A Piece of Paradise
Mikey
Walsh took the stairs two at a time feeling an excitement in the pit of his
stomach which ebbed a little as he reached the second floor and he remembered
why he was here. A nurse smiled at him, regarding his Celtic shirt which he
wore beneath his jacket, ‘Let’s hope we
do it this week eh? No room for error now.’ Mikey grinned, ‘Today’s the day.’ She passed him with a
smile, ‘I sure hope so, my old man’s
nerves are frayed to breaking point.’
Mikey pushed the door of Ward 3 and glanced at the duty desk on his left
hand side which was deserted. He paused for a moment unsure if he could just
wander in out of visiting time. Time was short today however so he headed up
the central aisle towards his father’s bed.
His
old man was sitting up in bed reading a newspaper; his glasses perched on the
end of his nose. Mikey smiled, ‘Aw right
da, that you reading the Daily Ranger again?’ His old man looked up, ‘Michael son! I never expected to see you
today? Mikey sat on the chair by his father’s bed, ‘I thought I’d pop in on my way tae pick up Scott and Tony, big day
today.’ His father nodded, ‘Celtic
better get the job finished today. Last week at Dunfermline was heart attack
material.’ The older man smiled remembering why he was in the Southern
General in the first place before continuing, ‘I saw every one of the clinchers when Jock’s team did 9 in a row. Fir
Park in 66 tae Falkirk in 74, It’d break my heart if that mob won ten. We’ve
got to stop them.’ Mikey nodded, ‘They’ll
no blow it this week, Jansen knows what it means tae the fans and the players
know it’s last chance saloon.’ His old man removed his glasses and regarded
him, ‘They’re under real pressure and
pressure can bring out the best or make a team fold.’
They
chatted, mostly about the championship decider later that day, for 15 minutes
before a stern looking ward Sister approached the bed. ‘Mr Walsh visiting is 2 till 3, or 7 till 8 tonight. I must insist your
visitor leaves now!’ Old Tommy Walsh regarded her with a shrug, ‘Aye Doll, he’ll be leaving in a minute,
just discussing important family business.’ She pursed her lips and turned
to go saying, ‘see that he does.’
Mikey watched her march up the Ward, ‘Old
school that yin!’ His father grinned, ‘reminds
me of yer maw, ye wouldn’t want tae go home tae her wi the wages opened!’
Old Tommy looked at his son, ‘you’d best
be off, Michael. Are you all meeting up the Pub later?’ Mikey nodded, ‘aye Da, the whole clan will be there. Here’s
hoping we’ve got something tae celebrate. It’ll be like a funeral if we don’t
win.’ With that he smiled at his old man and stood to leave, ‘I’d best head, Da, I’ll be up tonight,
hopefully bringing good news.’ His old man grinned, ‘Today’s the day, son, I can feel it in my bones.’
Mikey
drove out of the hospital and headed towards Paisley Road to pick up his
brother Scott and his pal Tony. He drove down Edmiston Drive and past Ibrox
stadium which stood quiet and empty, glancing at the red brick façade. ‘Our time now chaps,’ he mumbled to
himself hoping it was true. Scott and
Tony stood waiting at the corner by the Fiorentina Restaurant, their Celtic
colours invisible behind zipped up jackets. Each carried a plastic bag
containing their scarves. This neck of the woods was not the place to be
flaunting the green especially on a day like today. They jumped into the car, ‘Aw right Mikey boy, get the tunes oan,’
Scott said with a smile, ‘today’s the day
we stop the ten!’ Mikey grinned, ‘you
been boozing already bro?’ and pushed the cassette tape into the player,
instantly filling the car with the dulcet tones of Christy Moore….
‘Van Diemen’s land is a hell for a man
to live out his whole life in slavery,
to live out his whole life in slavery,
Where the climate is raw and the gun
makes the law,
Neither wind nor rain care for
bravery, Twenty years have gone by,
I’ve ended my bond, my comrades ghosts
walk behind me,
A rebel I came and I’m still the same,
on the cold winter’s nights
you will find me… oh I wish I was back
home in Derry.’
The
car headed east towards Celtic Park and their team’s date with destiny. From
all over Scotland, Ireland and a hundred other places they were travelling too,
in hope and expectation that their team could finally end ten barren years and
win the title. As Tommy Burns had once said you didn’t just play for Celtic
when you pulled on that shirt, you played for a people and a cause.
The
atmosphere was raucous when the three Celts took their seats in the huge north
stand but there was something else in the air too; it was a quietly nagging
doubt, an unspoken dread that they’d blow it.
As the teams came out the noise levels were ear splitting, this was it,
90 minutes to be heroes forever of the forgotten men who lost the ten. The game
began at a furious pace as St Johnstone dug in and made their intentions clear,
they were here to do a professional job and had beaten Celtic in Perth a few
months earlier. In just three minutes Henrik Larsson picked up the ball on the
left and cut across the 18 yard line with defenders snapping at his heels. The
sallow skinned Swede then unleashed a curling shot which sailed into the St
Johnstone net. Celtic Park exploded, unleashing a torrent of noise and pent up
emotion which flowed from the stands onto the pitch. Maybe they wouldn’t bottle
it, maybe today would be their day…
Seven
miles away in the Southern General Hospital, the duty Ward Sister was doing her
rounds after the departure of the afternoon visitors. All was quiet and as she
reached the bed of old Mr Walsh who lay with his eyes closed, the white ear
phones of the hospital radio suggesting he was listening to some relaxing
music. As she glanced at the board with his notes which hung at the foot of the
bed he suddenly open his eyes and roared, ‘Yassss!
Henrik ya fucking dancer!’ The startled nurse dropped the board in her
fright before scowling at him, ‘Mr Walsh!
That language will not be tolerated in this ward!’ He removed one of the earphones
and grinned at her, ‘Sorry aboot that
doll!’
Back
at Celtic Park the 50,000 fans crowded into the three quarters complete stadium
then endured 70 long minutes of stress and pressure as the team failed to
deliver the killer blow. They knew Rangers were winning at Tannadice and that
all it took to kill their dream would be a St Johnstone equaliser. The
nervousness of the fans was affecting the players and when George O’Boyle
almost got on the end of a cross for the visitors the tension increased. Then
in 72 minutes Celtic broke up the left with the dependable Tom Boyd finding
McNamara racing up the wing. His low cross was perfectly placed and zipped across
the face of goal where the onrushing Harold Brattbakk met it and slammed the
ball past Alan Main and into the net.
The
goal was greeted like few others in Celtic history. Not only did it seal
victory in the match, it ended ten barren years without the title and signalled
that Celtic’s years in the wilderness were over. Mikey, eyes closed, hugged his
brother in sheer delight as pandemonium erupted around them in the stands. The
long wait was over, they had done it. Celtic were the Champions! In that moment
of elation he thought of his old man in the hospital, no doubt tuning in on the
radio. He was the man who introduced him to this magical football club, who
took him to games all over Scotland and taught him the history and what it
meant to be a Celt. He glanced around him at celebrating supporters who all
shared that common bond, that love of Celtic, ‘that was for you da!’ he mumbled, ‘that was for you!’
Later
that fine May day Mikey bounced up the stairs to his old man’s Ward. There was
a night of celebrating ahead but first he would visit his old man and tell him
of the day’s events. The old man was sitting up in bed and greeted him with a
clenched fist salute and a huge smile. Mikey gave him a hug and produced a
plastic bag from his jacket. ‘This is for
you Da,’ he smiled. The old man looked mystified as he opened the bag and
took out an emerald slither of earth and grass. ‘You couldn’t be at Paradise today so I brought a bit of it to you.’ The
old man grinned, ‘You were on the park?
Tell me about it son, I want tae know every detail.’
As
they talked intently about the day’s events, their laughter echoing around the
ward, the duty sister passed and glanced at the piece of turf sitting
incongruously on the bedside cabinet. She rolled her eyes as old Tommy smiled
at her, ‘A wee piece of Paradise, doll. I
can cut you a bit if ye want?’ Her expression suggested it wasn’t an offer
she’d take up.
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