As soon as Mr G signed on, Scobie and Razz met with Mr Hardcastle and soon the St Daniel’s Open Fifths volleyball team was officially alive and kicking. Well, alive anyway. As a sporting unit we weren’t exactly a well-oiled machine. More like the remains of a rusty, broken-down tractor bogged in an overgrown paddock somewhere – with chickens roosting in us. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that we were the worst team in St Daniel’s long and proud volleyball history. (We were, of course. But it’s just that I’m not saying it. Not out loud anyway. I’ve got some pride.)
On the plus side we had two things going for us. One was Razz and the other was Mr Guthrie. As far as Razz was concerned, we all knew that he’d be a natural at volleyball and our best player, but what we didn’t know was what a great coach he would be. But after just two sessions he’d transformed us from a totally hopeless, incompetent rabble into what could only be described as a well below average volleyball team. And he made training fun. It was a minor miracle.
Mr Guthrie was our second plus because for him, winning wasn’t everything. In fact sometimes I wondered if it even registered on his radar. This, of course, made Emerson Guthrie a perfect match for the mighty Fighting Fifths, because it was pretty obvious that we were never going to win anything.
So much for our pluses. On the minus side were … well … the rest of us, basically.
First up there was Bill and me. I’d say that on a very good day, if we reached the extreme outer limit of our abilities, we almost made it to OK. Bill was better than me. He actually had good ball control and not a bad serve. I think hooping helped, and Bill hooped heaps. On the other hand his mobility wasn’t great because there was still plenty of him to move around. To his credit though, he was quite fast over about two steps.
Next there was Ignatius Prindabel. Seeing Ignatius on a sporting arena of any kind was as startling as seeing a flamingo on the polar ice caps. Seeing him in sports clothes bordered on the disturbing. Razz described him as a cross between a giraffe in fancy dress and a scarecrow minus the straw. And Ignatius was absolutely right when he said he was the natural enemy of sport, because the volleyball appeared to be on a mission to kill him.
No matter how Ignatius positioned his hands, the ball always found a way to avoid them and hit some part of his body. Often his groin. I had a theory that because Prindabel’s arms were so long, it took more time than normal for messages to travel between his brain and his hands and by the time they did, it was too late. Razz had another theory involving Ignatius having ‘excessive levels of the extreme nerd hormone’.
Next in our stellar line-up was James Scobie. I’ve already described Scobie’s prowess in various sporting arenas, so all you have to do is transfer most of that to a volleyball court. By far his biggest problem was receiving serve, and his decision not to wear his glasses for safety reasons didn’t help. As the ball hurtled towards him, Scobie squinted on the baseline, desperately trying to get it into some sort of focus. From what I could figure out, this didn’t actually happen until just before the ball thudded into the floor for a winner or into James himself.
Last in our long list of negatives was Melvin Yip. At least Melvin looked the part. This was because he owned every item of brand-name sporting clothing and equipment ever made and he liked to have as many of those items on his body at the one time as humanly possible. His sport shoes were something else again.
As well as being all the colours of a fluorescent rainbow, Melvin’s footwear featured every sort of pump, gel, stripe and brand-new-adjust-to-any-surface-straight-from-the-latest-space-program-ultra-modern-cutting-edge-technology that you could possibly imagine. One day as a joke Razz asked Yippy if he could check his emails with his shoes. Melvin just frowned a bit and said, ‘Not sure. I haven’t read through all the instructions yet.’ It would have been a good comeback if he wasn’t being serious.
As well as having all the right gear, Yippy was short, wiry, keen and super-fit, with rock-hard calf muscles that bulged from his bandy legs. There was no doubt that on a volleyball court he looked like a million dollars. Sadly he played like loose change. This, however, didn’t bother Melvin in the least. Not only did he firmly believe that he was the best volleyball player in the entire school, somehow he had managed to convince himself that he was descended from either a long line of Japanese samurai or some secret society of ninja. This was despite the fact that the Yips originally came from Malaysia, not Japan, and that Melvin himself was a second-generation Australian. Reality wasn’t exactly Melvin Yip’s strong suit.
The big problem for us was that Melvin liked to display his ninja and samurai moves on the volleyball court whenever possible. This meant that when the ball came his way, he would leap into the air, scream ‘Yeeee-aaaaaa!’ thrash his arms at it and then land back on the court, where he would pose for a few seconds, crouching ninja-like, before springing nimbly backwards into position. The rest of us, meanwhile, had to try to figure out where the ball had gone. It was hardly surprising, therefore, that Melvin Yip was known in volleyball circles as the Psycho Samurai or the Nutcase Ninja. He wore both titles with great pride.
So that was our team. Just the six of us. But this was about to change. It was at the end of our second training session that Razz informed us of his awesome brainwave.
‘Hey, listen up, guys. I just had this awesome brainwave.’
Everyone glanced in Razz’s direction, but no one stopped getting changed or shoving stuff into bags. Given his track record with ‘awesome brainwaves’, our expectations weren’t that high.
‘Look, we need to get at least one extra guy to join the team so we’ve got a reserve, right?’
We nodded.
‘Well, I’ve been thinking about who we could get. So here’s my question. What does our team lack?’
There was quite a pause then as each of us tried to decide which of the countless possible answers he should choose. Fortunately Razz came to our rescue.
‘I’ll tell you. The Intimidation Factor. Hardcastle’s always going on about it. Personally, I like to call it ‘the Brown Undies Effect’.
‘Intimidation?’ Scobie said. ‘This is volleyball, not football.’
‘Doesn’t matter. It still works, Your Humungousness. We need some guy who can stand right up at the net and stare down the other team. Someone to put their blockers and servers off their games. Now, while I’d be the first to admit that Prindabel in his volleyball shorts is pretty terrifying, we need more than that. We need someone who can give the opposition … the Look.’
‘The Look?’
‘That’s right, Scobes. The Look. The one that says, “If you win this point I’m gonna come over there and force-feed you the ball followed by a tasty side dish of your own joggers.”‘
‘I see,’ Scobie said. ‘And who have you got in mind for such a commendable role?’
‘Well, just think about it for a minute. Who’ve we got in Year Twelve that could pull that off?’
It didn’t take me long to come up with a name.
‘Not Bagsley?’
‘Yeah, I thought of him too. But he’d never play with us. Anyway, the dude I’m thinking of makes Bagsley look about as intimidating as a Teletubby with a balloon sword.’
What followed was a few seconds of group frowning followed by growing expressions of disbelief as each of us figured out exactly who Razz was talking about.
Scobie performed an extreme mouth twist.
Melvin Yip narrowed his eyes in a vain attempt to look inscrutable.
Ignatius gave a nervous laugh. ‘You can’t be serious?’
Bill lost a little of the colour in his face. ‘You don’t mean …’
All I managed to squeeze out was, ‘Not …’
Razz addressed each of us in turn. ‘I am serious, Prindabudster. I do mean, Bilbo. And yes, Ishmael, my man … him. If we’re talking intimidation, we might as well set our sights on the Grand Poobah, right? What do you say, Scobes? This whole show is your baby.’
‘All right!’ said Razz, picking up a volleyball and spinning it effortlessly into a twirling blur on the tip of his index finger.
‘Time to pay a call on the Mudman.’
8.
THE RAZZMAN V THE MUDMAN
The Mudman’s real name was Theodore Bungalari. He had come to St Daniel’s last year from Papua New Guinea. That wasn’t such a big deal. We had plenty of boarders from overseas and quite a few of those were from PNG. But none of them were quite like Theodore Bungalari.
When Theodore was introduced to our Homeroom we learned that he was from Goroka in the Highlands. Mr Guthrie had been there on one of his trekking holidays, and he told us the region was famous for its spectacular festivals and ceremonies and especially for the Goroka Mudmen – locals who wore big headdresses and covered their bodies entirely in mud. Theodore got his nickname a couple of days later when a boy came around looking for him and saying, ‘Hey, if anyone sees that mudman guy, tell him he’s wanted at the office.’ A name like that couldn’t really do anything else but stick.
But it wasn’t where he came from or his nickname that set Theodore Bungalari apart. As Razz rightly pointed out, Theodore had the intimidation factor. Even the other boys from PNG seemed in awe of him. He was only around sixteen like the rest of us, but with his hair shaved close to his skull and his face looking like it had been chiselled roughly out of dull black marble, he probably could have passed for thirty-six. And he was big. Not tall-big, just solid-muscle-and-heavy-chunky-bones-big. If you were careless enough to bump into Theodore in a crowded corridor, it was pretty much the same as bumping into the wall. The only thing that rebounded was you. After you did, you would be confronted by Theodore’s perfectly still eyes peering at you like two cannons from the shadows of a cave. Right from day one everyone automatically gave Theodore Bungalari a very wide berth.
Of course the cannibal thing only added to his mystique.
That came about one day when we were waiting for our maths teacher, Mr Xiang, to arrive to class. That’s when Danny Wallace thought it would be a good idea to start firing questions at the new boy.
‘Hey, Mudman, what’s it like up in the Highlands? Come across any good mud lately? You and the pigs must really hit it off, eh? Is it true that you rub all the mud on your skin to help fight the seven signs of ageing?’
The whole class sat there in stunned silence. Even Barry Bagsley had the sense to leave Theodore Bungalari alone. But not Danny Wallace. Apparently you had to have a certain minimum level of grey matter before the self-preservation response kicked in.
And Danny was only warming up.
‘Hey, you guys got MudDonald’s up there? I reckon you could put away a few quarter pounders. You’d like your meat, wouldn’t you, Muddy? Didn’t all you mudmen used to cook people up and eat them?’
While all these questions were flying his way Theodore sat quietly at the back of the room filling out his school diary. Then he put his pen down and calmly lifted his head. He folded his arms and hunched himself forward on the desk to get a better look at Danny Wallace. His blue school shirt strained under the pressure from his shoulders and biceps. Theodore ran his dark eyes slowly over Danny Wallace from the top of his head to the tip of his shoes and back again. Then he locked on to Danny’s eyes and frowned.
‘What do you mean … used to?’ he asked in his deep, rolling voice.
We all knew he wasn’t being serious, of course. He was obviously just kidding. Except Theodore Bungalari didn’t look like your typical ‘just kidding’ sort of guy. Anyway, Mr Xiang came striding into the room at that point and the whole thing was pretty much forgotten. But not by Danny Wallace. He kept shooting glances at Theodore throughout the lesson, and whenever he did, Theodore’s eyes would widen and the tip of his pink tongue would slip slowly across his lips.
After that day everyone, including Danny Wallace, just left Theodore Bungalari alone. He didn’t seem to mind. As far as I could tell, Theodore was ‘an island, entire unto himself’. That comes from one of Mr Guthrie’s Homeroom posters.
But the Island of Theodore Bungalari was about to be invaded. And leading the charge was none other than Orazio Zorzotto.
It was the Razzman v the Mudman.
9.
THE PRIDE OF GOROKA
The day after Razz’s awesome brainwave and just two days before our first volleyball match we set out to recruit Theodore Bungalari. We’d been looking for him half of lunchtime. We finally tracked him down to an empty classroom on the top floor of the Senior Block.
He was sitting in a desk at the back corner near a window taking notes from his history textbook. Theodore always completed every assignment and every piece of school work to the minutest detail. And he did it in the neatest handwriting I’d ever seen. His exercise books were works of art. Teachers gushed over them. I kid you not. There was actual real-life gushing involved.
‘Hey, here’s the guy we want. The Pride of Goroka! Mud … ah … Theodore, my main man! Looking good, dude! How’re they hanging, Bunga?’
Razz slapped the the Mudman heartily on the shoulder. It was like he was whacking a block of concrete. Theodore stopped writing and looked around slowly at each of us. He wasn’t smiling. Suddenly this seemed like a very bad idea. But Razz wouldn’t be put off.
‘Muddy,’ he said, ‘it’s your lucky day, pal. Believe it or not, I am offering you the chance to join our very exclusive volleyball team! No, please, no need to thank me.’
Theodore stared back at Razz. I tried to remember if I’d ever seen him blink. Razz cleared his throat and ploughed on.
‘Please, contain your excitement for just a moment longer, TB, and let me explain. We want you, yes you, to be part of the mighty Fighting Fifths. As such, you will be joining an elite band of athletes – all these fine specimens you see here before you and … um … that guy.’
Razz was pointing out the window to where down in the yard Melvin Yip was facing up to an incoming fast bowler and waving his cricket bat around like a sword. We all waited to watch the delivery. It came. We all winced. Everyone except for Theodore Bungalari. Melvin Yip lay doubled over and clutching some now extremely tender parts of his body.
‘I guess that’s why they call him the Nutcase Ninja,’ Razz said. Everyone smiled. Everyone except for Theodore Bungalari.
‘Aaaaanyhoo,’ Razz said, ‘as I was saying, this is the chance of a lifetime, Muddy Buddy. You could have it all, man – sporting glory, multi-million dollar merchandising deals and really hot groupie chicks throwing themselves at you. Too good to be true? I think not!’
All the while Razz was speaking, Theodore hadn’t moved a muscle or changed his expression. I was tempted to poke him to see if he was real. I want you to know that I had no trouble at all resisting that particular temptation.
‘Aaah, Theodore,’ Scobie said, stepping forward and joining Razz, ‘I would just like to clarify a few things that my … learned friend … has said to avoid any possible misunderstanding and disappointment later on. I’m afraid that in his undoubted enthusiasm to have you on board he might have been guilty of some slight exaggeration.’
Theodore shifted his eyes slowly from Razz to Scobie.
‘Firstly, apart from Orazio here, none of us can really play volleyball. And I feel justified in saying that, because I am undoubtedly the worst in the team. You, however, if you were to join us, would most certainly be at least the second best. Secondly, there will be no sporting glory. None whatsoever. We will probably not win a game. Taking these two things into account, I think you can safely draw your own conclusions about both the “multi-million dollar merchandising deals” and the “really hot groupie chicks”. Theodore, the truth is, we need another player. We’d really like that player to be you.’
Razz leant down and whispered to Scobie behind hi
s hand.
‘Nice going, Scobes. Way to totally ruin our chances. Oh, and here’s a little tip. You know those forms we’re filling out for career choices? You might like to put a big black line through sales assistant, public relations guy and motivational speaker.’
The next voice we heard was Theodore’s. It always made me think of thick rich syrup pouring slowly out of a can.
‘I will play in your volleyball team.’
Or in Theodore-speak, ‘Arrr weeeell plaaaaaaay in yar vorlleybuull tim.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Razz said, ‘can’t say I blame you. After the build-up the Scobster gave us you’d be cra … What? What did you say?’
‘I said I will play in your volleyball team.’
There were smiles all round. Well, at least from us.
‘That’s awesome, dude,’ Razz said, scratching his head. ‘But I gotta ask you, man. Why? I mean, why would you want to play for our team?’
Theodore Bungalari gave us all the once-over.
‘You fellows make me laugh,’ he said without a single atom of a smile anywhere within a light year of his face.
10.
PRINDABEL’S BUTT BALL
We played our first game that Saturday morning against Harrisville High. Theodore hadn’t had a chance to train with us at all. It was probably just as well. It might have scared him off.
All matches were best of three sets. Two sets to fifteen points and if it was one-all, a final, first to seven, set. For a while there against Harrisville, we were holding our own. But then the warm-up finished and the actual game started.
We lost 15–3; 15–5.
Believe it or not, the score actually flattered us. Four of our massive eight points came from the other team serving into the net. Another three of them were won by Razz virtually on his own. Our final point came when Ignatius tried to spike a ball, missed it completely and it rebounded off his big forehead over the net for a winner. That was one of our match highlights. It was celebrated with high fives all round.
Ishmael and the Hoops of Steel Page 17
