by Dave Hannigan
Dave Hannigan is a columnist with the Irish Echo (New York), The Evening Echo (Cork, Ireland) and the Mail on Sunday (Dublin). An award-winning journalist and author, he has written five non-fiction books and one children's novel. A father of three boys and an adjunct-professor of history at Suffolk County Community College in Selden, he has lived in Rocky Point for the past ten years and has coached Rocky Point United U-11 boys in the LIJSL since last September. Before moving to Long Island in 2000, he spent eight years as a soccer correspondent for the Sunday Times of London, covering the Irish national team and the Premier League in England.
CHAPTER NINE
Sam was nervous as his father drove him to the first proper practice of the season. Not an excited nervous. Just a nervous nervous.
‘Sam, one more thing,’ said Mr. Healy as he collected his gear bag from the trunk of the car. ‘Always remember that it’s not the size of the dog in the fight but the size of the fight in the dog that matters!’
‘What?’ asked Sam, looking at his dad like he’d grown an extra head.
‘It’s not the size of the dog in the fight but the size of the fight in the dog,’ said his father. ‘It’s a famous quote from Mark Twain.’
‘Really? I bet Mark Twain never played travel soccer.’ Mr. Healy shook his head and drove away.
‘What was that about?’ asked Danny Petrino, already waiting on the field for his best friend to arrive.
‘My Dad was giving me some inspirational talk!’
‘Wow, mine just sends me text messages saying: “Knock ’em dead!” I mean who says “Knock ‘’em dead?” anymore. Parents are just weird.’
Danny made Sam laugh with that one. As he always seemed to be able to do.
‘Quit your yammering and get ready boys.’ It was the booming voice of Coach Silverman. ‘Daylight is burning and we have work to do.’
‘Daylight is burning?’ whispered Sam to Danny. ‘What is it with grown-ups saying strange things today?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Danny. ‘I guess he wants to get started.’
The first practice was very much like the try-out. Lots of skills drills, some running and a scrimmage. The skills drills were easy for Sam. The running not so much. In the sprints, he was finishing several yards behind all the other boys and hoping nobody would notice. Then there was the scrimmage. Another nightmare.
‘Where do you want me to play coach?’ he asked.
‘Eh, just make a nuisance of yourself in the middle of the field. Get up and down the field.’
Those seemed like weird instructions. He could have sworn he heard the coach give most of the other kids actual positions.
His mood didn’t improve when the game started. He was bumped off the ball too easily. He was caught in possession by kids who just seemed quicker and stronger in the tackle. And everybody seemed to be hitting the ball harder than him.
When his team won a corner, he went to stand near the penalty spot. That’s where his brothers all stood in their games. Then the coach came over.
‘You can’t stand there at the corner,’ he said with his hands on Sam’s shoulders, already ushering him away. ‘You go to the near post in case there’s a flick-on. You are too small for this slot.’
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Sam walked to the near post, his cheeks red with embarrassment. The corner flew over his head right to the penalty spot where Peter Di Paulo headed it home.
Things got slightly better from then. Sam made a couple of first touch passes that worked but still found himself being overpowered too often by the bigger kids. Even Danny took the ball off his toe at one point just when he was making to shoot.
When it was all over, the coach came towards him.
‘Good effort Healy, Good effort. Let me ask you this. Are you the youngest in the family?’
‘Yes I am,’ said Sam.
‘Wow, the runt of the litter then, the runt of the litter.’ The coach smiled as he walked away.
Sam didn’t know what he meant by that but from the way everybody else had laughed he knew it wasn’t anything good. He didn’t bother bringing it up with his father in the car on the way home. The more he thought about it though, the more it bothered him.
‘Mom, can I ask you something?’ he said when he found Mrs. Healy standing in the kitchen..jpg)
‘What does runt of the litter mean?’
She didn’t answer at first. That was odd too. She loved when he asked her questions about words and stuff.
‘Eh, em, eh. Why don’t you ask your dad? I’m not quite sure.’
More strange behavior.
Mr. Healy was in the television room busy shouting at cable news anchors.
‘Dad, do you know what runt of the litter means?’
‘Where did you hear that?’
‘The coach told me I was the runt of the litter.’
‘Oh.’ Another long pause. What was it with this phrase? Why did it have this strange effect on everyone?
‘Have you ever heard it before?’
‘Sure I have. I guess it just means you’re the youngest in the family really.’
‘Coach was kind of laughing when he said it though. Is it meant to be funny?’
‘Well, in that context, I suppose, he probably…..’ His father was suddenly making no sense at all. ‘Hang on a second, I just need to get something in the kitchen.’
When his father didn’t come straight back, Sam decided to look at the giant dictionary on the coffee table. Maybe that would tell him something. He closed the book just as his parents walked back in.
‘Okay honey?’ said his mom.
‘Not okay mom. Not okay.’
‘Why not?’ asked his father.
I just looked it up. He reopened the dictionary on the page and started to read.
‘It means a person of small stature. The smallest puppy in a litter of puppies. In a group of animals the runt is always weaker than all other animals.’
He didn’t read anymore. He couldn’t read anymore. Tears welled up in his eyes, tears he was fighting very hard to keep in. He turned to run out of the room but his mother grabbed him.
‘Sam, Sam, Sam. You have to remember you are young, your brothers were all small too but they grew.’
‘They weren’t as small as me,’ he said, struggling to get the words out without crying. ‘I know that. I’ve seen the photographs.
‘They were small for their age and you are too but you just have to have patience
He didn’t respond because the floodgates had opened. Tears were streaming down his face. His mom just held him to her.
‘You will grow,’ she whispered. ‘I promise you will.’