SKYFALL, Johnny Kavanagh

Photos and paparazzi

Maeve's Point of View

The second Friday in March brought with it one of the biggest games of the season – Tommen College versus Kilbeg Prep for the School Boys Shield.
Because it was a home game, and one of the last few before the season wrapped up, the school had decided to make a day out of it.

All classes were excused to attend the match.

Not because Tommen particularly cared about letting us have a free afternoon, but because winning mattered here.
And any chance to add another trophy to the school's already impressive collection was treated as a priority.

Though the School Boys Shield wasn't as prestigious or career-defining as the league cup the lads would be fighting for next month in Donegal, it was still silverware.
And Tommen loved silverware.

The school had gone all out – banners strung up, the crest painted onto the grass near the stands, even a food stall set up on the sidelines for students to buy snacks.
It was all a bit over the top, but I wasn't surprised.

Tommen College liked to show off.

The school's rugby team was its pride and joy, and the whole institution operated under the unspoken rule that whatever the lads needed, the lads got.
Which was why most of the teachers were just as hyped as the students, why Mr. Twomey himself was patrolling the grounds, making sure everything ran smoothly.

I stuck to the edge of the crowd, standing beside Niamh and a few of the girls from our class.

Niamh was buzzing with excitement, practically bouncing on her feet.

I smirked. "You're acting like this is the World Cup."

She scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Am I?"

"Yes." She turned to me, arching a brow.

I glanced toward the field. The Tommen lads were running drills, tossing the ball between them, stretching.
Across from them, Kilbeg was doing the same.

I sighed. "Alright, explain this to me again."

Niamh blinked at me. "Explain what?"

"The game." I gestured vaguely to the pitch.

She sighed dramatically. "Jesus, Maeve. I feel like I've explained this a hundred times."

"You probably have."

She shot me a look, then turned back to the field. "Alright, fine. Think of it like this. Rugby is basically a war."

I snorted. "Right."

"No, I'm serious. It's not just about winning – it's about dominating. It's about showing the other team that they don't stand a fucking chance."

I raised an eyebrow. "So, it's just violence?"

"Organized violence." She corrected. "With rules."

I turned back to the pitch.
The energy around us was building, the students crowding in closer, the air thick with anticipation.

"So why do you hate Kilbeg so much?"

"Because their rugby lads are even worse than ours."

I let out a short laugh. "That's possible?"

"At least at Tommen, they're civilized." She muttered. "Arrogant? Yeah. Full of themselves? Obviously. But Kilbeg? They're on a whole different level."

"What did they do?"

"Last year, after the game, one of them hit on me."

"He was a prick." Her voice was flat. "Didn't take no for an answer. Kept pushing. Acting like I was just playing hard to get. Like I should be grateful he was even talking to me."