Red Leeroy : The Struggle for Power

I am an incurable romantic when it comes to childhood memories, I dont seem to harbour bad and unhappy moments in my mind. (unless they are buried deeply in my subconscious awaiting for some appalling event to catapult them to the forefront of my mind, and unleash a torrent of violence, recrimination, abuse and eventually death for me and others). But I will try and keep the tone of this post light hearted, and for now continue to type safe in the realm of my original convictions.

I grew up in a large suberb of Dublin, white houses, lots of green grass and lots of kids. Different types of families, some had a bit of money, others had not. Some were criminals, some were not. Some has twelve kids, some had 2. I tend to think of my youth (ages 7-13) as a very innocent time. And I suppose they were, lots of running, tall stories, bunks (which I shall explain later) but I look at the kids of the same age now and panic. They are growing up so quickly. They seem to be more facinated by mobile phones and ringtones and accessorising than actually using their imagination and playing with toys or their friends.

We used to invent great games and spend hours honing and refining the laws and rules (and of course hotly disputing and arguing every breech and irregularity). One game we used to play involved a tennis ball and a small foot high white wooden fence at the front of the garden. Our road was divided up by black tar lines. We would place the fuzzy old tennis ball on the black line in the middle of the road, kick it toward the kerb, it would rebound and when it reached us again we had to chip it with our toe towards the small 6 inch gap under the white fence which was about 8 feet away. This may sound simple but we managed to make it last for the best part of any summer day.

During the 1986 World Cup I was 10 years old. We would pick a team and 10 of us would sit on the grass as two by two the adversaries stood up and matches were played, paper pads were brought out into the garden and the entire draw was set up, from group stages to the final. This was meticulously managed and as the goals flew in and one player would wheel away in triumph leaping and punching the air with cries of “Maradonna wins it for Argentina yes yes YESSSS” ,the other player would kick the pavement and slump down onto the grass to explain where it all went wrong, as the victor would sit on the opposite side of the lawn with a smug smile awaiting the next challenger.

We lived in a Cul De Sac, with 8 houses facing each other,  this made it all so easy when the cries of dinner came from the front doors. We would rush in, eat while peering out the window to see if we were missing anything, and subsequently sprint out onto the road to continue the competition. We christened the game Pele’s Wonder. In later years there was a lot of argument about who had actually named the game, with each member of the playing staff imparting their version of the exact moment they came up with the name. I think eventually it was attributed to Mark “diggy diggy doctor / Mario G” Dixon. No one really minded but we all conceeded it was a great name for our game.

We invented other games, and sometimes they were much less clever and much less salubrious. One summer night when the sun had gone down, all our footballs had gone over the neighbours wall, the commodore 64 games had been played to death we somehow came up with a plan to scare the hell out of the people walking up the black tar path that passed the edge of our houses.

We would wait at the corner of the last house and peer around the corner. When the unsuspecting pedestrian was about 50 yards from the bottom of our road we would send a volunteer sprinting as fast as he could down the tar path (black path as we called it then). We would wait about 5 seconds and then 5 or 6 of us would tear off after him, shouting in our worst Dublin accents threats of murder and death to the indivual. He would slow down very slightly just as he reached the oncoming passer by and we would leap on him while swinging fake punches and kicks until he would go down in a heap moaning and wailing about revenge and his father being involved. It was beautifully simple yet incredibly enjoyable. What was so absurd was some of the reactions of the unfortunate inhabitants of our estate. Some stopped and stared, horrified at what was taking place, others picked up the pace to avoid any confrontation, others stopped and intervened (and we continued the act and ran off and left the injured party to thank the good samaritan). Sometimes the plan would go horribly wrong and someone would slip and fall face first on the grass, the rest of the posse would instantly burst into spontaneuos laughter and the ruse would breakdown completely. We didnt care, we would return to the corner house and wait for another unsuspecting member of the general public. Do children do this sort if insane stuff anymore? I would love to know.

It wasnt all perfect and friendly, kids can be a little cruel at times. I mentioned earlier about “Bunks”. The so called “Bunk” was quite a deliberate and thinly veiled way to ditch one of your (sometimes very good) friends and go and play with someone else. This was usually to do with someone being in a bad mood and simply having had enough of them. It was incredibly straightforward as plans go. You would send your annoying friend into a their house to get a football, or a jumper for a goalpost, and as soon as they had gone in the door you would run. That was it. No hidden agenda. No excuses. Just immediate and swift dissapearence.  You would always be accused of “The Bunk” later on but it was always denied. When I think back it hurt alot (as it happened to everyone from time to time). I both took part, and was a victim of the dreaded bunk.  

Imagine nowadays sitting in a pub with three of your friends, and when mate A went to the toilet, you and mate B simply left your barely touched pints and went up the road to the cinema? I said earlier about kids being more absorbed with new technology, clothes, playstations et al, then wanting to invent games and use their imaginations. And although this could be blamed on our current society, when I was 10 I would stay out in the street until it was 11oclock at night. What parents allow that to happen now to a ten year old?

I love the idea of reverting to childhood, with nothing on your radar apart from where the next set of endless hours of enjoyment are going to come from. I recently was walking past a school with my camera and stopped to snap a few pictures of the kids playing and running around. I was almost instantly accosted by a wailing mother accusing me of paedophilia. I mean jesus H christ, I can relate to nervous parents but just because you look, play or talk to a child that is not yours it doesnt make you a child molester.

Long live youth, innocence, Pele’s Wonder and “The Bunk”