Specky Magee and the Spirit of the Game

by Felice Arena

  ‘Okay,’ agreed Mr Edwards. ‘Is that okay with you, Simon?’ Specky nodded, and Brian’s dad parked the car.

  ‘Ah, the boys are back,’ beamed Ernie, emerging from behind the bar to greet them.

  ‘Do we have a team for tomorrow?’ Brian asked, straight off the bat.

  ‘Yeah, better numbers than we’ve had in a long time, young Brian,’ said Ernie, smiling, his eyes bright. ‘Ryan and Kyle Dawson are coming back home from uni in Ballarat for a few days. They haven’t been home for ages.’

  ‘Sweet,’ said Brian, nodding.

  ‘So I think at this stage we have a whopping sixteen players, but maybe seventeen if we include this strong fella behind you.’

  Brian stood aside to introduce Specky. Specky stepped forward, looked Ernie in the eye, and gave him the firmest handshake he could manage.

  One of the things Grub Gordan had demanded of the boys when he assembled them for the first time as their coach was that they present themselves well. His words were ringing in Specky’s ears as he met Ernie: ‘You guys are young men now, charged with the responsibility of representing your mighty state. You will meet a lot of new people over the coming months, and first impressions are the most important ones. When you’re in adult company, always look the person you are being introduced to in the eye and give a firm, solid handshake. None of my players are going to give soft, wet-fish handshakes.’

  ‘So, this is the great Simon Magee,’ Ernie said. ‘Brian has told me all about you, lad. I hope you packed your boots.’

  Specky’s parents had been worried when they heard that he was to play against adults, but Brian’s dad had promised them that if the game got out of hand, he’d have Ernie take Specky off straightaway. He’d said he wouldn’t have allowed Brian to play at all this season if he’d thought it was too rough, no matter how desperate Ernie was to fill a side. Neither of them could afford to be injured this close to the State game.

  ‘Besides, if anyone’s in danger in these games it’s the adults,’ Mr Edwards had said. ‘Some of these blokes are not the fittest specimens. I sometimes worry about their tickers seizing up on ’em. Our boys here could outrun and out-mark most of them with their hands tied behind their backs.’

  ‘I did – and I can’t wait to play,’ replied Specky, smiling.

  ‘That’s great news,’ Ernie said. ‘’Cause, as of now, you’re officially registered as a Rivergum player. Now, boys, can I get you anything to drink?’ he offered, stepping behind the bar. ‘A juice, maybe?’

  ‘Just a VB for me,’ Brian answered quickly.

  ‘Make that two,’ added Specky, grinning.

  ‘Very funny, boys,’ said Brian’s dad. ‘We’ll pass on the drinks, Ern. Thanks, but we better get home.’

  Specky wished they could stay a little longer. He had noticed a line of framed photographs of men in old-fashioned footy guernseys displayed on the wall behind the bar, above a shelf of seven trophies and a string of flags. He didn’t recognise any of the men and he wondered if they were Rivergum players.

  ‘Before you go,’ said Ernie, seeing how interested Specky was. ‘I can see that young Magee here is curious to know more about these photos behind me. Is that right, lad?’

  Specky nodded.

  ‘Well, that’s the complete history of the Redfins, Rivergum Football Club, right there in front of you,’ explained Ernie. ‘These are Rivergum’s champions. Many of these blokes played in our last Premiership team, twenty years ago. The greatest Rivergum team ever.’

  ‘Do you recognise that young bloke, Simon?’ asked Brian’s dad.

  Ernie stood aside and Specky took a better look at the photo Mr Edwards was pointing to.

  ‘Is that you?’ asked Specky, glancing back at Ernie.

  ‘Course it’s me,’ grinned Ernie. ‘Handsome bugger, if I say so myself.’

  ‘I think I’d be a better judge of that,’ came a voice from behind them.

  Specky and the others turned to see an older woman entering the pub.

  ‘Hello, boys,’ she said. ‘I hope he isn’t holding you hostage with his long stories again.’

  ‘Long? You mean epic,’ grinned Ernie as the woman brushed past a couple of drinkers propped on their stools and made her way behind the bar. She kissed Ernie on the cheek.

  ‘Hello, I’m Lizzie,’ she smiled, shaking Specky’s hand across the counter. ‘I’m this handsome old bugger’s better half. He likes to call me his old ball and chain.’

  ‘Hi,’ said Specky.

  ‘So, how’d ya go?’ Ernie asked Lizzie.

  ‘Four hours baking hundreds of Anzac biscuits and a ton of sponge cake with my sister is no party, Ern,’ she sighed. ‘But I hope we make a bucket load this Sunday.’

  ‘This Sunday is the footy club’s main fundraising event, the Annual Country Market Day,’ explained Mr Edwards to Specky.

  ‘Yeah, those bloody insurance fees are killing us,’ muttered Ernie.

  ‘Language, Ern,’ snapped Lizzie.

  ‘Well, they are. And it means we can never raise enough money to improve the facilities at the ground. Don’t get me started!’ he said.

  Specky looked over at Brian, who screwed up his face and nodded in agreement.

  ‘Ah, well,’ sighed Ernie. ‘Maybe this time. Young Magee was about to ask me who this fella is.’

  Ernie shuffled aside to reveal the largest photo on the wall. It was of a player kicking in full stride.

  ‘Okay,’ said Specky, who hadn’t intended to ask anything and didn’t want to hold up Mr Edwards.

  ‘It’s Razorback Jack,’ continued Ernie. ‘Rivergum’s very own footy legend.’

  ‘Who’s Razorback Jack?’ asked Specky, looking at Brian’s dad to check whether he should’ve asked or not.

  Mr Edwards nodded at him. A few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt.

  ‘That’s Jack McCracken,’ said Ernie, as if he had just named the greatest player in history.

  ‘Well, I think that’s my cue to leave,’ said Lizzie. ‘Nice meeting you, Simon. See you tomorrow.’

  As Lizzie left through a door behind the bar, Ernie started to tell the story of Razorback Jack.

  ‘When Jack was a boy, he lived on his parents’ sheep station, forty ks from here,’ Ernie began. ‘When he turned ten, his mother died in a speedboat accident on the river, and his father, Noel, was left to raise him on his own.

  ‘Young Jack found solace in playing footy. And what a player he turned out to be. He was a gun, through and through. He was so good that when he turned eighteen, he was invited down to do preseason training with Richmond.’

  ‘Shame it wasn’t Carlton,’ Brian whispered to Specky, who had a flash of Christina and Screamer, both diehard Blues’ fans like Brian.

  ‘He made quite an impression, right from the word go,’ continued Ernie. ‘He played in all the practice matches and the newspapers were making a bit of a fuss about the Tigers’ gun new recruit from the country.

  ‘When he kicked six goals in the last practice match before the season started, he was a certainty to make his debut in the opening game the following week. He was set to become the only Rivergum player ever to make it into the AFL.’

  Ernie took a deep breath.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘Jack was going to take the football world by storm. We were all convinced of that, and the Melbourne papers even did big back-page stories about him in the lead up to Round One, proclaiming him as the recruit of the year. But then, two days before the big game, tragedy struck the McCracken family again. Jack’s dad, a great mate of mine, had a heart attack and died.’

  Specky waited silently as Ernie stared blankly into space and sighed heavily.

  ‘Jack was never the same after that,’ Ernie added. ‘He packed his bags and came straight home, without playing one senior game. He never went back to the city again. He just lost the passion to play footy. The Richmond general manager, the president and the coach all drove up here to Rivergum to try and convince him to go back an
d play, but there was no changing his mind.

  ‘In some ways I think he blamed himself for his dad’s passing. He said to me once that if he’d stayed and helped out on the farm, his dad wouldn’t have been so stressed and he might not have had that heart attack. Rubbish, of course! His father was so proud of him. But he gave up on his dream of playing professional football – and it was hard going even to convince him to play for Rivergum again. I managed it, though.’

  ‘That was twenty years ago,’ said Mr Edwards. ‘The same season Rivergum won its last premiership.’

  Specky guessed that Jack had played a big part in that match.

  ‘Yep, we won that premiership ’cause of him,’ confirmed Ernie. ‘And that’s not to take anything away from the rest of the team. We were all on fire that day, but Jack was something else, something special.’

  ‘There was an awesome ending to the game,’ added Brian. ‘Tell him the bit about the ending, Ernie.’ He had obviously heard the story a million times before.

  ‘Yes, young Brian, it was an awesome ending. It was a fairytale ending in anyone’s books. We were playing against our number-one rivals – the team we’re playing tomorrow, in fact, the Sovereign Grove Bull Ants – and it was the battle of the century. It came right down to the wire. The Bull Ants were ahead by one point. They had just kicked a behind. There was less than a minute on the clock. Our fullback, Rory Shinn, kicked the ball to me in the back pocket, and I baulked around my man and booted it to Peter O’Leary on the wing. Pete got tackled, but managed to get a handball out to our little rover, Pasquale Panini.’

  Specky pictured a grown-up version of Danny.

  Ernie’s voice was now as excited as if he were calling a horse race. ‘Little Pasquale, under pressure, kicked a rainmaker toward the centre of the ground. As he kicked it, Jack, who was playing at full-forward, read the play beautifully and, realising time was running out, ran hard to the middle of the ground. The ball sat up for what seemed like ages, and everyone in the crowd held their breath. It was definitely going to be the last play of the day. The Bull Ants captain, Carl Sharkey, was standing under the ball and it seemed almost certain that he was going to take the match-saving mark, winning the grand final for his team.

  ‘With one final, desperate lunge, Razorback Jack flung his body horizontal to the ground, and with outstretched hands he took the most incredible mark, right from under old Sharkey’s nose. I tell ya what, young fella, the roar of the crowd scared every cockatoo out of their tree from here to Adelaide.’

  ‘So, Sovereign Grove won?’ Specky asked, confused. ‘I mean, they were a point up and Jack was too far out to take a kick for goal, right?’

  Specky turned to see Brian and his dad exchange grins.

  ‘That’s what the Sovereign Grove players and their fans thought, too,’ said Ernie, with a knowing smile. ‘They had already started to celebrate, but Jack insisted to the umpire that he wanted to take his kick for goal.’

  ‘It took the umpires a couple of minutes to inform everyone that the game wasn’t over and to stop the premature celebrations,’ added Mr Edwards.

  ‘So everyone went back to where they were, including the Sovereign Grove players, who thought it was a big joke. But rules are rules, and Jack was allowed to take his kick.’

  ‘Where was he exactly? I mean, on the field?’ asked Specky, hanging on Ernie’s every word.

  ‘He was just past the centre circle, our goal side,’ said Ernie. ‘He was seventy-nine point three metres from the goals.’

  A tingling sensation shot up Specky’s spine. He knew what must have happened but couldn’t believe it.

  ‘The crowd was dead silent – all you could hear was jeering from the opposition players on the field and the screeching of cockatoos. And then…’

  Ernie paused.

  ‘And then… THUMP! It was a thing of pure beauty, like a sleek missile rocketing through the sky. It was the biggest kick that any of us had ever seen. A massive torpedo punt that took on a life of its own and kept spiralling and spiralling toward the goals and our destiny. Our hearts rose and our jaws dropped as we watched the ball fly right through the middle of the big sticks. It was the greatest goal ever. We won! We won! We won thanks to Razorback Jack!’

  ∗∗∗

  Later that night, Specky was in bed on a blowup mattress on the floor of Brian’s bedroom.

  The room was pitch black. Not able to sleep, Specky lay motionless, his mind swirling with a million thoughts. He couldn’t believe how quiet it was. No screeching of trams, no sirens, no hum of traffic, no nothing. Dead silence.

  ‘Hey,’ whispered Specky, something suddenly dawning on him. ‘Brian? You asleep yet?’

  ‘Mmm, sort of…’ groaned Brian. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Why was Jack McCracken called Razorback Jack?’

  Brian switched on his bedside lamp and sat up. He yawned. ‘Well… Soon after winning the local Grand Final, Jack sold his parents’ farm and headed bush.’

  ‘Headed bush?’

  ‘Yeah, he went to live in the bush. He became like a hermit. No one has seen him for years. Some say he headed up north, but others, like Ernie, reckon he’s still travelling up and down the river.’

  ‘But why Razorback?’ asked Specky. ‘What is a razorback, anyway?’

  ‘A razorback is a wild bush pig,’ said Brian, as if Specky should’ve known.

  ‘Oh, right. So, does he eat them or something?’

  ‘He probably does,’ said Brian. ‘But that’s not how he got his nickname.’

  ‘Boys! Get to sleep now.’ The voice of Mr Edwards echoed from the other room.

  ‘Razorbacks are psycho,’ continued Brian, this time in a loud whisper. ‘They’ll charge for ya, especially if they feel threatened or wanna protect their young. And they can rip you to shreds if they get hold of your legs.’

  ‘So Jack was a wild crazy man?’ asked Specky.

  ‘No. There was this family camping by the river – this was years ago, right. Apparently their three-year-old kid was wandering around camp and ended up between a razorback and its young. They hate that! The pig charged for him. That kid was gonna be killed for sure – but suddenly, out of nowhere, Jack appeared and jumped on the razorback. The story goes that he wrestled it to the ground, giving the family enough time to grab the kid and get in their car.’

  Specky shook his head in disbelief. ‘No way,’ he whispered.

  ‘It’s fair dinkum,’ said Brian. ‘The pig took a few chunks out of Jack’s arm and ran off. The family couldn’t believe it. They told everyone in town and Jack disappeared back into the bush. Ever since, whenever people talk about him they call him Razorback Jack.’

  ‘Whoa, that’s pretty cool,’ Specky said.

  Brian nodded. ‘If we have time, I’ll take you to see some razorback tracks tomorrow, if you like.’

  ‘Sweet,’ replied Specky as Brian switched off his lamp.

  For the rest of the night, Specky tossed and turned, slipping in and out of bizarre dreams of wild bush pigs, booming torpedoes, and the anticipation of what tomorrow would bring.

  The following morning after breakfast, Brian set out to show Rivergum to Specky. The boys pedalled along Allan Street, heading down to the banks of the Murray River.

  ‘G’day, Brian!’

  ‘G’day, Mr Prior!’ Brian shouted, then turned to Specky as they sped past. ‘Mr Prior owns the fruit shop. He’s also our ruck.’

  ‘G’day, Brian! Are you playing this arvo?’

  ‘Yep!’ yelled Brian. ‘That’s Mrs Roeder. She runs the post office. Her son, Dean, manages the hardware and fish-tackle store. He plays on the wing.’

  ‘G’day, Brian!’

  ‘Hello, Brian!’

  ‘Hi, Brian!’

  Specky couldn’t believe how many locals came out to greet his friend as they rode along.

  ‘Man, you know a lot of people,’ he said, as he and Brian pulled up outside Rivergum’s butcher shop.

  ‘Ever
yone knows everyone in the country,’ shrugged Brian. ‘It’s like one huge family.’

  Specky thought that was pretty great – he didn’t think he knew half the people who lived in his street.

  ‘So, what are we doing here?’ he asked as they approached the counter.

  ‘Gotta pick something up.’

  ‘Brian! Hello!’ said the butcher, who looked as old as Ernie. ‘I’ll just pop into the cooler for a sec.’

  A minute later, he returned with Brian’s something in a plastic shopping bag.

  ‘Thanks, Mick,’ said Brian, handing over some money.

  ‘What is it?’ Specky asked as he and Brian hopped back on the bikes.

  ‘Check it out! I’ve wanted one of these for ages.’

  Specky looked in the bag and jumped back, startled.

  ‘What the?’ he choked. ‘Is that what I think it is?’

  ‘Yeah,’ grinned Brian. ‘It’s a sheep’s head.’

  Specky took another look in the bag and winced. The sheep’s eyes looked like large white marbles and its tongue was black and pink, sticking out from the side of its mouth.

  ‘Why? What have you got that for?’ stammered Specky.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Brian pedalled off. Specky reluctantly followed.

  The boys rolled out of town and turned right toward the river. Once there, they made their way on to a dirt track that snaked along the Murray. Specky wanted to stop and take in his first real look at the famous waterway, but Brian was crunching ahead, his sheep’s head slung over his shoulder in its bag.

  The track joined a wider dirt road that led up to a newish-looking bridge.

  ‘Right, this is one of my favourite spots,’ Brian said, stopping halfway across the bridge.

  Specky turned and gazed back at Rivergum. It was a lot more beautiful than he ever expected it to be. The river looked majestic, glistening in the morning sunlight, and the old red gums that lined the banks looked like giant soldiers standing to attention. Specky remembered doing a project on the Murray when he was in primary school, but he could only recall that it was the longest river in Australia and that it formed the border between Victoria and New South Wales.