There's Only One Danny Garvey, page 26
The ref gets it under way, right on 3.00 pm. My interest is less on the game, more on the actions of the crowd. Unlikely I’ll be recognised, but you never know. Fifteen minutes in and Barshaw are on the ropes. Last-gasp challenges, goal-line clearances and, miraculously, Josey Monsanto has saved a penalty. It was poorly struck, down the middle, and it ricocheted off his foot as he dived, but he did his job. He kept it out.
Twenty minutes in and the game gets stopped. A drunken woman staggers onto the pitch from the Barshaw end and takes off her top. Large breasts bounce freely, and no-one is quite sure what to do. The predominantly male crowd roars its approval until two stewards give chase. A rugby tackle ends the pursuit and the crowd boo loudly.
When play resumes, the break seems to have benefitted Barshaw. A run of consecutive corners ends with a Gilhooly header cracking off the bar. Despite the early Talbot pressure and a missed spot kick, the first half ends with that being the closest anyone has come to a goal.
During the break, I keep watch on Higgy, Raymond and Damo. Raymond is not interested in the match, I can tell. He’s only here for me. When he deduces that I’m not here, he’ll leave his son with Higgy, an old man unrelated to the boy.
Raymond Garvey, Dad of the Year. My protector. My guardian. My fucking role model.
A needless free kick conceded out on the left. Billy Young, Talbot’s captain and best player, drops off a few yards. His marker doesn’t go with him. A clever short ball played square and he doesn’t even need to break stride. He rattles it low into the right-hand corner with Josey rooted to the spot.
Auchinleck Talbot 1-0 Barshaw Bridge
The section of the crowd I’m in salute the goal but their impatience can still be detected. A walkover would’ve been anticipated, and Talbot have struggled to make a breakthrough against a side from the lower division.
‘C’mon Talbot, get intae this fucken shower ae shite,’ yells the deep-voiced man immediately to my right. ‘Ah’ve a bloody tenner on five nil,’ he tells me by way of explanation.
‘Aye, this lot are fucken pish!’ I find myself replying. I push the black-and-gold scarf I bought on the way in further up around my neck. It partially conceals my mouth.
For fifteen minutes, it’s astonishing how Talbot don’t add to their tally. The woodwork comes to Barshaw’s rescue twice. And another penalty – a fucken cast iron-stonewaller according to those around me – is denied the current cup-holders.
Sixty-seven minutes, or thereby, arrives. No goal, but a moment that could change the game. Harry Doyle takes Stevie Smith off, and replaces him with Billy Gilmour. Gilmour dallies on the touchline, returning to kiss Damo’s helmet before going on.
‘Whit the fuck is that wee prick dain’, Boaby?’
‘Christ knows, Kirky. Team full ae fucken village idiots, ye ask me!’
‘Fucken beam me up, Scotty!’
Those around me jeer at the time being taken to make the substitution; an act I don’t quite comprehend since it’s only Barshaw time being wasted.
Five minutes pass, and Gilmour hasn’t touched the ball. He’s being starved of it. He doesn’t look fit. Talbot are growing in possession, power and – although they barely need it – confidence. There’s ten minutes to go and the only astonishing fact about this game is that it’s only one-nil. If it’d been a boxing match, it’d have been stopped, the towel having been thrown in. All the Barshaw subs have been used. A late challenge by Davie Russell, who’s suffering from cramp, is rewarded with a straight red card. He limps off the pitch and I see Higgy’s bandaged head slump.
The one thing I wanted for him – the only thing – was this victory. As unlikely as it seemed, football is full of moments that surprise. Teams that overachieve and pass into legend. It’s why those who love the game love it so much. The relentless drudgery of following a team on the slide, living in the slim hope of clambering to the top of that sheer, impenetrable wall of reason … just once. In order to experience the view from the top. The reality of that is crushing, but easily forgotten. There’s always next week. There’s always next season. There’s always the hope. But it’s the hope that kills them.
And then, just as the Talbot supporters around me start to count down the minutes, agitated that their normally all-conquering team have made such a meal of this final. Just as they are preparing for a drunken night back at their social club; the very heart of the Talbot community. Just as everyone assumes Barshaw are out on their feet. It happens. A sharp, passing movement between O’Halloran and Peters. I can see the pass before they do. Swept out left to Ramage.
Pass it to Garvey.
Dib beats his man; faints left and slides it to Gilmour.
Take them on, son!
Billy Gilmour swivels his hips and glides past one. Nutmegs another…
Shoot, Danny, shoot!
…and unleashes an unstoppable shot into the top left-hand corner.
Garvey will burst your net.
Auchinleck Talbot 1-1 Barshaw Bridge
(Gilmour)
Time seems to stand still. I’m looking at those around me. Disbelieving. Open-mouthed. I manage to control myself. The fireworks are internalised. The Talbot players argue amongst themselves. The Barshaw fans are on the pitch. Stewards struggling to hold them back. In the melee, I’ve lost sight of Raymond, Higgy and Damo.
Eventually the game restarts with fans on both sides stood on the touchline. The Cumnock stewarding is woefully insufficient. The predominant Talbot mood is now one of anger.
We must be well into six minutes of injury time and a resurgent Barshaw force a corner. It could be the last kick of the game. I see Josey bouncing around like an incontinent man outside a locked toilet. A subtle nod from Harry Doyle and he’s off like a sprinter. Up to the Talbot goalmouth for the set piece. All twenty-one players left on the pitch are in the penalty box, apart from Gilmour who’s about to take the kick.
I glance around the ground. Every pair of eyes bar mine is trained on the action. Angry, reddened faces on one side; tearful expectant ones on the other. I didn’t know what to do when I got here, but I do now.
The ball curls over, almost in slow motion. Five players leap for it. The Talbot keeper comes for it. A gust of wind seems to catch it and lift it gently over them all. It drops down, head height, at the back post. Josey Monsanto, in the bright-yellow jersey, throws a head forward. But misses the flight. The ball connects with his shoulder. It glances awkwardly. It rises. Over the head of their right back. Off the underside of the bar. And down into the net.
It’s a fucking goal! No-one can believe what has just happened. It’s Spinks beating Ali. It’s Norway winning the Eurovision Song Contest. It’s Benny from fucking Crossroads winning Mastermind.
And seconds later the pitch is swamped. Both colours, both sides. Fights breaking out. Stewards trying to stop them. Turf being dug up. The nets being stolen. Barshaw’s players are being carried shoulder high. The match won’t restart, even for the seconds that can only remain. I see the referee being cajoled and then dragged.
FT.
Auchinleck Talbot 1-2 Barshaw Bridge
(Gilmour, Monsanto)
And I see Higgy. On the grass, on his knees kissing it. All reason and responsibility deserting him in this euphoric moment. Damo is behind him, his expressionless face through the visor. The boy sees me, and what I’m holding and comes towards me through the throng. Higgy’s lost in this moment. His moment. He’ll get over my betrayal, I reason. He’ll always have this, and I gave it to him. Raymond fades into view in the distance. But he’s too late. He’s too far away. He won’t reach us. The crowd is too boisterous. And we’re closer to the gates than him. We both know what’s happening. From fifty yards away, I see his face. I smile at him. One last time. And I think he smiles back. He finally knows he’s beaten.
‘It’s good to be on the road back home again.’
We drive fast along the road. We pass three police cars driving faster in the other direction. In the rear-view mirror, I see the last of them turn sharply and switch on the siren and flashing lights. Damo is implacable, studying the new team of football men I gave him to entice him to come with me. The tape is playing. Nancy’s tape. I turn up the volume to protect him.
‘Wanna go faster, Damo?’
‘Faster Damo,’ he says.
He’s such a great kid. They don’t appreciate him, or how gifted he is. They just take him for granted or moan about him when he holds them back; prevents them from going out or doing the selfish things that they want to do.
They don’t fucking deserve him. They don’t deserve happiness.
We pull into the Barshaw main street, a police car still on our tail. The speed of the purple VW is impressive. I’d forgotten just how nippy it was. Its handling is good too, I ponder, as we swerve tightly around a woman pushing a pram laden with bags full of messages.
We pass The King’s, bedecked in red and white. As is the church, its pews no doubt temporarily swelled in the days leading up to the game by agnostics reaching out for the fine margins that Higgy and Harry and I used to talk about. Anything that might help.
The car behind is close. Twenty yards or so as we head downwards; down the hill. That gradual decline. The straight road that bends sharply and suddenly at the famous Barshaw Bridge. Everything we do is an echo of a previous time. We’re just damned to repeat the same patterns.
‘Let’s see how high this rocket can fly, Damo?’
‘I know it’s over, and it never really began
But in my heart, it was so real.’
I put my right foot down, take my hands off the wheel and close my eyes.
A Songs For Nancy –
* * *
01: Magellan, by Felt – (Duffy) Available on Creation Records, 1990
* * *
02: Couldn’t Bear To Be Special, by Prefab Sprout – (McAloon) Available on Kitchenware Records, 1984
* * *
03: My Sister, by Tindersticks – (Mark, Staples, Boulter, MacAuley, Fraser, Hinchliffe, Colwill) Available on This Way Up Records, 1995
* * *
04: Heart of Darkness, by Sparklehorse – (Linkous) Available on Capitol Records, 1995
* * *
05: It’s a Shame about Ray, by The Lemonheads – (Dando, Morgan) Available on Atlantic Records, 1992
* * *
06: Low Expectations, by Edwyn Collins – (Collins) Available on Setanta Records, 1994
* * *
07: It Just Came To Pieces in My Hands, by The Style Council –(Weller) Available on Polydor Records, 1985
* * *
08: Unsolved Child Murder, by The Auteurs – (Haines) Available on Hut Records, 1996
* * *
09: Tongue, by REM – (Berry, Buck, Mills, Stipe) Available on Warner Bros. Records, 1994
* * *
10: Bill Is Dead, by The Fall – (Scanlon, Smith) Available on Fontana Records, 1990
* * *
11: The First Big Weekend, by Arab Strap – (Moffat, Middleton) Available on Chemikal Underground Records, 1996
* * *
12: Teenage Riot, by Sonic Youth – (Gordon, Moore, Ranaldo, Shelley) Available on Blast First Records, 1988
* * *
Songs For Nancy – B
* * *
01: A Pair of Brown Eyes, by The Pogues – (MacGowan) Available on Stiff Records, 1985
* * *
02: Good To Be on the Road Back Home Again, by Cornershop – (Singh) Available on Wiiija Records, 1997
* * *
03: Little Bird (Are You Happy in Your Cage), by Moose – (Fletcher, Davis) Available on Hut Recordings, 1992
* * *
04: I Want You, by Spiritualized – (Pierce) Available on Dedicated Records, 1992
* * *
05: These Are the Dreams of the Working Girl, by Comet Gain – (Feck) Available on Wiiija Records, 1997
* * *
06: Isolation, by Joy Division – (Sumner, Hook, Morris, Curtis) Available on Factory Records, 1980
* * *
07: Bizarre Love Triangle, by Frente – (Gilbert, Hook, Morris, Sumner) Available on Mushroom Records, 1994
* * *
08: Bachelor Kisses, by The Go-Betweens – (McLennan, Forster) Available on Sire Records, 1984
* * *
09: Live Forever, by Oasis – (Gallagher) Available on Creation Records, 1994
* * *
10: Lonesome Tonight, by New Order (Gilbert, Hook, Morris, Sumner) Available on Factory Records, 1984
* * *
11: I Know It’s Over, by The Smiths – (Morrissey, Marr) Available on Rough Trade Records, 1986
* * *
12: White Love – Piano Reprise, by One Dove – (Allison, Carmichael, McInven) Available on FFRR Records, 1993
* * *
Acknowledgements
Sincere thanks to the following people who kindly gave me their time – and recollections – of the brilliantly bonkers world of mid-90s junior football in Ayrshire:
Billy Young, Charles Adam, Kevin Toner, Peter Dallas and of course, the one and only Alan Rough.
Thanks to my family, as always, but particularly Nathan, whose love of the game – and dedication to it – I find truly inspiring. Thanks also to Stuart Cosgrove, Dani Garavelli, John Carnochan, David Logue, Alistair Braidwood and Markus Naegele. And to the brilliant community of writers in Scotland for their selfless encouragement and support.
I’m indebted to Anne Macdonald who bid to become a character in the book to benefit the fantastic work being done by Marie Curie UK. If you wish to follow Anne’s inspirational lead, or if you would simply like some information and support about care through terminal illness, you can do so at the following address: https://www.mariecurie.org.uk/
And last but certainly not least, massive thanks and love to Karen Sullivan, West Camel, Anne Cater, Cole Sullivan and everyone at Orenda Books, without whom these words would have represented yet another collection of rough ideas and sketches rattling around my skull, looking for a way out.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
David F. Ross was born in Glasgow in 1964. His debut novel, The Last Days of Disco, was shortlisted for the Authors’ Club Best First Novel Award, and received exceptional critical acclaim, as did the other two books in the Disco Days Trilogy – The Rise & Fall of the Miraculous Vespas and The Man Who Loved Islands – and his most recent book, Welcome to the Heady Heights. He is a regular contributor to Nutmeg magazine, and in 2020 he wrote the screenplay for the film Miraculous, based on his own novel. Follow David on Twitter @dfr10 and his website: davidfross.co.uk.
Other books by David F. Ross available from Orenda Books:
The Disco Days trilogy:
The Last Days of Disco
The Rise & Fall of the Miraculous Vespas
The Man Who Loved Islands
Welcome to the Heady Heights
Copyright
Orenda Books
16 Carson Road
West Dulwich
London SE21 8HU
www.orendabooks.co.uk
First published in the United Kingdom by Orenda Books, 2021
Copyright © David F. Ross, 2021
David F. Ross has asserted his moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publishers.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978–1–913193–50–8
eISBN 978–1–913193–51–5
David F. Ross, There's Only One Danny Garvey
