XII
The High
Price of Football
Bridey and Mrs. Keenan were busy and enjoying each other’s company, and
listening to the ladies’ gossip. Otherwise they’d be here, with him, badgering
him, lecturing him, and ruining his fun. And this was fun. Liam smiled hugely
as strangers lifted canvas sacks of piglets from the bottom of a long rowboat.
Could only mean one thing. What a day, and what a way to celebrate.
The strangers conferred among themselves, a big one with a fedora made of
leather, pointed this way and that, and at last lead them, with their bounty,
up the steps of the cement pathway alongside of the storehouse ruins. Liam
stepped aside to let them pass. He tucked his hands behind his back and
followed.
*
Plates were passed about and the women began to dish up mutton stew.
Others poured tea. Too soon someone would open a jug of poteen. Connor barely
had a moment to talk to his new wife and dearly wanted to. Eat first, though.
He took his plate and hers and she took two cups to tea. They stepped aside to
let someone else take their place. He spotted a place in the clover, somewhere
they could eat together and maybe talk. They stepped off the way and up onto an
embankment. Deirdre set their tea on the
ground, and then sat, tucking her legs and her skirt beneath her. Connor
passed the plates down to her and then tugged at the material at the knees of
his trousers so that he could sit as well. He smiled at her now, not sure what
it is he had to say. The purple heather behind her brought out the blue of her
eyes, and the pink heather brought out a hint of red in her cheeks and her red
brown curls.
A group of strangers approached the diners from the direction of the
strand. A man who stood taller and broader than any man on Innisfen or in
Killelea stopped before the couple. He nodded and removed a leather fedora from
his head. “How are ya?” he asked.
Connor set his plate aside and stood. “Can I help you?”
“My name is Finnbarr Kinney, and I’m looking for the footballer priest.”
“You want Father Patrick.”
The man nodded again. “Would he be about?”
Connor glanced around. “Aye. He’s about.”
Finnbarr Kinney turned to indicate the men behind him. “We’re from Lough
Larton,” he explained. “We hear you have a decent football squad.”
“We do.” Connor pulled his shoulders back and tucked his thumbs in the
waist of his trousers.
“You play, is it?”
“Aye.”
The man nodded and glanced over his shoulder again. “We’re here to find
out how decent you are.” He took a canvas sack from another man and held it up.
Something grunted, and Connor knew he wanted it. “Pigs for some of those
weapons the Brits left behind.”
*
Tim tore up the way towards the Kelly homestead. “Father Patrick! Mr.
Kelly!” The lad caught himself at the stone fence, grabbing on as he sucked up
air.
Patrick stepped aside. The lad had gotten between him and Brendan. And
Brendan. Pigheaded Brendan. Would he ever learn? “You know what you are,
Brendan?”
“Go ahead,” the other demanded pushing about the boy as he pranced about,
“Say it. Call me bloody pigheaded. You, pigheaded..”
“Father Patrick!” Tim pushed in again, swinging his own arms and tugging
on theirs. “We got a football match!”
“I’m not pigheaded.”
“Father Patrick!” Tim yanked, almost toppling Patrick. “Lough Larton is
here. They want to play us!”
Patrick put his hand on Tim, hoping to stop his bouncing, while he
directed his comments towards Brendan’s bouncing. But Brendan had paused,
turning his attention to Tim. “Lough Larton?”
“Lough Larton,” Tim assured.
“Lough Larton!” Brendan curled both fists and leaned out of the fray. “We
got a football match!”
It hit him. “Lough Larton?” Patrick raised his hand, blessed his friend
and said his prayers quickly. For his part, Brendan leaned in, crossed himself
and repeated the Act of Contrition. “After the match,” Patrick ordered, “You
say a full Rosary, and promise you’ll never do it again.”
“Amen.”
Patrick borrowed Brendan’s spare trousers and shirt. Patrick had always
been slender, but Brendan, the pigheaded, the unforgiving, was also skinny. The
fit was tight.
They arrived on the Highside just as the men for Lough Larton finished up
plates of lamb, rabbit, potatoes, mushrooms, onion and pan biscuits. Maureen
pushed plates on Patrick and Brendan, and loaded each with the remains of
dinner. Patrick ate heartily while Brendan picked. The redhead set his plate
aside before finishing. “I’m ready,” he nodded.
A very tall man with a leather hat approached Patrick. Jeremiah Corrigan
introduced him as Finnbarr Kinney. “I’ve heard of you,” the man said, as he and
Patrick shook hands. “I heard you were good too. Seeing your offense, I’m
wondering how good you could be.”
Taking the insult in stride, Patrick tried to smile as his eyes traveled
up the man’s build. “You’ll find out, won’t ya.”
The opening kick ended at a standstill in the midst of the field.
Finnbarr Kinney wasn’t moving and neither was anybody else. It was a brutal
beginning and a brutal match that followed. Lough Larton had the advantage and
used it to mock Innisfen and Killelea. One of them took the ball away several
times and held onto it just long enough to keep one of the officials from either
team from taking it away from their side. Then the player soloed it off his
foot before moving it on to another player.
*
Hearing the raucous, the Major found himself a spot far enough away from
Liam O'Brennigan to insure his pleasure and not give further pleasure to
O'Brennigan. The Republican, though, involved himself in the match, calling out
his encouragement, charging the field to correct an infraction and screaming at
the opposition. He seemed to be oblivious to Reggie’s presence. Reggie allowed
himself an ounce of comfort in that, and before long, found himself calling out
as loudly as O'Brennigan.
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