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A sad farewell to a young fan

17th September, 2014
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17th September, 2014
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“Connor has gone to heaven. He is in peace now.” It was the message we didn’t want to receive, although we knew it was coming.

My son’s best mate had just died from an inoperable brain tumour. He was only eight years old.

The news was relayed to me while I was on a break at work. I couldn’t stop the tears. I hid my face from the room full of people by turning my back and pretending to read the noticeboard on the wall.

I prayed that no one approached me. I was gutted. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what Connor’s parents were going through.

Here was a boy, who less than six months ago was kicking a football around with my son in our backyard. He was a normal, healthy and athletic kid, wide eyed and quietly spoken.

Like my son, he loved his football. The two of them would spend hours going through their footy card collections, studying each player’s statistics until they knew them by heart.

I reckon they could identify almost every player in the league.

Then the headaches started and with it the inability to concentrate on his school work. In what seemed like no time at all he began to lose his balance. A simple task like walking across a room became little more than a drunken lurch. His eyes turned in and his mouth drooped. He began to slur his words. Eventually he was confined to a chair.

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A little over a week ago we visited Connor for what turned out to be the last time. My son had been to see the pro-wrestlers of the WWE perform at Rod Laver arena a few weeks before and had taken in his souvenir program to show Connor. But Connor trumped him, for he had been to the footy and met the Hawthorn players before a game.

“He even got out of his chair to meet Jack Gunston,” said his father. “He wasn’t going to meet them sitting down.”

Gunston presented Connor with a signed Hawthorn guernsey which he was proud to show us during our visit.

Footballers are often portrayed as arrogant, misbehaving louts who have little or no respect for anyone but themselves, but that is hardly ever the case. What is not seen are the things they do behind the scenes. To take the time to put a smile on a dying boy’s face must count for something. It does in my book anyway.

Afterwards I asked my son what Connor thought of his wrestling book. “To tell you the truth Dad,” he replied, “I was more fascinated in Connor’s story of meeting Jack Gunston!”

The power of football once again. It was still common ground for two mates despite them being unable to play kick to kick any more. I watched them sadly on that last visit, sitting side by side, Connor in a lounge chair with my son perched on its arm. Connor’s Mum took a photo and I knew it would be the last they would have together.

They sat there, watching Spiderman on DVD, but I knew that deep inside they were both dreaming of playing footy. Jack Gunston’s guernsey was spread between them.

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We left, and well, that was it. Connor died.

I wondered how I would tell my son. In the end I couldn’t do it. I looked at my wife appealingly and she did it. He had already guessed at what we were about to tell him anyway. Kids aren’t stupid.

And so tomorrow we’ll watch as a distraught family buries their son. Worn out phrases such as ‘God only takes the best’ or ‘in the arms of angels’ may provide comfort for some, but they don’t hold much sway with me. I take more comfort in the fact that Connor’s last days were made slightly more joyful thanks to a handful of footballers.

Not only did they give him an experience on match day, they gave him an experience that he could relive with his own mates, allowing him to puff out his chest one more time and say, “I met Jack Gunston.”

There’s real currency in being able to say that to a mate!

It doesn’t sound like much, but to a footy-mad kid with a footy-mad mate, it was the most important thing in the world.

There are no positives in a young boy dying. It is so grossly unfair. A mother and father have lost their son. His siblings have lost a brother. A boy has lost his mate. Footy has lost one of its supporters.

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We are used to reading about the exploits of the game’s greatest players here on The Roar. Today you have read about someone you have never heard of. That doesn’t make him any less worthy of receiving a tribute, however small it may be.

Connor deserves to be remembered.

Thank you for reading.

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