The Legends (39 page)

“The problem now,” Nigel continued, “is that news of yesterday’s match is spreading like wildfire, even as we are sitting here. I know that the match was videotaped and within a matter of days, every professional club in Europe will have seen it. As a result they will no longer see you as a young player who might develop, but a young player who could already compete at the highest level.”

“No,” Brian insisted, “I’m just a kid.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Nigel said with a smile. “Professional clubs like Liverpool have development teams, and they sign young fellows who are barely older than you are. That way, they have them tied up when they are young so that other teams can’t ask them to play when they get older.”

Brian appeared amazed at the news but he stated, “Well, I’m not going to sign up with anyone so that should take care of that. I haven’t even had a chance to play hurling.”

Nigel laughed, “Of course you’re not. That isn’t the problem. You see everywhere you go from now on the newspapers and the television stations will be following you around. All kinds of people are going to be offering you and your parents all kinds of things, even a great deal of money. They will all want you or your parents to sign this or that. It is just something that you will have to get used to.”

“And all because I scored a few goals in a school match?” Brian asked genuinely surprised.

“Well, in fairness, it wasn’t that you scored, but the way you scored that has created the interest,” Nigel replied.

“So what should I do? You will help me won’t you Mr. Blessington?”

“Of course I will,” Nigel replied. “The first thing is that I should speak with your Mom and Dad and explain what is going to happen, because I’m quite sure not only the press but also professional scouts will be at your house later today, if they haven’t arrived already. Perhaps I can help them understand the process so they will know what to do. But that is the easy part.”

“And what is the hard part?” Brian asked.

“You are the hard part,” Nigel said with a smile. “I know what you are like Brian. You have been reared properly and you are very courteous particularly to adults. Your friends like you because you are nice and I have never seen you be rude to anyone. Now these are wonderful things and I am quite sure that your parents are very proud of the way you are growing up.”

Brian’s expression remained one of confusion but he thanked Mr. Blessington for the compliment.

Nigel thought for a moment before continuing, “I hope you will understand what I am saying because this is very difficult. You see many of the people who you will meet as a result of yesterday’s match, are not like you at all. They may seem nice, and of course some of them are. Most of them are not really interested in you but are only interested in your skills as a soccer player because they think they can make money because of your skills. All they need is for you to agree and since you are so nice, you might think that going along with them is the right thing to do. Do you understand?”

“Not really,” Brian replied. “Do you want me to stop being nice? I’m not sure I would like that.”

Nigel shook his head, “No, no, no… never stop being yourself because that is what makes you special. Let me think if I can put it another way. Oh yes. Remember yesterday’s match? You played the way you always play, with great sportsmanship and… ah… honor. But what happened was that the other team was playing an entirely different game so in the end you had to change the way you played and that is what you did. You didn’t do anything wrong, you played fairly and properly, but you didn’t play the way you usually play but you did what was necessary. Isn’t that right?”

Brian thought about that for a moment before agreeing, “Yes, something different did come over me,” he said with a smile.

“Well now,” Mr. Blessington continued, “you must do something different with all the strangers who will come up to you just like you did something different last night.”

“And what is that?” Brian asked.

“Right then. Listen carefully,” Mr. Blessington said pulling his chair a little closer to the table. “Of course you must always be courteous but you must also be firm. What you must do is walk away. Walk away every time. Even if a television camera or radio microphone is put in front of you, you must simply say, ‘I’m sorry, sir or ma’am, I have nothing to say.’ If someone from a newspaper wants to ask you questions, you say the same thing, ‘I’m sorry, I have nothing to say.’ If someone who is not from the press wants to talk to you or give you something you must say, ‘I’m sorry but you will have to talk to my parents.’ Every single time you must be courteous, but you must walk away. Can you do that?”

Brian nodded his head, “I think I can. But what about the school newspaper? One of the girls who runs the paper said she wanted to do an article about the team and she wanted to talk to me next week.”

“Of course that’s alright,” Nigel replied. “As long as it is only the school newspaper. Everyone else, even people who are introduced to you by your fellow students, you must be courteous but walk away. Can you do that?”

Brian smiled remembering the way Kate handled the radioman after the Finbars match. “I think I can. And I know just the person to help me if I run into any problems.”

Brian then explained about Kate and Nigel agreed that she was just the person for the job. Mr. Blessington said that maybe it would be a good idea if Kate rang him on the telephone so he could explain what was going on so he gave Brian a business card to pass on to Kate. Mrs. Blessington arrived with two cups of hot chocolate to fight off the chill of the day and Brian and Mr. Blessington chatted for a while about the state of the premiership.

Just as he was about to leave, the telephone rang and Mrs. Blessington answered, handing it over to her husband.

“Cathal O’Sullivan, for you,” she said simply.

Nigel took the phone and said, “Cathal?”

“Yes, but he is just getting ready to leave.”

“I’ll check.” Placing his hand over the receiver he told Brian his father was on the phone and wanted to know where he was going next. Brian explained that he was going to visit Mrs. O’Neill and Cathal passed that information on.

After a moment, Mr. Blessington said, “I’m not surprised, Cathal. But RTE and BBC, wow… Brian and I were just talking about that.”

“I know, I know. It must be a bit intimidating and I wouldn’t want Brian to walk into that either. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I tell Brian to stay at Mrs. O’Neill’s until you ring and give him the all clear? Meanwhile, I will drop over and help you handle the press. I know a bit about that from my soccer days.”

“Ah no. It’s no problem at all.”

“No, No… No problem. Anyway, I am partly to blame with all those training sessions…. Not that it wouldn’t have happened eventually.”

“Right then, I’m on my way and Brian is off to Mrs. O’Neill.”

As they left the house together Nigel said, “The press… right on time.” Brian thanked Mr. Blessington for all his help and headed up the road while Nigel trotted toward the O’Sullivan’s house.

Margaret O’Neill, put her brush in the corner, quickly removed her apron hanging it on the peg near the door, and opened the back porch door to welcome her Brian. She hoped he would call and knowing the young man as she did, Margaret was not surprised when she heard a happy bark as Gráinne entered the yard.

As always, Margaret was greeted with a big hug, although she did notice the Brian was that bit gentler than he had been when she was a young one in her eighties. Gráinne too, greeted her excitedly, accepting the soup bone that she knew would be her treat.

“You’ll never guess,” Brian began, “but the televisions stations from both Dublin and England are camped out in front of our house. Mr. Blessington has gone over to straighten them out.”

Margaret hurried around putting together her customary snack for her adopted grandchild and replied, “I’m not surprised. It seems that after last night you are becoming quite famous.”

“I am not,” Brian said laughing.

“Well,” Margaret said, “according to the radio station that I have been listening to all morning, some people might not agree with you.”

“Really,” Brian said in amazement. “Well, I suppose Mr. Blessington was right after all.”

“And what did he say?” she asked.

Brian answered, “He said the press and everyone else would be after me so I’d better be ready.”

“And how are you to be ready?” Margaret inquired curiously.

Brian answered quickly, “I’m to be very polite and courteous but say, ‘I’m sorry but I have nothing to say.’”

“That sounds like good advice,” Margaret replied.

“It suits me to a tee,” Brian said. “I would probably get all embarrassed and say something stupid if I had to answer any questions. Hopefully Kate will help me because she is very smart. She rescued me from the radio station last night so I know she is good at that. Mr. Blessington thought it was a good idea and he will probably talk to her as well.”

“And the knee,” Mrs. O’Neill asked. “How is the knee?”

“Never better,” Brian said smiling as he flexed his right leg. “You know it was all puffy and really hurt last night but when I woke up this morning, it was fine. I think I must be a quick healer.”

“That is surprising,” Margaret replied. “Usually knees can take quite a long time to get better and sometimes it is even necessary that the doctors operate. Did you take anything for the knee or did anyone treat it?”

Brian answered, “No, not really. We put some ice on it after the match and the plan was to go to the hospital this morning but when I woke up it felt perfectly normal so that was the end of that. Funny thing though, last night I dreamed that I was in ancient Celtic Ireland sitting on a leather recliner, of all things, and there were all sorts of women looking me over. Maybe they cured me.”

“Maybe they did,” Margaret replied with a smile that covered her true thoughts… ‘maybe they really did.’

“So if your knee was swollen and hurt last night, how did you manage to play after the boy from St. Finbars ran into the back of your leg?”

Although Brian had decided not to tell anyone else about his inability to remember the last five minutes of the match, Mrs. O’Neill was not just anyone else and anyway, he usually told her everything. “To be honest Mrs. O’Neill,” he said. “I don’t know. In fact I don’t remember anything that happened in those last few minutes. One minute we were losing two to nothing and I was lying on a stretcher looking up at the scoreboard clock which said there were five minutes left. The next minute everyone was pounding me on the back because we won.”

“And you don’t remember anything?” Margaret asked.

“Nothing,” he answered. “In fact I had to ask Kate and Charlie and they were the ones who told me about the goals I guess I scored. Maeve said I was probably in a trance or something. Isn’t that the strangest thing you have ever heard?”

Mrs. O’Neill said nothing for a moment but she was thinking that no, that wasn’t the strangest thing she had ever heard, not even close considering how her young friend arrived in the first place. In fact, she had long since stopped being surprised at anything that happened to her precious friend. “I must admit, it is very strange,” she finally agreed. “Since you were injured before the goals you must have been in terribly pain but the announcer said that you were playing as if you had no pain at all. Especially for the last goal which you must have kicked with your injured leg.”

“I don’t know,” Brian said shaking his head. “As hard as I have tried, I just can’t remember anything at all. Maybe I was in a trance. Do things like that happen?”

Mrs. O’Neill replied, “I suppose they do, Brian. I remember reading a story a few years back about a man who was working under his car when the jack slipped and the car fell on him. Anyway his wife heard him screaming in pain and she ran out and saw what had happened. She didn’t even think, she just ran over and grabbed the side of the car and picked it up like it weighed nothing at all and that was how she saved her husband’s life. Later she couldn’t remember a thing and could hardly even rock the car, never mind pick it up so maybe she was in a trance just like you.”

Brian thought about what Mrs. O’Neill said and finally replied, “Maybe so, but mine was a little different because I know I could probably score the goals like everyone said I did. I just wouldn’t ordinarily do that because soccer is a team sport and the proper way to play the sport it to pass the ball and work together.”

“Yes, of course,” Margaret replied. “But maybe when you were injured by that unfair tackle, it made you change the way you play. Since it was not the way you usually play, you didn’t remember it happening.”

Brain agreed, “I suppose that could happen. Maybe it was like Cúchulainn and his red mist. When he was in danger or got very angry because his opponents weren’t fighting with honor, he changed the way he fought and he went into a trance and then no one could stop him. Maybe it’s a bit like that.”

Mrs. O’Neill looked down at her hands folded on the table for a long time and then she looked up into Brian’s bright blue happy eyes and she said, “Yes Brian. It could very well be a bit like that.”