Little Croker Read Online Free

each other, and without saying anything each cousin knew what the other was thinking. Their dads had just had their annual disagreement.
    â€˜Come on in, Danny,’ said Mick as the Bentley disappeared down the road.
    â€˜What happened?’ asked Danny. He was a bit annoyed; he was actually enjoying talking to his cousin.
    â€˜Your daddy and your uncle,’ answered Granny. ‘That’s what happened. I’m sick to death of yiz at each other’s throats. For heavens sake, I’d wish yiz would just bury the hatchet and try to move on.’
    â€˜Right, Mam! We’re off. Happy birthday. I love you!’ said Mick as he grabbed his coat with unusual urgency. 
    â€˜What’s Granny on about?’ asked Danny.
    â€˜Just give your granny a hug and a kiss, son,’ insisted Mick, and he nodded a look to Danny as if to say, And mind your own business as well.

Chapter 4
The Kerryman
    O n Monday morning in Irish class Danny was telling Splinter how excited he was about his trial on Friday and that he felt sorry for his cousin Jonathon who wasn’t even allowed to play football.
    ‘What colour is your uncle’s Bentley?’ asked Splinter, who was car-mad. ‘Is it a soft top? Marky Byrne saw a soft top one in town last week. They’re dead rare!’ babbled Splinter.
    Just as Danny was about to answer, Mr O’Shea stopped reading.
    Danny and Splinter looked up to see Mr O’Shea staring down at them.
    ‘Would Mr Wilde and Mr Murphy care toshare with us exactly what is so important that you have to discuss it while I’m reading?’
    Danny and Splinter buried their heads in their books. They weren’t even on the right page.
    ‘Stand up, boys,’ ordered Mr O’Shea.
    As Danny stood up, the teacher asked the question again – he wasn’t about to let it go.
    ‘Em, football, sir,’ answered Danny. ‘Gaelic football.’
    This was a clever move by Danny; he knew that Mr O’Shea was a passionate GAA supporter. Sure it would be a county crime if he wasn’t as he hailed from ‘The Kingdom’ itself!
    ‘GAA you say, Danny.’
    This was a good sign, he had addressed Danny by his first name.
    Danny quickly elaborated on his answer.
    ‘Yes, sir! We were just talking about how Kerry has won the most All-Ireland Finals.’
    Mr O’Shea smiled. He was onto Danny, but he admired the boy’s ingenuity and also enjoyed the fact that all the other boys were now looking at Danny and wondering why he was talking about Kerry and not the Dubs.
    ‘Is that right, Wilde?’
    Bad sign! thought Danny. O’Shea’s reverted back to surnames.
    ‘So tell me, Wilde. Do you know how many times Kerry has won the All-Ireland, then?’
    Splinter leaned his right leg against his desk, just enough to discreetly rest a sufficient amount of body weight on it without being accused of slumping. Splinter, along with Danny and every other pupil in the class, knew what was coming. Mr O’Shea was about to kick into ‘Kerry Mode’, and they were probably in for a long speech about how wonderful the ‘Kingdom’ was and how Kerry was the best GAA team.
    Danny thought he had worked out the right answer. 
    ‘Em! I think it’s about twenty-five times, sir.’
    ‘Wrong, Wilde, by a long shot!’ Mr O’Shea was chuffed. He had a smile now on his face that Danny recognised – the same smile that Danny had seen on the faces of forty thousand Kerry men, women and children in Croke Park, the day he witnessed Kerry knock the Dubs out of the All-Ireland semis.
    ‘Thirty-five times the magnificent Sam has travelled down to the Kingdom!’ answered Mr O’Shea. ‘And do you know how many times Kerry has beaten the Dubs?’ continued Mr O’Shea. He was on a roll now; he could almost feel the insults that every pupil in the class was hurling at him in their minds. He didn’t care. He was enjoying the moment.
    Danny decided that enough was enough. This was battle, just like on the playing field and he was going to hit back with