The Scrapper by Brendan O'Carroll Read Free Book Online

Flynn. ‘Yes, boss?’
    ‘Knock his fuckin’ block off!’ Flynn imparted this last bit of coaching with a smile and a wink.
    Froggy smiled back. ‘Okay, boss.’
    The fighters met in the middle. They touched gloves, the ringsiders now beginning to cheer for Froggy. Froggy began to hop around the ring, hinting at the origin of his nickname.
    ‘Yer goin’ down, Froggy. I’ve got yeh this time, man. Yeh ain’t got a chance, man.’ Sparrow pretended to be angry.
    ‘Knock yer fuckin’ block off!’ Froggy returned.
    The mock fight began. Sparrow pretended to, but never actually threw a punch. Froggy was throwing awkward punches that landed on Sparrow, but were completely harmless. Eventually, as Froggy began to work up a sweat, he swung a wide right that caught Sparrow on the shoulder. Sparrow staggered and hit the canvas. Flynn jumped into the ring and began the count. Froggy was still hopping around the ring. The ringsiders joined in the count with Flynn.
    ‘Seven – eight – nine – he’s out!’ They all began to shout and cheer and clap, and Froggy danced around the ring like the world champion, the ringsiders slapping his gloves and giving him the thumbs-up sign. Sparrowstaggered back to his corner, smiling. Froggy shuffled over to Sparrow’s corner.
    ‘Hard luck, Spawoo. Maybe tomowoo?’ he consoled him.
    The youngster in the corner tugged the gloves off Sparrow’s hands. Sparrow stood and put his arm around Froggy’s shoulder.
    ‘I’ve been saying that for fifteen years now, Froggy, but you’re just too good, Froggy, you’re just too good!’ The two men hugged and everybody went back to training. Once again, Sparrow headed for the locker room, exchanging greetings with some of the other boxers and the older men.
    One of the old men called out, ‘Sparrow, have yeh heard about old Eddie dyin’ on his holidays in the Isle of Man?’
    ‘Yeh, I heard that, Tom,’ said Sparrow. ‘A bit of bad luck! Eddie was a good auld skin.’
    ‘They’re flyin’ him home at the weekend. The funeral’s Monday morning at eleven o’clock in St John’s church.’
    ‘Yeh, I know, Tom. Me and Eileen will be there.’
    ‘Good man, Sparrow, you’re a good man.’ The older man rubbed his hand across Sparrow’s shoulders with genuine warmth and finished with the customary slap on the neck.
    Sparrow headed for the shower. Like a mischievous little child, Froggy sneaked into the shower area, tiptoed up to Sparrow’s shower and aimed the camera into the cubicle. Click, flash, whirr. Froggy ran away giggling. Passing the group of old men he said, ‘I got picture of Spawoo’s willie.’
    ‘Oh yeh? Well, why don’t you get it enlarged for him, son?’ answered one of them. The locker room burst into laughter.
    In the shower cubicle Sparrow stood with his armsspread-eagled up against the wall as the steaming water rolled down his face. He had his eyes closed. In the background he heard the laughter of the old men. Sparrow wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t looking forward to this funeral tomorrow, he hated funerals. In the last few years he had attended so many, two of which broke his heart – his mother’s and his father’s. Within a year of the fight in Madrid, Sparrow’s mother Rita had died from cancer. Macker was never the same after the triple blow of losing his granddaughter, his dreams in Madrid, and then his wife within a year. He died four years later, some say of a broken heart. Sparrow didn’t know if that was true but he often felt guilty for giving up boxing professionally immediately after Madrid. From that day on Macker had never had an opportunity or a reason to whip out his penis again.
    * * *
Main Street, Snuggstown, 1.45pm
    Kieran Clancy had his elbow resting on the window of the car and leaned his head against his hand, using only one hand, his left, to drive the police car. They’d been tailing the Minister’s limousine for thirty-five or forty minutes now. The Minister was heading,