Kick Back

by K J

  She snuck a glance down her line of players to Fitz. At nearly six feet tall, with her dark blonde hair shaped into a crisp crew-cut, cheekbones, abs, biceps, shoulders and legs that looked like an artist had chiselled them from marble, their captain was an imposing figure. Her on-field skills were outstanding, but her skills off-field were as equally spectacular. Thank goodness Fitz had enough integrity not to dip into the office ink, choosing to attract her girlfriends from every other location in Melbourne. Fitz was a great captain on the field, organising the players like chess pieces, and scoring or assisting in goals, but Sophia truly believed that Fitz lacked that flicker of vigilance that she felt captains should possess. Maybe I’m demanding too much.

  Craig called for the warm down, projecting his voice across their half of the field, and reminding them to watch out for the sprinklers and hoses, which were dotted like landmines across the entire area. They’d arrived that evening to find only half the oval lit up by the giant broad-beam floodlights, and the grass littered with very weighty metal sprinkler heads attached to large industrial hoses. Craig had immediately marched off to the management offices under the stands, where he’d discovered that the grounds staff had no idea that the women’s team was training that night, which, of course, meant sprinkler confetti all over the grass. Apparently Dominic had neglected to climb over his wall of indifference and inform anyone important, like groundskeepers, of their training schedule. Sophia sighed and indicated to the women nearest her to form a circle so they could stretch, leaning on each other to help extend their legs. Feeling her hamstrings pulling a little more than she’d have liked—you’re thirty-four now—

  Sophia changed position to start the next exercise, then paused as she spotted Cam leaning on the boundary fence, her hands curled over the tubular steel railing, and her backpack propped against the diamond wire. Sophia lifted her chin in acknowledgement, and turned back to her warm-down partner. Suddenly, there was a synchronised metallic click, the hoses shivered, and water cannoned out of the sprinkler heads, the torrent distributed by the chop-chop-chopping of the built-in spinner. All twenty-five players froze in disbelief, a microscopic suspension of time, then all hell broke loose as women scattered, some to the boundary, and some to grab equipment. Tipping her head sideways to shake water out of her ear after a well-aimed stream connected with the side of her head, Sophia raced over to Craig and grabbed his coach’s bag, as he and Fitz collected the piles of training jerseys.

  “We’ll have to get the balls once we’ve turned the sprinklers off!” he shouted over the noise. Fitz nodded, and glanced at Sophia.

  “Come on.” They ran in a zig-zag pattern to the boundary, dodging the more powerful surges of water near the base of the sprinklers, and joined the bedraggled group at the start of the player’s runway to the change rooms. Fitz grunted and threw the pile of vests to the ground, like a giant red and white spitball, which prompted everyone else to drop their paraphernalia as well. Craig stormed up, his blonde hair plastered to his head.

  “I’m beyond words. I’m sorry everyone, but we’re done for tonight.” He was vibrating with barely controlled anger. “I’ll just see if they can shut it off so we can get the balls off the field.” He turned on his heel. “Hit the showers,” he said, tossing the words over his shoulder. Sophia ran her hands through her hair, and pulled it back to squeeze out the water, as she watched the rest of the team trudge down the concrete ramp.

  “I’m guessing that’s not a normal occurrence.” The voice was quiet next to her shoulder, and Sophia turned. Cam, flipping a handful of brown curls from her forehead, cast a quizzical gaze at Sophia, who in turn rolled her eyes.

  “Of course it’s not normal. You think we play chicken with high-pressure lawn sprinklers as part of our regular training regimen?” Sophia watched a little smile curl on Cam’s lips, and felt her own start. “That could be kind of fun, though.”

  Cam’s smile grew. “Should I write that into my next story? ‘Blonde patents training technique. Extols the wonders of recycled irrigation water’.” Sophia held her gaze, then laughed at the joke, and the absurdity of the situation. She grabbed a handful of her shirt to wring out the water, realised how pointless that was, and just pulled it over her head, flinging the shirt at her kit bag beside her feet. It sat like wet dough. The cool air raised goosebumps on her skin and pushed her nipples into the fabric of the sports bra.

  “Oh! Um. Well, okay, you’re in your underwear.” Cam’s brown eyes, when Sophia looked up, were darting about, trying not to land on any part of the exposed skin between the skintight full-length training leggings and the sports bra. Sophia smirked, then folded her arms, knowing the action enhanced her biceps and pushed her breasts higher. She raised an eyebrow, as confident tingles fluttered in her stomach.

  “If you’re going to be writing articles about women’s football, you’ll have to get used to seeing women’s bodies.” She rolled her lips together as the comment caused Cam’s eyes to flash with annoyance and zero in on hers.

  “I’m fine with seeing women’s bodies, thank you very much. You were…it was unexpected, that’s all.” They held their gaze, then Sophia grinned.

  “Okay.” She bent down to pack the damp shirt into the bag, zipped it closed, and shoved it against the wall with her foot. “I’m going to see if Craig needs a hand with collecting the balls.” Sophia glanced at Cam. “You’ll be looking at more women’s bodies if you’re heading to the change rooms now to interview someone.” She chuckled at Cam’s expression of indignation, which was highlighted by an irritated poke at her glasses.

  “God! Bloody athletes. You are so arrogant. I’m not a cadet, you know.” Cam glared. “I am actually a proper journalist, trying to do my job.” She waved in a general fashion at Sophia. “Being all half-naked, and…and trying to flirt with me is really unnecessary, inappropriate, and…and patronising.” Cam rested her hands on her hips, her eyebrows pushed down. Sophia blinked, then, recognising the little door that had opened, stepped closer.

  “I wasn’t flirting with you,” she said evenly, holding Cam’s stare, noticing for the first time the wayward curls that framed Cam’s face and bumped against her glasses. Leaning forward ever so slightly to reduce the height difference, Sophia watched as Cam’s lips parted involuntarily. “You’d know if I was,” she murmured. The eye contact was held for only a single breath, then Sophia turned and strolled down the ramp, the studs on the soles of her football boots clicking on the concrete. She kept her stride loose no matter how cranky her muscles were. Just before she entered the corridor to the management rooms, Sophia stared back up the walkway at Cam, who looked annoyed and flustered all at once. “See you next training session, Cam.” Sophia grinned. Perhaps she’d get her dinner date, after all.

  The serviceable carpet that disguised the concrete floor of the management rooms and corridors muffled Sophia’s footsteps. But she needn’t have worried about anyone hearing her, as Dominic and Craig’s voices could have drowned out the arrival of a marching band. She stopped short at the corner of the office, not wanting to interrupt.

  “I can’t believe you only lit up half the field. How are they supposed to practice full field drills on half a field?” Craig’s voice was tight with frustration.

  “The email came from the executive. Dennis believes that when the teams bring in more revenue, they can have access to more of the league’s resources.” Dominic sounded conciliatory, but Sophia could imagine the tiny sneer that she’d seen creeping onto his mouth during her own interactions with him. Why on earth he even wanted to manage a women’s football team was beyond her.

  “That’s illogical. It’s self-defeatist, Dominic. If you want the players to bring in more revenue, you have to help them gain more skills and get stronger, which means you have to give them access to all the training resources.” The air in the corridor practically shifted about with the emphatic hand toss that Sophia imagined Craig had given to accompany that sentence.

  “Be t
hat as it may, Craig, it’s a decision from the new board.” Sophia’s eyes grew round. The executive seriously okay-ed this? There was a pause. “Besides, the attendance might increase after the shopping centre promotions that the girls are doing next week.”

  “What promotions?”

  Sophia wrinkled her forehead in confusion. Exactly. What promotions?

  “I’ve spoken to the girls about it. Don’t worry. It won’t impact on their training time.” The sound of a chair being pushed back startled Sophia, and she turned to go, rolling her boots heel to toe so the studs didn’t clunk. Dominic’s instruction to Craig floated after her. “I asked the maintenance team to leave the shutoff cabinet unlocked, so you can deal with the sprinklers when you’re ready.” Sophia was still shaking her head in disbelief, and not a little bit of confusion, as she strode, her socks damp inside her boots, into the change rooms to have her shower.

  Chapter Five

  Cam shuffled her arse for probably the hundredth time on the moulded plastic seat, which was bolted to the concrete underneath, and wondered how on earth people sat on the God-forsaken things for eighty minutes. Settling her laptop again on her knees, she eavesdropped on the conversation in front of her.

  “Fitz has been on form so far, but she’s not getting the distance.”

  “Yeah.” The two spectators nodded in stereo, not taking their eyes off the field, then the man on the right, his head buried under a South Melbourne hat, continued his analysis. “Lindstrom’s disposals have been pretty good. They should push her forward more.”

  His friend, with a salt-and-pepper semi-circle of hair wrapped around the back of his head, and resplendent in a T-shirt decorated with a liquorice all-sort of team stripes, agreed. “Probably. Well, they gotta give the rookies a go. They’ve got a bunch of them this year.”

  Hat nodded at his knowledgeable friend. “The umpires too. They’re all rookies, getting their hours up. The girls’ footy is a good place to start.”

  Cam blinked, letting slide the automatic girls-to-women word correction she normally engaged in. The umpires are rookies? She realised that the umpires had to start somewhere but she’d since found out that the men’s competition had a reserve grade, which was technically at a lower level on the hierarchy than the women’s comp. The umpires should be practicing there.

  “You going to the MCG for the real game later?” T-shirt asked.

  “Yeah. This was okay, but I’m glad it was before the big match. Only came because I was in my gear already and it was ‘round the corner.” Hat paused. “Who do you think’ll get a run on this afternoon?”

  And with that Cam knew the conversation was over, despite it continuing to unfold in front of her. Well, that was interesting, yet so sadly predictable. It grated on her how much women were expected to limit their space in society. Like scheduling the women’s matches in the early afternoon on Saturdays, so it was out of the way of the men’s matches. Midday on a Saturday in Melbourne was inside a block of time known as ‘Getting Things Done Before The Football’, therefore attending a women’s AFL match within that sacred allotment was always going to require some prioritising. She thinned her lips. None of that is content for my stories. Cam realised that the crowd at these matches would consist of those who’d accidentally stumbled across the game like Hat and T-shirt in front of her, and those who fundamentally supported women’s football and made the effort to attend. That second group was fierce but small, with nowhere near the membership base to fill stadiums, let alone regional sporting fields such as the one where Sophia’s team was currently winning. I think they’re winning. As far as Cam was concerned, the AFL scoring system was one of the hidden codes carved into the Rosetta Stone. She knew that her reluctance to educate herself about competitive sport was completely in response to the acrimonious break-up with Rachel. The rules and all the particulars wouldn’t be difficult to learn. I learned the Upward-Facing Two-Foot Staff pose, for heaven’s sake. She glared at herself. Perhaps it’s time to move on. A little bit. A step or two. Cam chose to ignore the alarming fact that she’d just called the South Melbourne Women’s AFL team, ‘Sophia’s team’, as probably the reasons for that were even more uncomfortable than the hard plastic seating under her arse.

  Checking her watch, she decided that it was probably time to wait at the gap in the boundary fence where the players exited the field. Naomi had been the subject of her first story and she wanted to catch her to gauge her reaction. Cam had spent at least ten minutes in the first quarter trying to find Naomi in the swarm of eighteen women, clad identically in red and white jerseys and shorts, as they galloped about, chasing the red football with the other eighteen women in their yellow and blues.

  She snapped shut her laptop, slid it into her backpack, slung one strap over her shoulder, and clomped down the concrete steps to the boundary, casting her gaze over the field. There was a sudden yell, and the thundering of boots on the grass startled her, and as Cam whipped her head from side to side to work out where the action seemed to be happening, Sophia, with her blonde hair caught up in an efficient ponytail, flashed past just inside the white boundary line on the oval. She clutched the football, then threw the ball out in front of her, where it hit the ground and unbelievably bounced back perfectly into her hands, all without breaking stride. Cam watched in fascination as she dodged left and right, her thighs muscles flexing, to avoid the throng of opposition players, and then caught her breath as suddenly Sophia gave an extra half-step to bring her right foot forward, launching her body into the air, and connecting with the football. The result was a kick so bold, so graceful that the ball soared, travelling up and over the players who watched its flight, their heads creating arcs upon their necks, to then sail through the two white centre poles.

  “Oh,” Cam breathed, the single word lost in the noise of celebration from the team on the field and the smattering of spectators in the stands.

  ***

  Sophia’s winning goal, a minute before the full-time siren blared across the field, had been the icing on top of the cake that was the rather excellent first game. The waves of elation she’d been surfing since that goal had slowed to a subtle undulation in her body, so now ribs, shoulders, thighs, calves, and, weirdly, her wrists all ached, like she’d been funnelled through a car wash and beaten up by the happy-slappy rollers. Fitz patted Dee’s shoulder, the player to Sophia’s left, maintaining eye contact with the nineteen-year-old when she delivered the compliment about her excellent skills that she’d noticed in the game, then she turned to Sophia.

  “Bloody awesome kick, Soph.” Her voice was gravelly, which was to be expected after shouting at people for ninety minutes.

  Sophia grinned. “Felt awesome, too.” She winced, as she bent to tap her boots on the concrete floor, then scooped them into her kit bag. “Muscles don’t think so, unfortunately.”

  Fitz laughed, and clapped her on the shoulder. Ow. “Not getting any younger, hey,” she chortled, and moved onto the next player currently wrestling with damp socks stuck around her ankles.

  Sophia leant her hands against the very hectic tiles, as the water ran over her head and back. Someone, perhaps on work experience during their interior design degree, had advised the club to use lurid green and blue subway tiles on all the walls and floors in the open-area showers. It was certainly a choice, and she held firm to her initial assessment—hectic. Closing her eyes to the visual assault, Sophia tightened and relaxed the muscles in her back as the hot water eased out the tension. A couple of the other players were still showering in the individual cubicles, so the entire change-room was filled with a soft steam, which smelled like wet sock and coconut. A conversation to the left near the entrance was low in tone, but carried along the tiled wall like words on the string from a tin can telephone. Sophia dropped her head out of the spray to listen.

  “I’m glad the party didn’t go too late last night. Otherwise I would have been useless in the game.” That’s Leigh’s voice.

  “Tota
lly. It was fun, though, hey? All those executive guys and sponsors.” And that’s Hara.

  “I know! Far out. I was stoked when they told us of the promotions that we’ll be doing. I can’t believe that we’re going on the Footy Show.”

  There was a gasp. “Right! I mean, it’s just for that dunk tank thing, but it’s so good that we’re gonna be on TV.”

  Sophia leaned her forehead on the cool porcelain and caught the urgent question. “Did Dennis and Lawrence mention to you the vitamins that we get to try?”

  “No? Maybe they didn’t get round to me. There were a few of us there.” The words faded as the young players wandered into the corridor.

  What the hell? What parties? What—

  Icicles of freezing water shot out of the shower head, and Sophia leapt back, a single expletive spluttering out of her mouth. The other two shower aficionados echoed the word, stumbling backwards through the cubicle doors. Sophia stood, dripping, and blinked at the other women, then there was a chaotic scrambling for taps before they exchanged looks of outrage and shrugs of disbelief, and clutched at the nearest towels.

  Sophia, dressed in her club track pants and top, hair still damp, stomped up the player’s runway to Craig, who was speaking individually to the women as they left. He turned to Sophia, and put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

  “I know. The hot water thing. I have no idea what happened. It looks like an unexpected fault in the heating system, according to the grounds guys. Apparently, they’ll have it fixed by next weekend when we play here again.” He shrugged, tossed a hand, then shook his head. “They reckon this sort of thing doesn’t happen at the big grounds or the stadium in town.”

  Sophia scoffed. “Of course it doesn’t.” She sighed. “Thanks, Craig.” He smiled and shook her hand—his endearingly formal gesture of congratulations and gratitude.

  “You did well today, Soph. First game of the season. Killer goal. Great assists.” She grinned in return, then over his shoulder she spotted Cam and Naomi finishing a conversation, based on the nods and waves being exchanged between them. Her feet took on a life of their own, and she wandered over, sharing a mutual smile with the rookie as she left. Cam tipped her head quizzically.