Free Rugby Spirit by Gerard Siggins Page B

there he felt as if the sun had gone behind a cloud, as a huge figure loomed into view. Eoin dived towards the patch of grass in the corner and shouted ‘yes’ as the ball touched the turf.
    His next roar came with extreme pain as he felt the green grass of Tipperary banging against his right side and a large rugby player crushing him into it from the left. Roger Savage stood up and looked down at Eoin.
    ‘Sorry, Madden, I thought you were that out-half.’
    Eoin couldn’t speak, as his whole left hand side was in agony.
    To his embarrassment, the first person who knelt down beside him was his mother, who had charged across the field when she heard his scream.
    ‘Oh, my poor boy, are you all right?’ she cried.
    ‘It’s sore,’ said Eoin, ‘But I think I’m all right.’
    He stood up, but every time he moved, or even took a breath, a sharp pain shot through his side.
    ‘It could be a rib,’ said Mr Carey, ‘We’ll need to have him X-rayed.’
    That was the end of Eoin’s game and, once he had been examined in the local hospital, it looked like an enforced break in his new rugby career too. Roger Savage’s bulk had cracked two of Eoin’s ribs and he would need plenty of rest.
    ‘There’s nothing much we can do,’ explained the doctor. ‘The cracks have settled back already and we’ll let biology take its course.’
    Eoin was disappointed that there was none of the glamour of a plaster cast for his friends to sign, instead he had weeks away from anything energetic and pain every time he moved.
    ‘Mr Carey rang,’ his dad told him as they drove home that evening. ‘He was just checking that you were all right. He seemed very disappointed that you’d be out for a few weeks. Oh yeah, and they won twenty-one three. He says they’re playing Cedric’s in the semi-final.’
    When his dad said ‘they’re’, Eoin realised that he had no chance of being in the team for the game. He would just have to hope he could get back on the team as soon as possible and force his way back in for the final.
    He stepped gingerly from the car, every step a serious discomfort.
    ‘I hear you’ve been in the wars,’ came a voice from the sitting room as he walked through the front door.
    ‘Grandad!’ called out Eoin. ‘Yes, I was knocked down by an oversized Rostipp bullock.’
    ‘Tell me all about it,’ said the old man, who was sitting in the armchair beside the fire wrapped in a blanket.
    Eoin told the story of the game up to the injury, when his mother and father disappeared to the kitchen and garden.
    ‘I had a cracked rib once,’ his Grandad said. ‘It was half-time in the Junior Cup final. The headmaster wouldn’t let me go off, and they strapped it up in a half-mile of bandage. He gave me two aspirin and sent me back out!’
    ‘And you won, of course,’ said Eoin.
    ‘Yes, that was a funny game. Not that I was laughing much at the end. The lads wanted to carry me off on their shoulders, but I had to run away because the rib hurt so much.’
    Eoin winced as his ribs gave a twinge.
    ‘Don’t worry, lad,’ said Dixie. ‘They wouldn’t be let do that sort of thing these days. You’ll come back when you’re ready.’
    ‘The semi is in five weeks and the doctor told me to rest for six. I hope I’ve enough time to get back for the final at the end of February.’
    ‘I’m sure you will, Eoin,’ he replied. ‘You’re a big, strong lad and three weeks of your mother’s homecooking will cure anything. Sure look at me, I’m thriving on it!’

C HAPTER 18
    T he Christmas holidays passed quickly, and Eoin had plenty of chats with his grandad about rugby. He had already heard lots of the stories from Mr Finn and the other teachers, but it was still fascinating to hear them from the mouth of the great Dixie.
    Once, Eoin tried to ask why he had given up the game so suddenly, but his grandad just pursed his lips and shook his head.
    ‘I’m sorry, Eoin,’ he said, sadly. ‘I promise I’ll tell you,