
The crowd around the huddle roared and the players started screaming and yelling as they ran to their positions. Specky was the last to leave. He had noticed some dark clouds starting to appear quickly over the west, and he thought there might be rain on the way. He had asked Worm to run back to the dorm to get his boots with the screw-in stops. He had played the first three quarters with rubber, moulded soles, but with the chance of a bit of rain around, he thought he would take the extra precaution of playing the last quarter with the longer stops. He didn’t want to be slipping over if it was wet.
Salisbury got just the start they were looking for when they banged on the first goal inside the first minute. They were now just eight points down.
Suddenly, as Specky had predicted, the skies opened up and rain and hail bucketed down on the thrilling game that was in progress.
Within moments Regent Oval was a mud bath. Both sides were slipping and sliding and finding it hard to get a grip of the ball. All of the skills that had been on display for the first three quarters, now went out the window. Good players and good teams are able to adapt to any conditions, and this was as good a display of schoolboy football as the crowd were ever likely to see. The players from both teams did not give an inch. It was now just an old-fashioned slog. Handling the ball was almost impossible; and from Specky’s position at full-forward he could barely see into the middle of the ground, the rain was so heavy.
Players threw themselves onto the loose ball without thinking of their personal safety. Rather than try and take clean possession, they booted it off the ground at every opportunity, inching the ball closer to their respective team goals. The ball was now waterlogged and weighed a tonne, and it was almost impossible to kick it more than twenty-five metres. The play had been bogged down in the middle of the ground for over five minutes, and Specky was anxiously roaming the goal square waiting for an opportunity to do something that would secure a Gosmore victory.
The one thing that hadn’t changed was the enthusiasm of the crowd. The unexpected downpour didn’t dampen their spirits one bit. They were more vocal than ever as the clock ticked down. With only a couple of minutes left in the match and the rain easing up, Specky and his team-mates were ahead by only five points. A goal from Salisbury could still snatch victory from their hands. Coach Farrell and Mr Reager were screaming their lungs out.
Finally, the ball was scooped out of the centre of the mud-pit and soccered out to the wing. Sticks raced his opponent for it and they went at it stride for stride. The Royals player tried to bump Sticks away from the ball, but he stood his ground, and to the surprise of everyone it was the Royals player who fell.
‘Yes! Well done, Sticks,’ Specky yelled, smiling. Sticks had been doing lots of extra weight training with the coach to make himself stronger, and it had paid off at exactly the right time. Sticks picked the ball up cleanly, and cleverly shipped it over to Whispers. Whispers dropped the mark, but recovered quickly and handballed it to Grizza, who then barrelled his way through three Royal defenders and kicked the ball toward Specky.
Specky and his opponent ran toward the ball, which, because it was so heavy, started to drop dramatically. They ploughed their way through the mud and then, suddenly, Specky’s opponent lost his footing and helplessly slipped to the ground. Specky’s decision to go for the screw-in boots had paid dividends. Even so, it looked like he was not going to make it to the ball before it hit the ground. He charged through the rain and, with a desperate last-second lunge, flung himself at the ball like a World Cup soccer goalie. With his arms fully extended, he cupped the ball tightly to his chest, hit the muddy ground with a thud, and slid across the grass for over five metres. Everyone went berserk. It was an awesome mark.
Specky got to his feet, covered in mud from head to toe. One of the trainers handed him a towel and he wiped the mud and grass from his eyes and slowly dried his hands. He made sure he went back far enough so that he wouldn’t kick the ball into the man on the mark, rubbed the front of his right boot on the back of his left sock, to clear off any junk that might affect the way he kicked, and then took a slow deep breath. Half of the Salisbury team were behind the man on the mark, whooping and hollering, waving their arms in the air trying to put Specky off.
Specky looked to the stand. His mum had buried her head into his dad’s chest, unable to look. Alice and Dieter hugged each other, holding their breath.
Specky slowly started his run up. He had seen Christina calmly standing on her own, the rain soaking her from head to toe, water pouring over her face. She had the biggest smile on her face – the proudest girl in the whole crowd. It was clear that there was not a doubt in her mind that Specky, her Specky, was going to kick the goal that would secure the Boots of Glory. He knew he could do it, too.
He calmly kicked the ball right through the middle of the goals, setting off celebrations in the crowd that had not been seen at Gosmore for, well, twenty-five years. Specky had put the nail into the coffin for Salisbury.
The ball went back to the middle, and just after it was thrown in the air, the siren sounded. The next moments were total chaos. Specky just stood there, unable to move. He put both hands in the air, and looked toward the sky. The rain that was falling on his face had never felt so good. He remembered to shake the hand of his opponent and then he was swamped. Sticks jumped into his arms and they both fell backwards into a large puddle, only to be joined by the rest of the team.
They rolled around in the mud, hugging each other and laughing and giving anyone who was there high fives and handshakes. Tim found Specky and they both hugged, the smiles on their faces looked like they would last forever. The crowd spilled onto the ground and the Gosmore song blared over the loud speakers. Specky felt someone grab his jumper, and he turned around to find Alice screaming and jumping around, squeezing him for all she was worth.
‘I’m so proud of you. That was the most exciting thing I’ve ever seen.’
Specky was speechless. Here was his big sister – who had hated football her entire life and had not hugged him since he was a baby – covered in mud from head to toe, almost as excited as he was. She was joined by Dieter and Mr Magee, and they all celebrated together.
Specky looked over at his mum. She was on her feet waving madly, pointing to Specky and telling anyone within fifty metres that he was her son. As he turned to rejoin the group, he was grabbed, and before he knew it, a big kiss was slapped on his lips. He pulled away, embarrassed and surprised, and saw Christina standing there grinning.
‘You were fantastic, Speck. I wouldn’t have missed this game for the world. And I’ll tell you something else. I’ll be there when you play your first game of AFL football, too.’
Specky could feel himself turn red. He was on top of the world. This is about as good as it gets, he thought. What a day!
31. troubled hero
For the next twenty-four hours, Specky was a hero. At the end of the match he had won the Best Player on the Ground Award – the Fredrick Cooper Medal. Everyone at Gosmore, students and teachers, treated Specky like a star. Even Grizza was suddenly his best mate. But all Specky’s excitement came to a crashing halt when Mr Stevens called him to his office over the school speakers.
‘Come in, Simon,’ said the Principal in a stern tone.
Specky’s face dropped when he noticed his parents and Coach Farrell sitting there.
‘What’s wrong?’ stuttered Specky, seeing his mum and dad’s distressed looks.
‘Sit down, Simon,’ instructed Mr Stevens.
Specky nudged in betwe
en his parents.
‘Now, Simon,’ began Mr Stevens. ‘I’ve explained to your parents why I called them to come back here today. This is a very serious matter. A few hours ago I received this from an anonymous sender.’
Mr Stevens moved out from behind his desk and popped a disk into the DVD, set up in his office.
As Specky watched the screen his stomach twisted into a thousand knots. There he was, taking off his balaclava, changing from his runners into the Boots of Glory, and then kicking a footy into the night.
Mr Stevens leant over and switched off the TV.
‘So, Simon. You stole the Boots of Glory.’
Specky could only nod, his heart stuck in his throat.
‘I don’t know why you would do a thing like that. And that boy next to you in the video? The one wearing the balaclava, who is he?’
Specky didn’t say a word.
‘Was it Tim Barton?’
Again, Specky didn’t respond.
‘Simon, answer Mr Stevens!’ said Mr Magee, sounding disappointed.
‘I can’t say,’ said Specky.
‘What do you mean, you can’t say? You’re in a lot of trouble here,’ snapped Mrs Magee.
But Specky stuck to his guns. He couldn’t dob Tim in.
‘Right, well, I have no proof that it was Tim so you’ll suffer the consequences for both of you. I hope your “friend” appreciates what you’re doing,’ said Mr Stevens. ‘Do you know who sent this to me?’
‘Yes,’ Specky stuttered. He tried to explain how Mr Brennan had tried to blackmail him.
‘Blackmail you? In what way?’ asked Mr Stevens, sounding doubtful.
Specky told Mr Stevens everything he knew about Mr Brennan: his false identity, the notes, and their conversation on the day of the Boots of Glory match.
‘Well, that would explain a few things at least,’ said Coach Farrell.