‘Ah … this must be the Australian,’ Mr O’Leary said as they sat down to dinner. He smiled broadly as he shook Specky’s hand. ‘I hope Patrick doesn’t give you too many tips before the big games – we still want Ireland to win, you know.’
‘Do we have to talk about the fancy football hero over there?’ snapped Caitlin. ‘It’s so boring and his head’s too big already.’
‘Lay off it, Caitlin,’ snapped Patrick, but Caitlin was already distracted by a text message on her mobile.
‘What did I say about mobile phones at the dinner table?’ said Mrs O’Leary.
‘It’s her boyfriend, Keenan,’ Michael whispered to Specky. ‘He’s Frankie Nolan’s brother.’
Specky was relieved that the conversation had veered away from him. It gave him a chance to eat his meal. It was funny, he thought. He was halfway across the world, but dinner at the O’Leary’s was just like any Friday night in any home in Australia. The way that Patrick and Caitlin argued with each other even reminded him of himself and Alice. And for a moment he kind of missed her.
‘So, Simon, did Michael tell you that I’m going to Australia?’ Patrick said, when they had finished dinner and the girls and Joseph were upstairs getting ready for bed. ‘I’ve been selected to go and train with Collingwood during the summer – to see if I have what it takes to play AFL.’
‘Wow, that’s unreal,’ Specky said. He was about to ask Patrick lots of questions, but then he hesitated – he noticed that Mr O’Leary didn’t look at all happy and Michael sighed and shook his head.
‘Well, I’m glad you think it’s unreal, Simon,’ Patrick said bitterly. ‘Maybe you can convince my old man here it’s a good idea.’
Specky froze. It didn’t take a genius to work out that they had stumbled onto a touchy subject.
‘Oh, if you two are going to start up again, can I be excused?’ groaned Caitlin, pushing back from the table.
‘I’ll make tea,’ said Mrs O’Leary.
‘Dad doesn’t understand why I want to play AFL,’ said Patrick, ignoring them both, ‘even though it’s always been a dream of mine and –’
‘Gaelic football was always your dream,’ interrupted Mr O’Leary. ‘And you still have a lot to achieve. Wouldn’t you love to win a senior All-Ireland championship?’
‘Of course I would, Pa,’ retorted Patrick. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Simon, I love my football more than anything, but what if I love Aussie Rules just as much? What if I could be the next Tadhg Kennelly or Jim Stynes? Lots of young Irish players are doing it – what about Setanta O’hAilpin? If you were given a chance to try out for something that would offer you a lifestyle you could never dream of having back in your hometown, wouldn’t you just go for it?’
Specky remembered Danny’s reaction whenever he talked about the invitation to try out for Manchester United. He knew better than anyone how tempting it was to want more money and more fame than you could ever get at home. But he also knew how Patrick’s dad must be feeling – what if all the best AFL players were convinced to leave Australia and play a different sport? What would happen to Aussie Rules then?
It’s probably best not to share my news about Manchester, he thought. I don’t want to complicate the conversation even more.
‘You would, Simon, wouldn’t you?’ pressed Patrick, snapping Specky back to attention. ‘I know Michael understands.’
‘Um, I s’pose I would,’ Specky said.
Michael looked apologetically at Specky – he had obviously heard this argument before. Specky wriggled in his seat. The room was thick with tension.
‘I’m not saying you can’t pursue something better for yourself, son,’ said Mr O’Leary, softening his voice. ‘The good Lord knows how hard I’ve worked to build up one of the biggest plumbing companies in Dublin. I’m all for having dreams. But the grass isn’t always greener, Patrick.’
‘Well, I have to find that out for myself,’ said Patrick.
‘You’ve got to understand, Simon,’ said Mr O’Leary. ‘We play sport for the sake of the game and not for the trappings that come with it. I don’t know why the younger generation in this country can’t be proud of our game and our culture. Sport might just be a business in other parts of the world, but here it defines who we are. If AFL players didn’t get paid, would you still play the game for the love of it?’
Simon nodded. ‘Yeah, I definitely would!’
‘That’s easy to say when you’re fourteen or fifteen,’ said Patrick. ‘But what about in your twenties, knowing that large crowds will pay entrance fees to see you, but you won’t see a penny of it?’
‘Um … I don’t know,’ said Specky. ‘I’m really not sure …’ He thought about Jim Stynes – one of his AFL heroes. He’d started out as a great Gaelic Football player in Dublin, and when he moved to Australia to play AFL he’d became one of the absolute legends of the game. He’d even represented Australia in International Rules, but he’d had to play against his own brother to do it …
‘I wouldn’t hang around,’ said Michael, siding with Patrick. ‘Not if there was a chance I could get paid for it.’
‘Oh, sweet Mary and Joseph …’ Mr O’Leary said, sighing dramatically. ‘No disrespect, Simon, but the AFL have got some nerve coming over here and poaching our boys and offering them the world. Some of those agents are nothing but greedy opportunists out to get their paws on the best and then exploit them to fill their own pockets – like that Brad Dobson fellow who came over here and set up an AFL trial camp in Cork as if he were trawling for salmon.’
Specky flinched at hearing the name of the same talent agent who had offered to manage him only a couple of months earlier.
‘You know him?’ Mr O’Leary asked, noticing Specky’s reaction.
‘Yeah, he offered to be my manager.’
‘But you’re only fourteen!’ said Mr O’Leary in disbelief. ‘You see! That’s completely irresponsible.’
Specky nodded and explained how he and his family had turned Brad Dobson down.
‘So what, Pa?’ said Patrick. ‘We said no to Dobson as well. The Collingwood scouts aren’t at all like him. Besides, there are more Irish boys going off to play football in the English Premier League than there are going to play AFL. How’s that any different?’
But Mr O’Leary never got a chance to respond, he was interrupted by the sound of Caitlin racing down the stairs and into the room.
‘Oh my God, Simon,’ she gasped, holding out her phone. ‘Keenan just texted me – your teammate Dicky has given Frankie a black eye!’