Little Croker Read Online Free Page A

a score of his own, a big score.
    ‘Em! I’m not too sure about that one either, Sir, but I can tell you one time when the Dubs beat Kerry.’
    ‘Is that right, Wilde? One time the Dubs beat Kerry!’ Mr O’Shea chuckled.
    ‘Yeah, Sir! It was the best game of football ever. The ’77 semi-final. And the Dubs won it!’
    ‘That’s right, Wilde.’
    Mr O’Shea wasn’t smiling anymore. Danny had tugged on the one thorn that stuck deep in the side of every Kerry supporter. The ’77 semi. It was the greatest contest of football ever played in the land, and Danny Wilde knew it, and had just announced it to everyone else in the class.
    ‘You’re a bit young to know about that match, Wilde,’ quizzed Mr O’Shea.
    ‘It’s his favourite, Sir,’ intervened Splinter who was now half-sitting on his desk. ‘He even named his dog “Heffo” after the Dubs’ manager.’
    ‘Straighten up, Murphy!’ yelled Mr O’Shea. 
    That was the end of all GAA talk. Mr O’Shea picked up reading where he had left off, just to show Danny that although he acknowledged that score – that very big score – he would have the last say.
    The two boys remained standing for the rest of Irish class, which was almost like Chinese torture. It was hard enough to try and stay awake in Irish class sitting down without the burden of having to stand through it.
    On the way home from school, Danny and Splinter swapped compliments on how the other had stood up to the teacher and put him in his place.
    ‘Ah! But you topped it off Danny, bringing up the ’77 semi!’
    ‘Yeah!’ smirked Danny. ‘My da always said …’ and Splinter joined in, ‘… If you’re ever in a battle of GAA talk with a Kerry supporter, just mention the ’77 semi.’
    * * *
    Later that evening, Danny told Mick all about that day’s Irish class.
    ‘Don’t be winding up your teachers, son,’ advised Mick.
    ‘But Dad! I couldn’t help it. He kept going on about Kerry this and Kerry that and then he started picking on the Dubs.’
    ‘Did you mention the ’77 semi?’ asked Mick with great anticipation of the answer.
    ‘I did!’ Danny answered with pride bursting from the seams.
    ‘I bet he went all quiet,’ said Mick.
    ‘Not another word, Da!’
    Mick was in great humour now, and he decided that they should order a curry to celebrate Danny’s trial with the Dublin team, and just to top the evening off, he dug out the ’77 semi video.
    When the doorbell rang, Danny answered the door. It was their curry arriving.
    ‘How much do we owe him, son?’ asked Mick. 
    ‘Nine eighty,’ answered the curry man.
    ‘I’ll be back in a second,’ said Danny.
    When Danny returned with the money, the curry man was stretching his head as far around the door as possible to catch a glimpse of the match. He jumped back when Danny came running out.
    ‘Eh, that wouldn’t be the ’77 All-Ireland semi between the Dubs and Kerry, would it?’
    ‘It would indeed!’ Mick yelled out. ‘Do you want to watch a bit of it?’
    Almost as soon as the words had left Mick’s lips, the curry man was on the couch, dipping the very chips he’d just delivered into poor Danny’s rapidly-declining tub of sauce, and howling, ‘Up the Dubs!’ at the telly.
    Danny, his dad and the curry man rode an emotional rollercoaster as they watched the Kerrymen charge at the Dubs and, in rapid response, the Dubs counterattack the boys from the Kingdom. The ultimate Dublin piece of warrior showmanship came when Dubs’ defender, Sean Doherty, plucked a long Kerry free kick out of the air and harm’s way and sent it up field.
    The three sofa spectators watched in awe as the Dubs battled and grinded the ball out of the chaotic midfield up to the hands of Tony Hanahoe, who passed it to Bernard Brogan, who charged towards the Kerry goal and then unleashed a thundering shot that saw the ball rip past the Kerry goalkeeper and smash into the now fragile and battered netting.
    Danny, his dad and the