Dave Hannigan - Kicking On

P eter OConnor knew every car in the village. Not only the make. He knew most of the licence plates too. The rest of the kids often wondered whether he had a notebook where he jotted all this information down. But no, it was in his head. That was his thing.

Inevitably then, he was the first one to spot the strange car pulling up outside the fence during training that Saturday morning. The rest were too obsessed with a game of backs and forwards to notice anything. Not Peter though. Just at the time he was supposed to be marking Johnny Delaney, he was walking towards the fence to get a better look.

He came back after Johnny had been allowed to kick a nice point untouched to break the news to the others.

Its a stranger in a Ford Focus, he said to no-one in particular. Never saw him before. 2008 D reg. Probably a rental car.

Most of them half-turned to check out the visitor. Dinny Murphy, the long-serving manager of the Dromtarry Gaelic Football Club Under-11s, a man known to everybody in the village as Murph, just shook his head.

Thanks for the update Peter, he said. Youll make a great guard someday. Now, can you get back to corner-back and try to remember youre supposed to be marking Johnny?

With a week to go before the first match of the season, the last thing Murph needed was any distraction like this. After four long, sometimes very long, decades training kids, he knew it only took the slightest thing to take their minds completely off the game.

I wonder who this fella is though, and why is he watching our training? asked Davey McCarthy. Centre-fielder. The tallest player on the team. The best player on the team. Usually the most-focused player at training too.

He might be a tourist, just taking in the show we put on here at training, said Peter, loving the fact his best friend Davey had got involved in the distraction.

My Dad says we dont get tourists here unless theyre lost, reckoned Johnny Delaney. I think he might be a scout from Kilturk, sent over to see if we are any good.

Can you ignore that car now please? pleaded Murph.

They couldnt. Their concentration had been broken. Even Charlie Morrissey had walked out from the goal to see if he was missing anything important.

By then, Peter was offering a more detailed description of the car and trying to convince the others that the driver had just waved at him.

Ah lads, please, can we forget about the car? asked Murph again. He was squeezing a battered ONeills ball so hard between his knotted hands it looked like it might burst. Is it any wonder my hair is grey with this kind of carry-on?

But youve always been grey, Murph, chipped in Johnny Delaney, a cheeky corner-forward with or without the ball in his hands.

Yeah, said Davey, my Dad says you were grey when you coached him and that was twenty-five years ago.

This brought them on to one of their favourite subjects.

How old are you anyway, Murph? asked Peter. A question always guaranteed to get Murph annoyed and to make everybody else laugh.

Is it true youre the oldest fella in charge of a team in Ireland? asked Peter, loving the laughter the first question had brought.

Im older than God and twice as powerful, he replied. Now Peter, you can lead the whole team on a lap of the field there to try and get your brains back into focus.

Off they trotted. They hadnt gone twenty metres when the Ford Focus revved up at the far end of the fence and headed out of town and up a hill known as Bakers Lane. Peter saw this, pressed on his own brakes and brought the whole squad to a halt.

Murph, did you see where the car went? Peter shouted back to Murph.

Yes I did, Peter, I also see you stopped running, said the long-suffering manager.

Theres nothing up that hill only the old Reedy house and nobodys lived there for years.

Donkeys years, said Murph who all of a sudden didnt seem as annoyed at the interruption.

They say its haunted you know, said Peter.

They do say that, said Murph. He paused and looked off in the direction in which the car had gone. But thats not true. Thats a load of old rubbish. Now, would you ever please get back to the running and do a lap of this field for me?

Slowly, Peter and the rest of the players began to jog again.