Salvatore ‘Totò’ Schillaci. People of a certain vintage will recall that name. Whilst England was consumed with Gazza hype it was the diminutive Sicilian striker and his six goals who really took Italia ’90 by storm.
Schillaci came from almost nowhere to be a household name. Yes he played for Juventus, the old lady of Italian football, but up until 1989 he was still plying his trade at lowly Messina. The Palermo native was a surprise inclusion in Italy’s World Cup squad and was the runt of the Azzurri forward litter. He lagged behind more recognisable names like Vialli, Baggio and Mancini and was there seemingly just for the ride. However by the end Schillaci with his satanically wild eyes and emotion-riven goal celebrations would almost drive Italy to World Cup glory on home soil.
As an Ireland supporter Schillaci broke our hearts. His quick reaction to Packie Bonner’s paltry block was all Italy needed to blast them past The Boys in Green and into the semi finals. Jimmy Rabbitte’s ‘Fuck Schillaci’ t-shirt in Roddy Doyle’s The Van spoke to many of us but fair play to Schillaci, he took his opportunity and made sure his hitherto unknown name went down in football history. A true Italian dark horse.
The story of the dark horse brings me neatly on to last weekend. I was over in Ireland again with a fellow parkrun tourist Adrian. Originally we’d planned to run the parkrun out west in my dad’s hometown of Castlerea in Roscommon but plans had been changed by James and Dan, two Dublin-based cousins. And so it was to Bushy parkrun in Rathfarnham we would be headed. I’d already done Bushy parkrun in London, the so-called Bushy pilgrimage, on New Year’s Day so I was on for a 2019 Bushy double (don’t snigger).
Dan and myself are the runners but I was staying with James in North Dublin and he was coming along to parkrun ‘just for the craic.’ I knew he’d run the New York Marathon in the past but he never spoke of it. We assumed it had gone all wrong so we never asked questions. Maybe it was his running equivalent to Vietnam so to speak. We didn’t go there, no need to stir up bad memories.
Being in Ireland we spent the Friday night in a pub, John Kavanagh’s ‘The Gravediggers Inn’ by Glasnevin Cemetary. The pints of Guinness flowed and I started to get a handle of what I thought was going on. James was getting me ‘locked’ so Dan, sound asleep in his bed in Wicklow, could beat me in the morning. Unfortunately as Oscar Wilde said ‘I can resist everything but temptation’. James’s sister Claire turned up with fiancée Joe later in the night and we finally departed just after midnight.
With heavy heads we made our way over to Rathfarnham on Saturday morning. In the nearby Tesco carpark we met up with Dan, fresh as a daisy, and his sister Aoife and headed to the start. Luckily enough the park is quite sheltered and had survived the cancellations that affected other parkruns due to Storm Hannah but numbers were swollen with exiles.
The parkrun route follows the River Dodder for nearly 1km then enters Bushy Park for a couple of figure of 8 loops around duck ponds and along wooded trails then back down the path we ran out on to the finish. The pathway was narrow so to get a good time it was integral to get up near the front which Dan and I duly did. James was happy to stay in the middle of the pack.
We started and I headed off quickly in order to lose Dan. At 1km I briefly looked back and didn’t see him. Job done, so I thought, but don’t let up. Life, however, has a funny way of knocking one down a peg or two and sure enough after 2km it happened. I got caught, but not by Dan.
I was running along reasonably well considering the libations of the night previous and all of a sudden a looming moving object appeared by my right shoulder.
“Hi Mike, howya gettin’ on?”
It was James. James! He was here ‘just for the craic’! What the bloody hell was going on?
I fathomed that he had got all excited and set off too quick. He’d falter, they always do, but nice one for having a go though mate. However over the next 1km he stuck to me. Every time I injected a bit of pace, James stayed right by me. I was breathing heavily whilst he was almost Kipchoge-like in his ease of breath. I tried to shake him but just couldn’t. He was so relaxed and was even helpful to a lad running alongside of us.
“Hey young lad! Watch out there, you’re shoelace is loose. Sure you’ll be okay?”
At 3km James made his move and passed me without much effort. Even still I had notions of catching him as his engine was surely going to give out. I’d reel him in on the long finish stretch. Not a bit of it. He put twenty seconds on me and that did not change. James finally crossed the finish line in 20:24 with his English cousin trailing in behind.
What a mighty performance in his first parkrun. It took me six years to get that time, albeit the anaemia didn’t help, and he rocks up ‘just for the craic’ and lays down a great marker. Apparently he even went the wrong way on exiting the figure 8 bit to further rub salt into the wounds. Fecker!
Dan finished in 23:00 and won the ‘closest to the PB’ challenge we’d set ourselves as I was 1:23 outside mine and he bagged a PB however the day was all about James, the Glasnevin Schillaci. I’m now seriously thinking of getting a Jimmy Rabbitte-style t-shirt made up in his honour.
P.S. Dan’s daughter came up with the below after reading. Absolutely marvellous.