The Paper Life They Lead by Patrick Crerand

My own father had heard rumors of such a cousin, though that was back in the 1960s when he had visited his grandfather’s small farmhouse in Donegal. The problem of course was that I had to take his word for it. “You’re Paddy Crerand?” he said, looking at me.īut I was. He only won the Euro Cup with the best team they ever fielded.”

“He’s a footballer for Manchester United. So long as the other Paddy Crerand hadn’t done either, I figured, we could co-exist.

I’d be the first to make my mark on the world, which probably involved being famous for something or maybe playing professional soccer. Up until this point, I had always figured my name would go the distance. The first time I went to his house to play soccer, his father, Joe, a salt-and-peppered haired Belfaster, didn’t believe me when I introduced myself. When he finally returned from the hospital, we became fast friends. Unlike me, Simon had gotten here on time and hurt himself playing a slide-tackling game on a hill at recess. “He’s Irish and broke his collarbone,” someone said to me as if the two had been of equal importance. “The empty desk next to you is for another newcomer named Simon,” my teacher said. I walked into the school on the first day introducing myself as PC to anyone who would listen. My family had just moved from Xenia, Ohio to Columbus in October of 1987, missing the start of my fifth grade year by about two months. I was ten years old when I found out I was not the lone Patrick Crerand in this world.

The Paper Life They Lead by Patrick Crerand