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.
If you missed Chapter 1, click here.
CHAPTER TWO
Sam rushed to empty out his backpack on the hall-table so he’d have the flyer ready to stick up on the refrigerator door in the
kitchen. Proudly, he placed it underneath a magnet, right on top of the latest recruiting letter from another college offering Billy a scholarship. Every day a new one of those seemed to arrive. Every day Billy placed it front and centre on the door.
‘What are you doing squirt?’ The sound of Billy’s voice from the far corner of the room.
‘Putting up my flyer.’
‘What flyer?’
‘Try-outs this Saturday.’
‘Try-outs. I didn’t know they had fun-size try-outs.’
‘Billy, don’t be mean to your brother.’ Sam’s mom had walked in from the garage, as usual carrying food from the other refrigerator. ‘What’s all this about then Sam?’ She was holding the flyer in her hand as if it was the most important document in history.
‘Soccer try-outs this Saturday afternoon.’
‘Fantastic. That’s great. You must be so excited.’
‘I know. I can’t wait.’
‘Well, I’m sorry but you’ll have to wait and right now you’ll have to do your homework. Let’s get the folder out.’
‘Can I do it in my room?’
‘No. you know the rules.’
He knew the rules and he hated them. Everybody else got to do their homework in their bedrooms. Except him. He had to do his in the kitchen at the counter as his mom cooked. Where she could see him. Where the smell of her cooking often made him too hungry to concentrate.
‘Who’s going to bring me to the try-out?’
‘Never mind that. One of us will bring you. You won’t miss it.’
‘I know but I just want to know.’ He just wanted to know because for once he had an appointment just like his brothers. Something to put on the family’s always overcrowded schedule.
‘Please just get your homework done.’
Sam was finding it harder than usual to concentrate. Apart from his head being full of thoughts of the try-outs, there was Billy. He’d come in from the other room. Looking to pick at the food while the dinner was being cooked. As always. Looking to annoy Sam. As always.
‘I remember my first try-out you know,’ said Billy, using a strange voice that made him sound like an old man. ‘I think I scored four in the first ten minutes.’
He paused to let Sam take this in and then continued. ‘Or was it five in the first fifteen minutes?
Sam tried not to react. Everybody knew the story of Billy’s first try-out. The coaches took him off the field after just ten minutes so the other players could at least get the ball once in a while. It had become a town legend.
‘Either way I was taken off and told I’d made the team. Before the rest had even properly tried out.’ He laughed aloud as if tickled by his own greatness.
‘Okay Billy, we all know you are a great soccer player and we all remember your try-out,’ said Mrs. Healy. ‘But now it’s somebody else’s turn to play.’ She smiled at Sam and he smiled back. Then she headed back to the garage for more supplies.
‘What’s all this about try-outs?’ Charlie Healy strolled in to the kitchen, still holding the Wii remote in his right arm, already rifling through the cupboard for snacks with his left.
‘I’ve my first try-out Saturday.’
‘Cool. What time?’
It’s from three until 4.15.
‘Uh-oh.’
‘What’s uh-oh about?’ Sam put down the pencil he was using to do long division.
‘I’ve a game in North Ville at 3.’ No sooner had the words left Charlie’s mouth than Billy was back on the scene.
‘This Saturday? I’ve a game in East Ford at 3.30.’
‘But my try-out is at the school.’ Sam didn’t like where this was going.
‘How are mom and dad going to get us to our games and you to your try-out?’ asked Billy, with relish in his voice.
‘Exactly,’ chorused Charlie. The two of them were now perched on stools on either side of their youngest brother, loving his discomfort.
‘I think you’re going to have to miss your try-out.’
‘Yeah, don’t worry, there’ll be other years.’
‘I…I…I...I’ve been waiting for this. There has to be a way.’
Billy and Charlie were savoring every moment of tormenting him.
‘Sorry, older kids come first,’ they chorused. ‘We have games. Actual games. You only have a try-out. They’ll give you another try-out later.’
‘No, no, no. I have to be there. I have to play.’ There were tears welling up in his eyes. He could feel them coming. He was doing all he could to stop them leaking out. He was about to jump off the stool and run for his bedroom.
‘Hey what’s going on here?’ said Mom, coming back at just the right time.
‘They are,’ he had to pause because there was a lump in his throat. They are saying I can’t make my try-out because they have (another pause, more trouble speaking without crying) games this Saturday.’
‘Don’t mind those idiots. They are only annoying you. First of all, we will get you to the try-out no matter what. Secondly, let’s look at the calendar on the door of the basement. Look, they don’t have games. They have practice. At the school field.’
He felt silly now for allowing them to make fun of him so easily. But he felt happy too. Happy that he wasn’t going to miss the try-out. For anything.