by Sean Kennedy
“And pretty soon we would be swimming in our own shit.”
My world went dark as his pillow went over my head and pushed me down into my own. “You’re so fucking romantic!” I heard him hiss.
“You love it,” I choked.
I struggled out from beneath his grip for air and rolled over on top of him. He lay supine beneath me, and I drew my thumbs in opposite directions over his jaw. I kissed the bottom of his chin and arched up slightly to kiss him properly. His hands ran along my side, and I shivered as they came to rest on my back and held me against him.
“Is this better?” I breathed.
He gave some sort of strangled moan in reply.
I knew his body so well by now. I ran my finger along the five o’clock shadow that had formed overnight, and it came to rest on a small crescent moon scar caused by a Bulldogs player who had accidentally gouged his cheek two seasons ago.
“What are you doing?” Dec asked.
I inched down the length of his body, slipping out of his arms. He arched like a cat as my hand trailed down his chest, and I breathed in the smell of him as I worked my way down his boxers until I faced his infamous knee.
“Admiring you,” I said. And I meant it. One knee was distinctly different from the other, because of the surgical scars. It looked knobbier, and the hair was more sparse than on the other one because the scarring left shiny trails along his skin.
“There’s nothing to admire about that,” Declan said shortly.
I looked up at him. “There is.”
I began to massage the knee, as I had in the weeks after his surgery when he’d been able to stand it being touched. Declan closed his eyes and lay back. I worked it for a few minutes, feeling simple pleasure in doing this for him. His hand tenderly stroked my hair as I did it. We were like two cats in the sun stretching for each other. I lowered my head and kissed the scar.
Declan opened his eyes. “Come back up here.”
When I was lying fully against him again, he kissed me on the forehead. “Don’t want to leave here.”
“We can probably push it for a while longer,” I told him.
“Longer than longer,” he breathed.
It sounded good to me.
But eventually even John and Yoko had to get out of bed, and so did we.
Had I known what the next away game for the Devils back in Melbourne would bring, I would have gladly stayed in the bed drowning in my own shit.
MY PICTURE had appeared in the papers after the last game. They had captured me standing out like a sore thumb against the WAGs; I might as well have been naked and showing my different genitalia in a game of “one of these things is not like the others” as it couldn’t have been any less subtle. The Easiest Game of Where’s Wally? Trumpeted the caption beneath the photo in the Herald Sun. It was about the only time they were actually funny.
“Don’t stress about it,” Declan had told me.
“I’m not,” I lied.
He studied me carefully. “You can sit the next game out, if you want.”
“I’m not going to give them the satisfaction.”
“Who? The WAGs or the papers?”
“Both,” I growled.
Dec grimaced. “I don’t know whether to love your attitude or worry about it.”
“It’s all cool,” I said reassuringly, although I secretly agreed with him. But I knew if I sat out the next game, which was being played in my own hometown, the papers would have even more of a field day over it.
Declan still didn’t look too sure, and when the day itself arrived I wasn’t feeling all that certain myself. I woke up with a bad feeling, which I tried to put down to paranoia, but I think the stars were lining up against me.
I had tried to convince Roger and Fran to come with me if I could get them tickets, but they had already heard my horror story of my previous experience with Rachel of the WAGs so they declined. Luckily I still had Lisa.
“We’re either extremely loyal or gluttons for punishment,” she told me as we met outside the members’ gate at Etihad.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot,” she said, as she inspected the bottom of her shoe and grimaced at the bubblegum stuck to it. She was lucky it wasn’t a syringe.
“Before I came along, didn’t you have anybody else friendly in that box?”
Lisa’s eyes were firmly glued to the sole of her shoe. “Uh, sometimes.”
She sounded cagey.
“Who?”
“Oh, just a girl.”
I folded my arms and stared down at her. I could see her peer out below her fringe and realised she was caught out. She sighed, straightened up, and looked somewhat guilty. “Jess came sometimes.”
“Oh.”
“Not all the time—” Lisa said hurriedly.
“Well, of course she would,” I shrugged. “They had a story to maintain.”
She seemed somewhat relieved I wasn’t melodramatically tearing my hair out and wailing at the moon about the “ex.”
“But did you like her more than me?” I teased.
Lisa tilted her head and sized me up. “I like you both in very different ways.”
“Fucking fence-sitter,” I muttered, and we began walking towards the barriers of the entrance.
“I heard that.”
“You were meant to,” I replied perkily.
At that stage it all still seemed pretty normal. When we got to the players’ box we were given the once-over yet again, with Rachel glowering at the thought of me daring to be in there. She wisely kept her mouth shut for the moment, though.
“How are you feeling?” Lisa asked as we took our seats.
“Fine.”
“Beer?” she asked.
Supporting my boyfriend was going to turn me into an alcoholic, and Lisa would be my enabler. “I’ll go get them.”
“No, you sit. Won’t be long.”
She was throwing me to the lions again, but I remained tight-lipped and slumped into my seat, as if I could hide from view.
It didn’t take long for Rachel to lean over. “Saw you in the paper again.”
I grunted some form of reply.
“Just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Jealous?” I asked. I don’t know why I was responding to her. I should have known better.
“Hardly,” she snorted.
“Jesus, Rachel,” said one of the other women. I think her name was Anna. “Leave him alone.”
“Looks like you have your supporters,” Rachel sneered.
“Maybe because he doesn’t seem like a psycho,” Anna shot back. “Can we just watch the bloody game?”
I stared ahead of me. The field was still empty; the teams were in the change rooms.
This was shaping up to be a long day. If I closed my eyes I could almost swear to smelling blood in the air.
As the Devils ran out onto the field, I recognised Declan by his gait despite the distance between us. He ran with a casual confidence, but favoured his right leg, as that was the uninjured one. I had gotten to know Abe well enough now to pick him out running beside Dec, flanking him like a loyal bodyguard. It made me feel better to know Abe was out there watching his back, at least, as I was still pretty sure Dec didn’t tell me half the things that happened during the game.
“He’s limping slightly,” Lisa said as she sat back beside me.
“He’s fine,” I said stoically, although her noticing it as well made me start to worry a little more.
She must have heard it in my voice, because she immediately tried to cover it up. “I’m sure Scott wouldn’t be playing him if he wasn’t able.”
I nodded, just as much for her as for myself. “It’s cold today. His knee plays up on cold days.”
“Maybe he should try and switch to West Coast,” Lisa said. “At least the weather would only be a problem on away games.”
Horrified, I rapped on the wood underneath my seat. “As if him living in Tasmania isn’t bad enough
, you’d banish him to Perth?”
“I could see you living in Perth,” Lisa teased. “All those beaches and sun… you’d probably burst into flames.”
I wanted to protest, but I was distracted by the roar of the crowd. Lisa and I looked up, only to see ourselves being broadcast on the giant screens around the stadium. Fuck, I hated it when they did this. It usually gave the anonymous people in the crowd a thrill to see their own mug put up there for ten seconds of fame, all it did to me was make my stomach cramp.
Lisa wasn’t too thrilled by it either. She turned her head so her lips were partly obscured and murmured to me, “Crap. Try to look happy.”
Following her lead, I turned my head as well. “You aren’t smiling either.”
“On the count of three, you say something,” Lisa said, “and I’ll laugh like you’re the funniest guy on earth.”
It was generous of her to do that, so I said, “I’m saying something really funny right now.”
Lisa burst out laughing. She should have been an actress, she was that convincing.
I could hear Rachel bitch behind me. “Definitely not an attention whore.”
I made sure I was still grinning for the camera and then turned and was glad my face was hidden when I stared Rachel in the eye and said, “For fuck’s sake, just shut up.”
Suddenly, a small group of the WAGs burst out laughing, so glad someone other than Lisa had bitched out Rachel.
I must have looked like I was in control of that box, surrounded by laughing and adoring women. When I turned back in my chair, we were all still on the screen. Then we abruptly disappeared, replaced with another section of the crowd, who were all holding up signs.
Lisa managed to decipher what it was first, squinting against the glare. “Fuckers!” she hissed.
I still couldn’t see it, but I could hear Rachel’s nasty snigger blowing hot in my ear, so I knew it wasn’t going to be good.
Looking up into the screen, I could see myself. About five of me. Except they all looked odd, because I seemed to be a paper doll with five different outfits on. Women’s outfits. Short skirts, long dresses, boobs hanging out of a halter top. I felt a small trickle of sweat form near my temple. I realised it was a doctored poster from a TV series, as the headline below read “FOOTBALLER’S WIVES.” The camera panned out, and I realised that there were about twenty people clustered in one group who were holding them all. I scanned the crowd and could make out quite a few similar-looking posters scattered within it.
Rachel, enjoying herself far too much, leaned down and whispered into my ear, “They printed it in a local footy rag. Looks good, huh?”
I swallowed, vowing I wasn’t showing that I was upset. “Amazing what you can do with Photoshop these days. Wish my legs were that good.” It was a lame comeback, but at least Rachel was disappointed by my lack of crying and storming off to the toilets.
Which I was almost ready to do when I saw the poster had been doctored further by some of the holders. These ones read WAGs and FAGs. Now I felt like I was going to throw up.
Anyway, Lisa was raging enough for me. “That’s so fucked!” she yelled. And after what Rachel had said, I thought she was about to leap over the seats and tackle her in a catfight worthy of any soap.
“Lisa,” I pleaded, “sit down.”
She did so, recognising that I didn’t want any more attention drawn to me. She sat down with a thud and linked her arm through mine. “Are you okay?”
I couldn’t answer. She squeezed my arm.
“Do you want to go?”
I shook my head.
The footage on the screen switched back to the players, and Declan appeared amongst a scrum that had erupted on the field. I felt a cold déjà vu at this happening again. I could have railed against the world, and the injustices of it all, but I literally felt frozen. I numbly watched the action unfold on the screen. Lisa’s grip on me tightened.
The scrum dissipated, and play resumed. Dec looked furious.
It was only two minutes before the siren went for the end of the first quarter, but it seemed like it had only begun. There was an uncomfortable silence in our box after the siren stopped sounding, and we watched the players head to their respective coaches.
“I wish you would say something,” Lisa said.
“I’m fine,” I mumbled.
My mobile buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting Fran or Roger. The number was private. I had no idea if I should pick it up. The last thing I wanted to do was find myself speaking to some contingent from the media and denying them a comment on the situation.
I answered anyway. “Hello.”
“Simon.” It was Dec. His tone was restrained, like he was fighting screaming.
“Hey,” I said, tonelessly. “Where are you calling from?”
He didn’t have to answer me; the big screen flashed the image of Dec calling from the coaches’ box, Scott beside him looking uncomfortable.
“Oh, there you are.”
“Get out of here, Simon. You don’t have to put up with this shit.”
The cameramen had obviously picked up what was going on, because I was back on the screen. I noticed Lisa was scratching at her nose with her middle finger; such a high school action but one which would have made me laugh if I weren’t so mad. “No.”
“Simon!”
I used Lisa’s trick again, tilting my head so my lips would be hard to read. “I’m not giving them the satisfaction, Dec. It’s just a fucking poster.”
“Did you read what one of them said?” Dec demanded.
“Yes. It’s awful, what else can I say?”
“I can tell you’re upset.” Declan, however, had obviously never been taught the subtle art employed by Lisa, as I could see when he appeared on the screen again.
“Yeah? Well, I can tell you are too.”
“It’s not me they’re targeting today.”
“So? It will probably be your turn next game. And what was that fight about on the field, anyway?”
“It was nothing.”
“Yeah, well, that poster’s nothing as well,” I said, sounding more honest than I felt. “Now, laugh like I said something funny.”
I could see him oblige, even though his mouth was still rigid. I was actually surprised he did so, but it made me feel slightly better. “Speak to you later, Dec.”
“Bye.”
I snapped my mobile shut and gave Lisa a small smile. There was a tap on my shoulder. Anna was standing behind me, holding two cups of beer.
“I thought you could use this,” she said, handing me one.
Wow. “Thanks,” I said, taking it.
“Hang in there.” She shrugged. “We all get the crap at some point. They’ll get tired of it. Unless, of course, you’re Rachel.”
I heard Rachel make some comeback, but it got lost in translation. Lisa gave me a surprised look, but Anna hadn’t finished. She handed the second beer over. “This one’s for you, Lisa.”
Now it was Lisa’s turn to be surprised. “Uh, thanks, Anna.”
“You’re welcome.” Anna turned and settled back into her seat.
“Holy fuck,” Lisa said, “am I dreaming?”
“I think we’re both officially accepted WAGs now,” I said.
We smushed our cups together in bittersweet triumph.
But I was the only FAG. That was my own special club.
THE Devils lost the game. I fumed a little as the other WAGs left the box, wondering if I would be blamed for it in the papers tomorrow.
“You’re more upset than you’re letting on,” Lisa said.
“I’ll be fine,” I told her.
She didn’t look convinced.
“Let’s just go, okay?”
As we exited the box, I saw one of the offending posters lying discarded on a seat. I heard Lisa mutter something, and she bent down to pick it up, probably meaning to throw it in the bin.
I stopped her, took the poster from her, rolled it up carefully, and
put it in my messenger bag.
“Simon, what are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Tormenting yourself, that’s what you’re doing.”
“My mother’s been making a scrapbook,” I said with a dismissive shrug. “She might as well have everything.”
Lisa stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and pushed past me.
We made our way down to the change rooms in silence; the security guards nodded at us, although my paranoia turned their usual friendly greetings into sneers and smirks.
Most of the team were leaving already; it seemed that they wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. They stonily ignored me and, by default, Lisa. As we walked up, Abe stuck his head out of the change room doors. He jogged up to us, relief visible on his face.
“How is he?” I asked immediately.
Abe never lied. “Not good. He’s going off his rocker at the bosses.”
“Why them?” I asked stupidly.
I could tell Abe was afraid of my reaction to what he was going to tell us. “He wants security to try and examine all posters at the next game and confiscate any that are about you.”
Yeah, that’d work. “Has he gone insane? That would be impossible!”
Abe didn’t want to criticize his best friend by taking sides against him. “I told you. He was upset.”
“Can I go in there?” I asked. “I have to stop this. It’s crazy.”
“Simon—”
“Abe,” Lisa said, and that was all it took for him to capitulate.
“Come on, then,” he sighed.
I had only ever seen the inside of a change room in the telecasts, when they would follow the players after the win to record them singing the team song in victorious harmony. Need it be said, as a Richmond supporter, I never got to see it that often. Abe led the way past the benches, and I could hear Declan before I saw him. He sounded ropable, and as we passed a collection of lockers I could see him in a small office, standing in front of the window with his coach and someone else that I recognised from my own meeting with the board.
“Oh crap,” I whispered. Ed bloody Wallace.
“We’ll just wait back outside,” Lisa said, catching Abe’s arm as she knew the fewer people in this situation the better.
