Football Spirit, page 3
‘We spent most of the first half hour finding out what position people play, and what clubs they support in England,’ he whispered. ‘It was a bit of a waste of time, really. Dylan’s not a great organiser.’
‘Well, be fair to him, he organised a good bunch to come along here,’ said Eoin. ‘But I agree, he’s getting tied up in silly details when he needs to get them enjoying themselves so they will all come back next time.’
When the jog was finished, Eoin showed them how to do a few simple stretches and suggested they have a bit of a kick about – there was enough for an eight-a-side game and Charlie had brought along a football.
‘Grand so,’ said Dylan. ‘As we’re called the Red Rockets we’re all going to need some sort of red shirt for games. But tonight only about half of us have one so we’ll all play together and the rest of you make up another team.’
There was a bit of muttering that Dylan seemed to have found himself on the team with some of the better players, but no one had a better idea.
‘Will you captain the multi-coloured team, Richie?’ Dylan suggested.
‘Yeah, no problem,’ replied Duffy, who was wearing a brand new Chelsea shirt.
‘These goals are the wrong size,’ complained Charlie, ‘they should be wider and lower.’
‘We’ll just have to do with them for the moment,’ said Dylan. ‘And anyway, it’s just a mess match.’
It was quickly clear to Eoin that there was a wide range in standard between the best and worst players, but he thought there were easily enough who knew how to play.
Duffy was actually quite a stylish midfielder, although a bit selfish when it came to passing close to goal. Eoin kept away from him – as he did most days in school – but was impressed at how good he was on the ball.
‘That’s enough, lads, we better head in for the dinner,’ said Dylan once the Red team had taken a 5-4 lead.
There was some minor grumbling, but nobody was too concerned, especially as Dylan had already left the field and was taking off his boots on the sideline.
‘Well, that went well, didn’t it?’ said Dylan. ‘I think we have the makings of a seriously good side here.’
Chapter 11
Dylan was buzzing all evening, and he and Alan spent most of dinner time scribbling in a notebook and making formations out of the players that had impressed them.
‘Do I get a place in this team?’ asked Eoin.
‘Yeah…’ replied Dylan. ‘But we see you more as a defensive midfielder, we’ll play Richie just in front of you to make the chances.’
Eoin shrugged. ‘Fair enough, I probably won’t be available much anyway.’
He told the boys about Mr Carey’s conversation but Dylan wasn’t as annoyed as he had been after Eoin’s earlier chat with the rugby coach.
‘Oh well,’ he said. ‘I suppose we could do without you if we had to.’ And he and Alan started reorganising the formation to see how it would look if Eoin wasn’t available.
Eoin felt a little lost by all this, and went for a ramble down to the Rock, where he was delighted to meet Brian.
‘You look pretty glum, Eoin, is everything alright?’ asked his spectral pal.
‘I used to love sport, every sport, but now it just causes me headaches. I’ve been forced to play rugby on a team I don’t really want to play on just because I’m better than anyone else in the year. And when I set up my own football team I’m pressured not to play, and when we finally get going my best friends have written me out of the team. Of course I’m “glum”!’
‘That’s unfortunate,’ replied Brian, ‘but perhaps you’re just tired of sport after that long summer, as you told me last week. Go for a long run on your own, I always found that a great way of improving my mood. And maybe instead of playing a match you should go to watch one, the excitement and fellow feeling with the rest of the spectators will remind you of why you love sport.’
Eoin smiled and told Brian he thought that sounded like a good idea, and that he would try his suggestions. But he was still very down and a little upset that his friends would cast him aside so easily.
‘Anything else happening up in the school?’ asked Brian.
‘All quiet at the moment, I’ll let you know if anything changes,’ Eoin replied.
Eoin went for a twenty-minute run before he returned to the dormitory.
‘Ah there you are, Eoin, we were making plans to go to watch a game on Saturday,’ said Dylan. ‘I’ve decided that now we are part of the Irish football pyramid, I need to support a local club, so naturally enough I’m now a fan of Limerick FC, my native city.’
Alan went on, ‘And by chance they are playing in Dublin tomorrow night – against my beloved Bohemians!’
‘So we were thinking we could head over to watch the game,’ said Dylan. ‘It’s a five o’clock kick off so we’ll be back before the gates close. Are you up for it?’
Eoin nodded. He wasn’t sure he wanted to listen to the two of them prattling on about the Red Rockets, but thought it would be good to get out and watch a game as Brian had suggested.
‘I’ve worked out all the logistics,’ said Alan. ‘It’s on the other side of the city, but we can get the Number 4 bus pretty much door to door, nice seats in the stand, grab a burger on the way home and we’ll be back before eight o’clock. Not a word to anyone else though – it looks like it might be out of bounds.’
‘Will we be stuck in the middle of Bohs fans?’ asked Dylan.
‘Yeah, so you’ll have to behave yourself,’ said Alan with a chuckle. ‘No jumping up and down if, by some fluke, Limerick manage to score.’
Chapter 12
The three friends arrived at the bus stop just as the No 4 was pulling in. They paid their fares and clambered on board before heading for the seats at the very back of the top deck.
Alan checked the time on his phone. ‘OK, the bus journey should be about forty minutes, then a five minute walk to Dalymount, so we’ll have nearly an hour to explore and find the best seats.’
‘Has anyone been here before?’ asked Eoin.
‘My dad pointed it out to me one day when we were driving to the zoo,’ explained Alan. ‘He suggested we go to see a Bohs match sometime, but we haven’t got around to it yet. His dad, my grandfather, used to play a bit for them way back. He passed away when I was really small, but there’s some nice pictures of him at home wearing the red and black shirt.’
‘I wonder have they got a Handy Stand,’ Eoin replied, with a grin.
‘Very funny,’ said Alan. ‘I don’t think he played for very long. But he was really good. Well so Dad said anyway.’
‘Your name could come in useful if you ever start writing books about coaching,’ said Dylan. ‘Like – you could call them The Handy Guide to Football, or The Handy Guide to Rugby.’
The boys all laughed and settled back to enjoy the scenery. Eoin hadn’t seen much of Dublin in his time there, mostly just rugby grounds and other schools. He noticed how the landscape changed a lot through the course of the journey, from big houses with large gardens and tree-lined roads, to the sights of a bustling city and then to smaller homes and apartment blocks.
‘We’re dead lucky to be going to a place like Castlerock,’ he told his friends as they passed a city school. ‘I’d say the lads in there would love to have one soccer pitch in their grounds, let alone what we have.’
Alan and Dylan nodded, but they perked up when they noticed a group of men wearing black and red scarves walking briskly alongside the bus.
‘I so have to buy one of them,’ said Alan.
‘Who are you supporting, Eoin?’ asked Dylan. ‘Or have you forgotten your Munster roots entirely?’
Eoin laughed, and looked out the window again. ‘I must confess I do like the Bohs shirt – and the Limerick one only reminds me of Chelsea, and Richie Duffy.’
‘So Bohs it is,’ chuckled Alan. ‘They might give us a discount if we buy two scarves.’
But there were no bargains to be had from the souvenir sellers and Eoin reluctantly parted with ten euro for his new team’s colours. The boys wandered up a lane between two terraces of houses where they came to the back of the main stand.
They queued at the under-sixteens turnstile and handed over another five euro note for admission.
‘This better be good,’ Eoin told his pals. ‘I won’t have much for my burger on the way home at this rate.’
The trio wandered around the stand, soaking in the views of the famous old ground.
‘I don’t recognise ye, lads,’ said an old gentleman sitting in the back row of the stand.
‘It’s our first game here,’ Alan explained.
‘Well I’m glad yiz are flying the right colours,’ he chuckled, wheezily.
‘Are you a Bohs fan too?’ Eoin asked.
‘I am indeed, for manys a long year too,’ replied the old man, who said his name was Alfie. ‘I’ve been coming here since I was seven year old – and that wasn’t today or yesterday. I even played a few games for the Gypsies – that’s the fans’ name for Bohemians – when I was a young man. I wasn’t bad, but they had a lot better players than me at the time.’
The old man told them about the days when the ground was packed with more than 50,000 people, the terraces heaving with supporters in what was the main international ground in Ireland from the 1920s up to the 1970s.
‘I saw lots of great players here – there was lads standing all along the roof of the stand there when Ireland played Italy and France in the 1980s. I saw the great Paolo Rossi here, and earlier on Pele and Bobby Charlton too.’
Even the boys had heard of the last two legends. Alan asked him what goal was the best he had ever seen at the old ground.
‘That’s an easy one,’ he replied. ‘It was by a fella called Johnny Giles – he used to be on the television a lot, talking about football. When he was only eighteen or nineteen he scored with a screamer from outside the penalty box – just over there,’ he pointed out the spot. ‘Against Sweden it was.
‘He was a great player, but he wasn’t the best player I ever saw.’
Alan’s eyes opened wide. ‘Was that Pele or Bobby Charlton?’
‘No,’ he replied, ‘and I saw Jimmy Greaves too, but no, the best player I ever saw came from just up the road there,’ he said, pointing away to his left.
‘Who was that?’ asked Dylan.
The old man took off his cap and rubbed his hand backwards across his white hair. ‘That was a lad called Liam Whelan,’ he replied. ‘Lived up there in Cabra, and a darling footballer he was too.’
Chapter 13
Eoin looked at Alan, but his blank face told him that he hadn’t a clue who the old man was talking about either.
‘I haven’t heard of him, I’m afraid,’ Alan admitted.
‘Ah, young lads these days have no idea about the history of the sport – and I see one of ye is a Manchester United fan too,’ he replied, pointing at Dylan’s red shirt. ‘You should definitely know all about Liam, one of your club’s greatest heroes.’
‘How long ago was this?’ asked Eoin.
‘More than sixty year ago,’ said Alfie. ‘I saw him play here a couple of times for Ireland – we nearly beat England too, they only equalised in the last minute. I think he only played four games for Ireland in all.
‘But no, the one I remember was the game he played here for United against Shamrock Rovers in the European Cup – that was the old name for the Champions League. The place was jammers. It was a brilliant occasion for the city, and a great honour for Dalymount to host the famous Busby Babes – they were called that because their manager’s name was Matt Busby.
‘Rovers were our great enemies so I was cheering for United – and because Liam was playing for them of course.’
The old man smiled with a faraway look in his eyes.
‘He was just brilliant, he could get the ball past anyone, and he scored two goals that day – United won 6-0. Our Liam Whelan, from Cabra.’
‘But if he was that good, why did he only play four times for Ireland?’ asked Dylan.
Alfie sighed. ‘I’m afraid that’s a long story, youngster.
‘Only a few months after the game here United were off in foreign parts playing another European match and on the way back they stopped to refuel in Germany – a city called Munich. The weather was bad and the plane crashed taking off.’
‘No way,’ said Dylan. ‘And was anyone hurt?’
‘There was more than twenty people killed,’ said Alfie, ‘players, coaches, journalists… A fellow called Duncan Edwards was killed – they say he could have been the best player in the world. Bobby Charlton was badly injured, but he recovered and went on to win the World Cup with England.’
‘And was Liam Whelan OK?’ asked Eoin.
Alfie shook his head and wiped the corner of his eye. The boys remained silent, shocked at the story.
‘The whole city of Dublin was in shock, especially around these parts. Liam was such a hero to everyone. And we’ve never forgotten him either – there’s a bridge named in his honour over that way,’ he pointed off into the distance.
‘And did he ever play for Bohemians?’ asked Alan.
‘No, he didn’t,’ replied Alfie. ‘He went over to England when he was still a schoolboy so he only played here for Home Farm and a little local team… what were they called… ah yes, they were the Red Rockets.’
The three boys’ mouths opened and they turned to stare at each other.
‘Did you say, Red Rockets?’ asked Alan.
‘Yeah, that’s what they were called – I played for them myself for a while.’
‘That’s funny,’ said Dylan. ‘We’ve just started a football club in school and that’s what we called them too.’
‘Well isn’t that a coincidence,’ said Alfie. ‘Old Liam must be looking down on ye and giving you some inspiration. Well I hope you do well with your little team and I see you again in a few years out on that lovely field,’ he added, pointing out to where the players were now having a pre-match kickabout.
‘I better go off and get a cup of tea,’ he said with a smile. ‘That’s part of my tradition before every match, and I don’t want to change it on the back of winning our last three home games.’
‘It was very nice to meet you, sir,’ Eoin told him.
‘Ah, don’t be calling me sir,’ Alfie replied. ‘I’m Alfie to everyone around here. I hope we see you back here again too.’ And off he went in search of his hot drink.
Alan exhaled loudly as he leaned back against the back of the stand. ‘Well, that was a bit of a shock,’ he said.
‘I never heard of the Red Rockets before,’ said Dylan. ‘I just made up the name for our team.’
‘Maybe Alfie’s right,’ Eoin wondered aloud. ‘Maybe that Liam Whelan fella is inspiring you in some way, a bit like Brian did with me.’
Since Eoin arrived in Castlerock he had encountered a series of ghosts of famous sportsmen who also made a mark in different ways, such as Irish rebel Kevin Barry and All Blacks legend Dave Gallaher.
Alan scratched his head. ‘That’s just mad,’ he said.
‘Brian warned me there was some trouble brewing,’ replied Eoin. ‘Maybe this has something to do with it. We’ll keep our eyes open. But let’s keep the name Red Rockets too – it may be some connection to that Liam lad.’
Chapter 14
The game kicked off and the boys were soon lost in the action. Dalymount Park had seen better days, and large areas of the ground were now closed to spectators. But the terrace behind one goal was packed, and there were very few spare seats to be had in the grandstand.
Dylan realised he would have to dampen down his support for Limerick, but Alan and Eoin were pretty subdued too. Having only previously been at rugby matches, they weren’t sure whether football supporters shouted and sang the same things, so they waited to pick up the chants from the fans sitting near them.
Bohemians were on the attack for most of the opening half and a powerful strike from outside the box by their young striker Seb Joyce gave them the lead just before the break. Almost everyone in the stand stood up and cheered, confirming for Dylan that he was watching from enemy territory.
Alan winked at his Limerick-supporting pal, who was trying to pretend he was delighted that Bohs had scored.
‘That was a great goal, wasn’t it, Dyl?’ Eoin teased him.
‘Not bad, it was the best I’ve seen this season anyway,’ replied Dylan.
The ref whistled for half-time just afterwards and the trio settled down to discuss what they had seen.
‘That Limerick central defender is very dirty,’ said Alan. ‘He’s kicked Seb Joyce twice when the ref wasn’t looking.’
‘Yeah, the ref is letting them away with murder,’ said Eoin. ‘Bohs should be two or three up by now.’
Dylan wouldn’t be drawn to defend his team’s player, for fear he would reveal himself to the home fans sitting in front.
Eoin took in the surroundings and the people around him. He wasn’t quite nervous, just unsure of himself in a new place where he wasn’t sure how to behave.
‘Is this your first game?’ asked the man seated in the row in front.
‘Is it that obvious,’ laughed Eoin.
The man smiled back. ‘I suppose it is – ye are like church mice at the back there. You should join in with the singing and the chants. How have you become Bohs fans?’
Alan explained how his grandfather had played for the club, but the man and his companion were too young to have heard of him.
‘You should ask Alfie about him – he’s been around here for donkey’s years – he’ll remember him right enough.’
‘We met Alfie before the game,’ replied Alan. ‘But I never got a chance to ask him.’
‘It’s hard to get in a word edgeways with Alfie,’ the man replied. ‘He was probably telling you all about Liam Whelan, was he?’
