*
“Tim said you need me,” Father Patrick said. Children and dogs traveling
in his wake, came to a stop behind him.
O'Hare, stripped to the waist, held his hand out to Patrick. “I’m not
sure whether they’ll be wanting a benediction or Last Rights, Father. ‘Tis a
small matter of football. You wouldn’t be having any objections, would you?”
“Of course not,” Patrick said, shaking the other’s hand.
Corrigan slipped between the men, placing his hand on Patrick’s shoulder
and one on O'Hare’s arm. “Did I mention that Father Patrick had been known to
enjoy a match or two?”
O'Hare cast a different eye on Father Patrick. “Is that so?“
“’Tis.“
Eamonn Darcy and several others caught up. Smiling broadly at his father,
Eamonn asked, “Ready yet?”
“All we’re waiting for is m’Connor,” Corrigan replied.
“Connor,” advised Eamonn. “He’s coming. He’s helping Mam and the other
ladies with the cooking fire.”
“Is Deirdre about?” Wee Sean growled.
Eamonn chuckled and scratched his jaw. “Let me see. Deirdre, is it? Are
you suggesting that Connor is more interested in Deirdre than he would be in
the lamb?”
“That’s a close call,” Corrigan assured, patting Eamonn on the back.
*
Liam marched straight into the center of the field, and moved along with
the players. Both squads were short of the required fifteen players, and agreed
to maintain squads of eight. During the kick-off, Wee Sean slipped in, drove
the ball between the legs of one of O'Hare’s boyos, and right in line with
Father Patrick. He and Eamonn Darcy passed it back and forth with precision,
while Murphy and Jerry Corrigan blocked. When O'Hare’s lads took the ball away
from the Innisfen footballers, Connor Corrigan took Wee Sean’s place for a bit.
Back and forth, back and forth, the players kicked, head butted and passed the
ball backwards on their way towards flimsily constructed wooden goal posts with
bottom netting at either end of the field. Sometimes a shot went over the
upright and the offensive team scored one point. Sometimes the shot went around
the goalie and into the net. That gave them three points. And sometimes the
shot went off to the side, missing the goal post all together. Like another man
on the field, Liam chased after the ball, trying his best to move it with his
feet or smack it with his head. He even tried to block one of O'Hare’s lads.
Only he had no effect whatsoever on the ball or any of the players. Still it
felt good to be back on the field and moving about. He yelled, he screamed, he
attempted to kick up some mud center field. What good was a match with no mud?
He and his lads grunted through a brutal match. The activity ceased momentarily
as player changes were made.
To Liam’s surprise, a ghostie soldier in battle gear entered the field.
Liam left the position he assigned himself, and crossed the length of the
field.
“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t be leaving the Backside,” Liam
commented.
The Major nodded at crowds forming at the edge of the field of play. “I
heard the noises, and I had hoped for a rousing game of cricket.”
“Cricket?” Liam made his hands as if he as holding a bat. “Rousing is
it?”
“You’re familiar with the sport?”
“I’ve slept through a match or two. Now if you’d really like a rousing
match, you need to be seeing an Irish football match. That’s what m’mates are about
now.”
“Your companions, hum? You’ll have to point them out to me.”
Liam nodded. “This way, Reggie, m’boyo. I’d be introducing you, but you
realize they’ll never hear me.”
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