From the very outset of the game, it was obvious that the Aussies were going to struggle. Lurch lost the first ball-up against an opponent half his size, and within moments the ball was driven into the St Augustine’s forward line with three easy kicks. The Irish boys dribbled and baulked around the Aussies with such lightning pace and flair that it looked as if the Australians had been cemented to the ground.
Specky nervously tightened his gloves, and with his heart pumping a million miles an hour he faced his first attack less than a minute into the match. He edged forward and backward and forward again. He shuffled from side to side. His opponent sidestepped Spiro and Bear and made a charge towards him. Specky held his breath. This was it.
‘THWOOMP!’ sounded the ball, as the Irish forward kicked it with all his might.
Specky dived and just got the tips of his fingers to it – tapping it away and back into play. Brian sprinted towards the loose ball to kick it out of danger, only to be beaten to it by Michael O’Leary and two other St Augustine’s players, swooping in like a squadron of stealth jets. Specky hurriedly jumped to his feet and ran back in front of the goals, his arms spread wide.
‘THWOOMP!’
The Irish forwards attacked again. The ball darted over Brian’s head and before Specky could react it zipped past him and into the top right corner of the net. Specky landed on the ground with a thud and swore in frustration. The Irish had scored the first goal of the game. And it wasn’t long before they scored again. And again.
‘Come on!’ shouted Specky to his team-mates. ‘I need a bit of help here!’
Specky had never felt so gutted. His stomach sank every time the ball came forward. Being a goalie was turning out to be one of the most intense things he had ever done.
‘Brian … come on, mate! Back me up here!’ Specky called out, when he finally made a couple of solid saves and booted the ball back into play. Brian was one of the stars of the team and was always calm and confident under pressure. But even he had lost his cool.
‘Sorry, Speck – I keep losing grip of the friggin’ ball!’ he called back.
Specky shook his head in frustration. The St Augustine’s boys were having a field day against the Aussies: Bear looked slow against his opponent. Dicky was being bumped and pushed off the ball right and left. Special K had been tackled more times than he had been for the entire season back home and Skull couldn’t kick the round ball if his life depended on it. Spiro fumbled every ball he got his hands on, and Michael Bayless, Specky’s super-quick team-mate from Victoria, looked positively sluggish.
In the dying seconds of the first half, Specky once again faced a relentless attack from the St Augustine’s forwards. He screamed for the Australian backline to protect him, but once again they crumbled under the pressure and again Specky found himself charging out to stop another strike.
The St Augustine’s crowd roared as the ball rocketed into the back of the net. Specky collapsed on the ground, feeling useless and humiliated. He had never felt so out of his depth on a sporting field in all of his life. The round ball was hard to judge through the air and the Irish boys kicked it with such precision. They knew how to make it curve and dip.
Specky looked up at the scoreboard and sighed heavily. He couldn’t believe it. St Augustine’s College was just a school team, and he was in a national side – they had been selected because they were the best in the whole country. And yet at half-time it was the locals putting the visitors in their place. The score: St Augustine’s – 29 Australia – 3
It was as the Irish Times reporter, Mick O’Shea, had predicted. The match was turning out to be an absolute massacre – but it was the St Augustine’s boys doing the massacring.
The Australian change rooms were deathly quiet at half-time. The boys sat on the benches not daring to utter a single word, all of them totally shell-shocked. Specky stared at the floor, unwilling to make eye contact with anyone.
Grub was the last to enter. Specky braced himself for what would surely be the most severe tongue-lashing Grub had ever delivered. If this was the best they could do against a school side, then how were they going to compete against the best that Ireland had to offer? Specky and his team-mates were bruised and sore – and not just physically.
Their St Augustine’s opponents were on average around ten centimetres shorter and five kilos lighter, and they had basically run rings around them. They had tackled the Aussies into submission, bumped them off their feet at will and crushed their spirit in the process.
Well, thought Specky. I might as well get this over and done with. I deserve whatever’s coming my way. He shifted his gaze off the chunk of mud that he’d be staring at on the concrete floor and looked up at his coach.
But Grub just paced the room slowly, lost in his own thoughts. He made his way over to his training bag, bent down and retrieved something from the side pocket. By this time they were all holding their breath. To everyone’s surprise, Grub’s face slowly broke out in a broad smile.
‘Any one of you useless buggers want to read this newspaper article now?’ he asked, waving the Irish Times in front of them.
Specky could see that Dicky was about to say something smart-alecky, but Specky elbowed him in the ribs and he shut up.
‘Look, it’s not the end of the world,’ Grub muttered. ‘In fact, it’s probably the best thing that could have happened to us. How many of you took up your position on the field today, looked at the skinny, pale kid next to you and thought to yourself, “Yep, this is going to be a pretty pleasant afternoon”?’
‘I did, Grub!’ Dicky blurted out. ‘Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking.’
‘Okay, okay, Atkins, I wasn’t really looking for an answer, but I appreciate your honesty,’ said Grub. ‘Complacency is a funny thing, boys, and it’s the reason behind some of the biggest sporting upsets. If you don’t pay your opposition the ultimate respect, regardless of what they look like, or how ordinary you think they are, or how good you think you might be, you will get a result like the one we’re lookin’ at right now.’
Grub paused.
‘I’m not going to shout my head off, boys, so relax. You look like you think I’m gonna pull an axe out of my bag and start chopping arms off … Nah, this is a lesson we needed to be taught. You blokes got yourselves into this mess, now you’ve got to go out there and get yourselves out of it.’
With that, Grub left the rooms, leaving Specky and his team-mates to work out exactly how they were going to haul in a 26-point deficit.
Back on the field, Specky could immediately tell that his team-mates had lifted their game. Their skills were only marginally better, but their workrate was one-hundred percent improved.
The Australian forwards managed to keep the Irish team busy at the other end of the field so Specky didn’t have much to do as goalie in the second half. As the time ticked away, it became obvious that despite the fantastic skills on show, the St Augustine’s side were miles behind the Aussies in fitness and conditioning.
Towards the end of the second half, the St Augustine’s team really started to run out of steam and that’s when the Aussie boys pounced. Specky watched in admiration as his team-mates started to run over the top of their opponents. Five straight goals in less than five minutes – thanks to Dicky, Skull, Bear and Michael – boosted the entire team’s confidence. Specky exhaled, relieved that the game had turned around.
With only a couple of minutes to go, the Aussies managed to surge ten points ahead of the St Augustine’s side. Dicky now had possession of the ball and was being charged by his short, stocky scruffy-haired opponent, Frankie Nolan.
As Dicky went to kick the ball, Frankie rocketed towards him and, with a slightly raised elbow, collected Dicky just behind the ear. Dicky hit the soggy pitch with a thud.
It only took seconds for the Aussies to realise that this was a deliberate and dirty act of play. So much for friendly hospitality! Suddenly chaos reigned supreme.
As the siren sounded, Skull rushed for Frankie Nolan and bumped him off his feet. Within seconds another St Augustine’s player grabbed the scruff of Skull’s jumper and flung him to the turf. This prompted Special K to come steaming in and get Skull’s attacker in a headlock. Specky edged away from the goals as he watched his team-mates and his opponents leave their positions on the pitch and rush in towards the scuffle. Suddenly the ‘friendly game’ resembled a cage match from WWE wrestling.
No way! thought Specky, joining his friends, sprinting to the other side of the ground as fast as he could.
Specky pulled and dragged four Irish boys off Lurch, who was barely able to stand. Eventually the officials and teachers managed to separate the teams.
As the boys walked to their rooms, ill-feeling was still running high and players on both sides were still engaging in some full-on sledging.
Bobby Stockdale, who had Specky and Lurch by the collars of their jumpers, was beside himself.
‘This is not good, Grub,’ he said. ‘This was supposed to be a goodwill practice match – and it ended up in a brawl. The press are going to eat this up! What will these boys’ parents think when they read about this back home?’
‘Relax, Bobby, there was no harm done,’ said Grub. ‘And you can let those boys go now, I think. Both teams were just letting off a bit of steam – there weren’t any punches thrown. They’re teenage boys, mate, and they’re not playing tiddlywinks out there. They’ll be right.’
‘But what about the negative publicity?’ said Bobby.
‘It’s all about crisis management, Bobby boy,’ said Grub, as he put a fatherly arm around his clearly stressed-out team manager. ‘Besides,’ he continued, looking at Specky and Lurch with a mischievous grin on his face. ‘That’s the least of our problems right now.’
‘What do you mean?’ replied Bobby.
‘In half an hour, these boys will be going home with their opponents to be house guests for a night …’
Grub chuckled. And Bobby exhaled nervously. Specky and Lurch exchanged worried glances.