Specky Magee and the Spirit of the Game

by Felice Arena

  ‘Okay, let’s get going,’ Brian said, breaking Specky’s trance.

  Once over the bridge, the boys dropped their bikes and headed down to the water’s edge. Specky still had no idea what Brian was up to.

  ‘Right, let’s see how many I got,’ Brian muttered.

  He pulled up a rope that was hanging from the trunk of an old tree that had fallen into the river.

  At the other end of the rope was a net. Specky looked over Brian’s shoulder as he slowly pulled it out of the water.

  ‘Oh, man,’ groaned Brian, dropping the net at his feet. ‘I only got one. And it looks like a female with eggs. Bugger!’

  ‘One what?’ asked Specky, trying to get a closer look at whatever was crawling about in the net.

  Brian picked up the captured water creature and shoved it toward Specky. Specky jumped back, almost losing his balance and falling into the river.

  ‘Yeah, good on ya,’ he said. ‘Is that a yabby? It looks more like a lobster.’

  ‘It’s a freshwater crayfish,’ said Brian, still waving it in front of Specky’s face, its claws ready to snap at him. ‘I thought I’d catch at least a couple.’

  Specky knew his next question was going to sound dumb, but what was a city boy like him supposed to know about fishing in the Murray, anyway? His winter Saturday mornings consisted of listening to footy talk radio, sitting in front of the computer checking out the AFL sites, and preparing to play for Booyong. He’d never gotten up close and personal with a crayfish – or a sheep’s head, for that matter.

  ‘Um, what’s the big deal?’ he asked. ‘Why are you trying to catch them?’

  ‘Are you serious?’ said Brian. ‘I could sell these for a good price at tomorrow’s market day. Not this one, though, ’cause it has eggs. There’s strict rules about what, when and how many you’re allowed to catch. I was hoping to catch a few so I could get some cash for the footy club.’

  As Brian lowered the pregnant crayfish back into the river, Specky felt slightly guilty for not being more impressed. He admired Brian’s ingenuity and loyalty to his club, though.

  ‘Lucky I’ve brought my secret weapon,’ Brian added, as he took out the sheep’s head and placed it in the net.

  Specky winced again. ‘Man, it’s still gross,’ he said.

  ‘Well, the crays can’t get enough of it.’ Brian lowered the net and the sheep’s head back into the water. ‘They’re opportunistic carnivores. That means they’re mainly vegetarians, but don’t mind going the juicy meat once in a while. Sometimes they’ll even eat each other.’

  As Brian was checking the rope, a large car roared along the road – churning up dust – and sped across the bridge.

  ‘Whoa! Did you see that?’ said Specky. ‘That car was flying.’

  ‘Yeah, and I can guess who’s in it,’ Brian said, shaking his head.

  The hotted-up car, with P plates stuck to its front and rear windows, roared back and forth over the bridge a few times. The driver and his passengers blasted the horn and did major burnouts on the dirt road, until they spotted Brian and Specky by the river’s edge.

  ‘Hey, Edwards! Like the new wheels?’ the driver shouted, hopping out of the car with his two mates. ‘You and your loser town ready for another belting?’

  ‘Who are these guys?’ Specky asked.

  ‘My old man says they’re “young men who should know better”. But that’s his polite way of saying they’re jerks,’ sighed Brian, his eyes firmly fixed on the boys, who looked about eighteen. ‘They’re also our opposition. They play for Sovereign Grove.’

  ‘Hey, Edwards, is that one of your State team-mates?’ The driver turned his gaze to Specky. ‘Hey, mate, I hope you like pain.’

  His friends guffawed and sniggered in unison.

  ‘That’s Biff,’ said Brian, turning away to tie one more knot in the rope. ‘And they’re his mates, Bluey and Moz. Just ignore them.’

  ‘Biff?’ Specky repeated.

  ‘Yeah, even his friends call him that. He’s proud of it. He likes to go the big biff behind play,’ explained Brian. ‘I should know, he got me a good one in the shoulder last year – it hurt for over a week.’

  ‘Hey, Edwards!’ Biff shouted again. ‘Had your brekky yet?’

  Specky and Brian looked back up, but it was too late. Biff had hurled a half-eaten hamburger at them. The boys had no time to react and it hit Specky fair across his chest.

  Biff and his mates roared with laughter, hopped back into the car and sped off down the dirt road away from Rivergum.

  ‘See what I mean? Jerks,’ remarked Brian. ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Specky as he peeled a piece of beetroot off his hoodie.

  On their way back into town, the boys ran into Ernie.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Brian, noticing a look of concern on Ernie’s face.

  ‘Ryan Dawson called this morning to tell me that he and his brother can’t come back for the weekend. Got some major exam to study for,’ Ernie grumbled. ‘As if they can’t study on the bus coming up here. And to top that, I’ve just come back from Matt Connelly’s farm and he says he might not be able to play ’cause he’s stripping wheat.’

  ‘So, are we forfeiting again?’

  ‘No way! Not gonna give the Bull Ants that satisfaction,’ said Ernie in a determined voice. ‘We’ve played with fourteen before, we’ll do it again. I hope you boys are ready for a good run.’

  Specky turned to Brian and nodded. He couldn’t wait to play.

  When Specky turned up at Rivergum’s home ground, he asked Brian where the main oval was.

  ‘This is it,’ Brian replied. ‘I know it’s no MCG.’

  It’s no Booyong High, either… thought Specky, but he stopped himself from saying it.

  The Rivergum ground, which was a kilometre out of town, resembled a carved-out paddock, nestled in a forest of gum trees. The oval was dry and hard. A few metres from the boundary was a dirt track where the locals parked their cars and utes, right up close to the action.

  On opposite wings stood two old tin sheds – the interchange benches for the home and visiting teams. And near the pocket area, on the town side, was the Rivergum scoreboard – a giant blackboard with the words The Mighty Redfins emblazoned across the top. Nearby stood two separate grey-brick buildings. These were the change rooms.

  ‘Hey, what happened to the roof?’ asked Specky as he walked into the very bare home-team rooms. There were only four shower stalls.

  ‘We have half a roof,’ said Brian, as if that should’ve been enough. ‘It hasn’t rained for yonks, anyway.’

  Brian introduced Specky to his team-mates as they strolled in. Specky was a bit nervous – he and Brian were the youngest players there. In fact, no one else was under twenty-nine. Specky was used to treating adults as parents and teachers and coaches – not as team-mates.

  Everyone seemed excited that Specky was going to play for them, but no one was looking forward to the match. Sovereign Grove was second on the ladder and Rivergum was at the bottom with no wins for the season.

  A few minutes later, Ernie arrived with Lizzie. She was carrying a clothes basket filled with jumpers.

  ‘All right, boys!’ she said, dropping the basket in the middle of the room. ‘All clean for ya – come and get ’em.’

  Lizzie weaved her way past the men and handed a jumper to Specky.

  ‘Here you go, love,’ she said. ‘It should be your size, and according to Brian you’ll be happy with the number.’

  Specky turned the grey-and-red vertical-striped guernsey to see his favourite number on the plain grey back.

  ‘No one else had number five,’ Lizzie added. ‘Have a great match, love.’

  ‘Thanks,’ replied Specky as Lizzie made her way out of the rooms and Ernie stepped forward to address the team.

  ‘Well, boys, as always thanks for making yourselves available. Right now we’ve got fourteen players and that’s gonna have to do. Brian’s been able to ru
stle up his mate from the big smoke and we all want to thank you, Simon, for helping us out.’

  A round of applause broke out from Specky’s new team-mates. Brian stood up quickly.

  ‘Um, you better call him Specky, fellas. I’m not sure he’ll answer to Simon.’

  Specky shot him a quick grin.

  Ernie had just started to address everyone once more when he was interrupted by a voice from outside the change rooms. ‘I could still teach those whippersnappers a thing or two, I reckon.’

  To Specky’s surprise, a wiry old man shuffled into the rooms and clapped Ernie on the shoulder.

  ‘That’s our games record holder for Rivergum. He’s seventy-six. He played three hundred and twenty-one games,’ Brian whispered. ‘Remember Mick Richards, the butcher you met today? Well, that’s his older brother.’

  Ivor Richards was in a tracksuit, but was wearing a woolly, old-fashioned, short-sleeved Rivergum jumper. It looked like it came from another era.

  ‘Ern, put me in the back pocket,’ he said. ‘I’ll take care of one of their little blokes for ya.’

  Ernie grinned. ‘Come on, Ivor,’ he said, putting an arm around his shoulder. ‘You know I can’t do that – your wife’d kill me. Besides, you’ve done your bit for this club and we love you for it, but now it’s up to us to make sure the history and tradition continues. Now head back out to the scoreboard. You’ve been doing your bit for the team by keeping the score for decades now.’

  Ivor slumped onto a bench, disappointed.

  ‘Is he okay?’ Specky asked Brian.

  ‘Yeah, he’s fine,’ he nodded. ‘Every time things get really desperate, he turns up asking to play. He wears his old footy guernsey every week, though.’

  ‘Right, listen up!’ said Ernie, getting the players’ minds back on the job. ‘That’s the sort of commitment we want today. Old Ivor would still be running around out there, if he could. Now don’t let him down.’

  Dean Roeder jumped up and led them out of the rooms. The solid twenty-nine-year-old seemed like Superman compared to the older players in the team. ‘Come on, boys,’ he said. ‘Let’s serve it up to this cocky mob. They think they only have to turn up to win this. Specky, Brian tells me you’re pretty handy around the goals, so you go to full-forward. We’ll give you plenty of room, and let’s see if we can’t bang a couple of goals on early.’

  Out on the ground Specky lined up at full-forward opposite Bluey Jenkins – one of the guys he and Brian had encountered earlier in the day.

  As expected, Bluey had plenty to say.

  ‘Biff said I had one quarter to clean you up and have you carried off the ground, otherwise he’s gonna come down here and do it himself.’

  Specky said nothing. He’d had plenty of experience dealing with loud mouths over the years. As his reputation had grown, he had often been the target of attacks by opposition players trying to make heroes of themselves.

  Pretty soon it became apparent to Specky that while Bluey had plenty of size about him, he wasn’t overly quick or agile.

  The Redfins’ big ruckman, Mr Prior, was getting his hands on the ball, and Brian was cleaning everything up at ground level. Brian was incredibly accurate with both hands and feet. He never fumbled the ball, and his delivery was first class.

  Specky waited until his friend broke clear of the pack and then he darted one way, then the other, totally confusing Bluey. He led into the vacant forward line where he knew Brian would pass the ball right onto his chest.

  Specky missed his first shot at goal, but he went on to kick the next three.

  The cars and utes that were parked around the boundary celebrated each of Specky’s goals with sustained horn blowing. Specky got the biggest buzz out of it.

  Who is the fine cut of a lad in the number five guernsey? Whoever he is, I tell you what, young Edwards and this strapping young fella are turning it on here today, folks. They are putting on a ring-a-ding-ding contest. The massive underdogs, the Redfins, are serving it right up to the Bull Ants. We have got a game on our hands this afternoon…

  Specky could hear the commentary, but didn’t know where it was coming from. As the siren went for quarter time, and all the Rivergum players ran to Specky to congratulate him, he finally figured out the source of the booming voice.

  There on the centre wing, sitting on a bar stool in the tray of a ute sat Mick Richards, the butcher, with a microphone and a tape recorder.

  Brian saw him looking as they made their way to the huddle.

  ‘Everyone calls him Motormouth Mick – he’s our official commentator.’

  ‘You idiots! What in the bloody hell do ya think you’re doing?’

  Specky turned to see the Bull Ants coach tearing into his team.

  ‘Woah, he’s full on,’ exclaimed Specky.

  ‘Yeah, he is,’ said Brian. ‘That’s Carl Sharkey. He’s the guy that Razorback Jack took that mark from years ago. He’s also Biff’s dad.’

  ‘You let a pack of geriatrics and a couple of smart-alec kids embarrass you like that?’ screamed Carl Sharkey, his voice echoing across the ground. ‘It’s a damn disgrace. I can promise you one thing, right now. No one will be getting their pay if this mob beats you.’

  ‘We’ve upset someone it seems, boys.’ Ernie couldn’t keep the smile off his face as Specky and Brian joined him and their team-mates. ‘Well, we haven’t got any interchange players so go out there and do the same thing you did in the first quarter,’ Ernie added. ‘And Specky – nice going, champ.’

  The boys jogged back out onto the oval together.

  ‘Ernie likes to keep it pretty basic,’ said Brian.

  ‘Yeah, I noticed,’ said Specky. ‘Nothing like Grub.’

  For Specky, the weirdness of playing alongside a team of adults was starting to wear off. He was having a terrific time and feeling more and more confident. He was doing what he loved best and helping out some great, genuine people in the process.

  But before the second quarter got underway, Specky sensed that the situation had changed. Because Rivergum were playing with less men than the opposition, they were at a serious disadvantage. Specky noticed that Carl Sharkey had moved Biff into the back line to play as a loose man – essentially Biff was there to make life difficult for Specky.

  Specky also learnt that he had a new opponent – a sheep farmer in his mid-twenties, who went by the name of Grunter.

  ‘Hey, city kid,’ snarled Biff. ‘You’re not getting another touch. If Grunter doesn’t get ya, I will.’

  Specky tried not to look worried.

  When the ball came forward, Grunter jumped at Specky, his knees digging into Specky’s back, and his arms, elbows and fists flying wildly. Grunter pretended to knock the ball, but more often than not, he made contact with Specky.

  Biff just took cheap shots. He’d arrive late and ‘accidentally’ land on Specky after Grunter had finished with him, or he would stand on Specky’s hand when he was on the ground, and twist his foot around so the long stops dug right in.

  Biff had been right. Specky didn’t get a touch and arrived in the rooms at half-time bruised and battered.

  ‘Specky, you better have a rest,’ said Ernie. ‘Those animals don’t play fair and I promised Brian’s dad I would look after you, especially with the State game coming up.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s not worth it, Speck,’ said Brian as he slumped onto a bench seat. ‘If we had eighteen players and you only had to contend with one opponent it would be all right, but they’re double-teaming you every time and we just can’t get it to you.’

  Specky raised his head. This was a whole new set of challenges to the ones he had faced in school footy.

  ‘Nah, I’ll be right,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll just have to move a bit faster and they won’t be able to catch me.’

  But Ernie was not about to relent.

  ‘Appreciate it, mate, but we can’t risk it.’

  Specky was about to protest, but he didn’t get a chance.

  ‘I�
��ll look after him, Ern.’

  Specky looked up to see a man standing there with a physique that would have made Barry Hall or Jonathan Brown proud.

  ‘I was able to hop off the tractor a bit earlier than I thought.’

  Ernie’s face lit up.

  ‘Specky, meet Matt Connelly – wheat farmer, amateur golden-gloves boxing champion, centre half-forward, and your new guardian angel.’

  Matt looked even more awesome in his footy gear.

  ‘He reminds me of John Cena,’ said Specky to Brian, referring to his favourite wrestler in the WWE.

  Brian chuckled. ‘Yeah, and I reckon he could take his title, too.’

  As the Rivergum players took up their positions for the third quarter, Matt grabbed Specky by the arm.

  ‘You just worry about the footy,’ he said. ‘And I’ll look after the rest.’

  ‘Thanks,’ replied Specky gratefully.

  Grunter and Biff made their way down to the backline, looking wary. Matt Connelly’s reputation as the toughest man in the Mildura district was well-known.

  ‘Ah, if it isn’t the grunter and his boofhead mate, Biff,’ said Matt, standing between Specky and the two Sovereign Grove thugs. ‘Been ganging up on young Magee here, have we?’

  ‘Er, mmm… just tryin’a get a… erm kick… mmrr, nnhh eh.’

  Specky finally realised why they called him Grunter: the guy mumbled and cleared his throat so much that you could hardly understand what he was saying.

  ‘Well, why don’t you and I take our differences over to the forward pocket,’ said Matt. ‘And we’ll see how boofhead over there goes against the new boy in a one-on-one contest.’

  With that, Matt grabbed Grunter by the jumper and dragged him over to the pocket.

  Biff was fuming. ‘Need a babysitter, do ya, loser?’ he snarled, bumping against Specky.

  Again Specky held his tongue and waited for his opportunity. But it didn’t come for another fifteen minutes – as brave as the Redfins were, they were tiring.