Banana Kick

by Patrick Loughlin

  ‘There you are, Junior. Where have you been?’ said Ramona. ‘Can you call the boys? They’re outside.’

  Junior walked to the back door and yelled to his younger brothers, Joseph and Feleti. ‘Hey, boys! Dinner!’

  ‘Junior!’ cried Joseph, the youngest in the family. ‘Come play with us!’

  ‘Yeah! Tackle us!’ pleaded Feleti.

  Junior laughed. ‘All right. One tackle, then dinner.’ He could rarely refuse his younger brothers.

  A moment later six-year-old Joseph was steaming towards him with the football. Unlike Junior, both of his brothers were little and skinny. Junior easily cut Joseph off, grabbing hold of him by the waist and turning him upside down. Joseph still managed to throw a pass to Feleti, but Junior was too quick and soon had Feleti wrapped up in his other arm. The three of them toppled to the ground, giggling.

  ‘All right, you’re tackled. Now, go wash your hands for dinner,’ said Junior, pushing his brothers off him.

  ‘Tickle monster,’ insisted Joseph, jumping onto Junior’s back.

  ‘No tickle monster, dinner!’ replied Junior.

  ‘Hey, what’s this?’ said Feleti.

  Junior wrestled Joseph away and looked around to find Feleti standing in front of him waving his yellow card. ‘Hey, that’s mine,’ said Junior. ‘Give it here.’

  ‘You’ll have to chase me!’ Feleti laughed and took off for the house. This time he was too fast for Junior.

  Joseph squealed, following as Junior gave chase. By the time Junior got to the back step, Feleti was inside and tearing down the hall, waving the card as he went. When Junior reached the kitchen, he found Ramona holding the card instead of Feleti.

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Ramona.

  ‘Nothin’. Just some homework,’ said Junior, breathing hard. He glared at Feleti, who was smirking from behind the safety of his big sister.

  ‘From school?’ quizzed Ramona.

  ‘Yep,’ said Junior.

  ‘So, why does it have the West Hill Ravens emblem on the other side?’ Ramona pointed at the familiar symbol of a black bird with its wings outstretched.

  ‘Um.’ Junior wasn’t exactly sure why he’d lied about what the card was for. It had just seemed easier, the way not mentioning the healthy snack challenge seemed easier. Junior had managed to not mention it to his family for three days.

  ‘Junior, what’s it really for?’ asked Ramona.

  ‘It’s just a thing we have to do for footy,’ Junior said reluctantly.

  Ramona looked unconvinced. ‘Why did you lie about it, then?’

  ‘Lie about what?’ asked his mother, appearing behind them.

  Oh great, thought Junior. Here’s trouble.

  Mama Taafuli, like all mothers, knew how to walk into a room at exactly the worst possible moment. With just one hot look, her eyes told Ramona:

  WHATEVER YOU HAVE, GIVE IT TO ME NOW!

  Ramona immediately handed her mother the yellow card.

  Junior’s mum was a big lady with big opinions. She worked long hours as a maternity nurse and she was never shy about sharing her opinions with new mothers. She looked at the card and clucked her tongue dramatically. Then her eyes locked on to Junior like an infra-red laser sight. ‘What is this all about, Junior?’

  For just a moment, Junior thought he could see steam rising from her head. As it turned out, it was just the steam from the rice cooker sitting behind his mother. ‘Um . . .’

  ‘I’m waiting, child.’

  ‘Footy,’ Junior finally blurted. ‘It’s for Billy Slater.’

  ‘So, now your coach and Mr Foot-a-ball star Billy Slater are trying to tell me how to feed you,’ said Mama Taafuli, sitting down to the dinner table. ‘I know what to feed my children!’

  Junior’s dad nodded slowly in agreement. He was a tall, strong man, and a gentle father. In fact, he was very much like Junior – a man of few words. He usually let his wife do the talking.

  ‘I don’t think it’s like that, Mum. It’s just a way of encouraging the team to eat healthy snacks,’ said Ramona. ‘It’s not a big deal.’

  ‘Why was it hidden from us, then?’ asked their mother. ‘What’s really going on here, Junior? And no more lying.’

  Junior looked at his mother, then down at the table and sighed. ‘I just didn’t want anyone to see what I eat.’

  ‘Why? Are you sneaking junk food home?’ asked his mother, squinting at Junior like a television detective interrogating a suspect.

  ‘No, Mum. It’s just . . . what some of the other kids on the team have been saying. And people at last week’s game.’

  This time his father did speak. ‘What did they say, son?’

  ‘You know – that I’m too big for my age.’ Junior frowned at the table.

  Mama Taafuli’s face softened, and she smiled. ‘Junior, you silly boy. Did your teammates or those other people give birth to you? No. Who do you think gave birth to you? Me! I gave birth to you. And you were a big baby. A very big baby.’

  Junior’s brothers giggled at this, and Junior shrank further into his chair.

  ‘Now you are a big boy. Surprise! You’re Samoan. You’re supposed to be big!’ said Mama Taafuli.

  Junior kept his eyes down and wondered how long this was going to take. I hope she doesn’t start wagging her finger, he thought. Anything but the finger.

  Of course, when he glanced up, his mother’s finger was right there, wagging furiously in his face. ‘Don’t listen to what those people say! Listen to me and to your family,’ she said. ‘Be proud of who you are, Junior. You’re a beautiful boy.’

  Junior blushed and rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, Mum.’

  ‘Ha! Junior’s pretty,’ laughed Joseph.

  ‘And don’t worry about this little card. You show them how healthy you are,’ said Mama Taafuli, slapping one hand on the table and making her knife and fork bounce up into the air and crash back down with a clank. ‘Now, who wants dessert? Fa’alifu fai! Green bananas. Very healthy!’ she declared, getting up from the table.

  ‘Yay!’ cried Joseph and Feleti.

  Junior let out a deep breath. When it comes to their children, Samoan mothers always know best, and you should never try to tell them otherwise.

  The entire crowd gasped as the mountainous kid in the snugly fit number ten Ravens jersey smashed through another tackle.

  It was Round 7 and the Ravens Under 11s were up against the Mount Macquarie Lions, who had also struggled to win a game this season. It didn’t look like today was going to be their day, either.

  ‘Run, Junior! Run!’ called Azza and Liam and Tai as Junior made another tackle-busting burst through the opposition defence. But Junior didn’t run, he steamrolled like a bulldozer.

  By half-time the Ravens were up 10–4, and there were some low mumblings in the crowd, mostly from the Lions supporters.

  ‘Look at the size of him!’ said one surly father.

  ‘He shouldn’t be playing in this age group – he’s twice their size,’ tutted a woman wearing a T-shirt that read ‘Go Tyson! Lions are #1’.

  ‘There ought to be a weight division. He probably weighs as much as me,’ said a man with long sideburns.

  As the Ravens gathered in the middle of the field to listen to Coach Steve, it was hard not to feel the heavy glares of the Lions supporters. Most of their glares were aimed at one Raven in particular.

  Junior glanced around at the sea of angry faces.

  ‘I don’t think the Lions fans are very happy,’ Josh said nervously.

  ‘Don’t worry, they’ll get over it,’ said Coach Steve. ‘We just need to focus on the game. It’s not over yet. It’s a game of halves, remember.’

  ‘What does that even mean?’ grumbled Corey.

  ‘It means there are two halves in a game of footy,’ said Liam.

&nb
sp; ‘Yeah, you’re the halfback, Liam, and I’m five-eighth – two halves. Get it?’ Tai laughed, impressed with himself.

  Corey groaned. ‘Hee-lair-re-us.’

  ‘Do you get it? We’re the halves,’ said Tai, pointing at himself and Liam and bouncing his eyebrows up and down.

  ‘I get it,’ said Corey. ‘It’s just not funny.’

  ‘It’s a bit funny,’ said Liam, and Tai nodded crazily in agreement.

  ‘Boys, focus,’ said Coach Steve. ‘Now, how are we going to stay on top in the second half?’

  ‘Easy-peasy, Coach. We just give it to Cannonball,’ said Tai. He motioned to Junior, who was quietly slurping on an orange at the back of the huddle.

  Coach turned to him. ‘Think you have a few more hit-ups in you, Junior?’

  ‘Yes, Coach,’ Junior said quietly.

  ‘Great, ’cause you are having a blinder!’ Coach Steve said with a wink. ‘Boys, you know what time it is . . .’ Coach began flapping his arms wildly. ‘Let’s flyyyy!’ he hollered, and the whole team cheered.

  In the second half Junior continued his tackle-busting breaks with the same devastating results. Inspired by their not-so-secret weapon, all the Ravens rose to the challenge. They were tackling harder, running faster and throwing passes like there was no tomorrow, scoring try after try.

  The points piled up, and before anyone knew it, the score was 20–10. It was turning into a thumping, and the Lions supporters were not happy. But it was when Junior managed to run through every single Lions player and carry three over the line with him as he scored under the posts that the crowd turned ugly.

  For Junior, it was as easy as running through his little brothers in the backyard. For the Ravens supporters, it was one of the most memorable solo tries they’d ever seen. For the Mount Macquarie Lions fans, it was the final insult.

  ‘Cannonball, Cannonball, Cannonball!’ chanted the Ravens.

  ‘BOOOOOOOOOOO!’ Every one of the Lions fans seemed to join in. Then the insults started flying – all in the direction of Junior Taafuli.

  Junior put his head down and tried to ignore it.

  When the final whistle blew, Coach Steve decided to get his team off the ground as quickly as possible. But to Junior, the twenty metres to the change sheds felt like forever. It was as if he were walking in slow motion. The insults blurred into a continuous dull roar and so did the faces of the Lions supporters. They all seemed to be thinking the same thing.

  Am I a freak? Junior wondered as he stepped into the safety of the visitors’ change sheds. The Ravens may have won the match, but Junior didn’t feel like much of a winner.

  ‘Get those legs up and keep ’em up! I’m talking six inches off the ground!’ yelled Coach Steve. ‘They don’t call this one the gut-buster for nothing!’

  There was a chorus of groans from the patch of oval where the Under 11s were running through some strength and conditioning exercises. It was the team’s least favourite part of training.

  ‘Just twenty more seconds . . . nineteen, eighteen, eighteen, eighteen . . .’

  ‘C’mon, Coach, you’re killing us!’ wheezed Jackson.

  ‘Sorry, what was that, Jackson? Oh, now I’ve lost count. Where was I? Oh yes, nineteen, eighteen, eighteen . . .’

  More groans of agony.

  ‘Good one, Jackson!’ muttered Corey.

  ‘All right, boys, on your feet,’ said Coach Steve. But just as the boys were breathing a sigh of relief, he added, ‘We’ll finish with ten burpees.’

  ‘Coach, I can’t take any more!’ pleaded Josh.

  ‘Oh, all right. Just five, then.’ Coach smiled. ‘Five sets of ten.’

  ‘ARRRRGGHHHHHH!’

  Coach was rarely satisfied until he heard at least one tormented scream per training session.

  Junior never screamed, and he never complained or pleaded with Coach to stop. It wasn’t that he liked the exercises. They were torture. Worse than torture. But Junior had been raised to be respectful to his elders. You didn’t ask, you just did. At the end of the day he trusted that Coach made them do what was needed to make them a better team.

  ‘All right, let’s see if all these healthy snacks you guys are meant to be eating are helping with your tackling,’ said Coach. ‘Don’t forget I’ll be collecting those cards today to see if any of you have managed a week without junk food.’

  The boys lined up and, one by one, hit up the large canvas tackling bag that Coach was holding.

  ‘I can’t wait to see what Junior’s been eating, given his form lately,’ Coach said with a chuckle.

  ‘Yeah, he’s on a seafood diet: see food and eat it,’ Corey said under his breath so that Coach couldn’t hear.

  But Junior heard him. He turned around to say something back, but no words came out.

  It was always like this. Junior could run through a pack of menacing forwards. He could even get through Coach Steve’s gut-busting exercises. But when it came to words, those casually cruel things that others say, sometimes that sting could last longer and bite deeper than a thousand burpees.

  ‘Back off, Corey,’ said Liam. ‘Junior’s the reason we’ve won the last two games.’

  ‘Yeah, we wouldn’t have played half as good without Cannonball,’ added Tai.

  ‘Cannonball?’ Corey made a face. ‘Looks more like a beachball to me.’

  Junior stared back at Corey but remained silent. He could feel the anger bubbling deep down inside him. But he wasn’t like his mum. He didn’t know how to get the words out.

  ‘Don’t let him talk to you like that, Junior,’ said Liam when Corey took his turn at the tackling bag. ‘You need to stand up to him, or he’ll be at it the whole season.’

  Junior shrugged. ‘He doesn’t scare me, he just has a big mouth.’

  ‘Yeah, he can be a bit painful but he’s not all bad,’ said Liam. ‘Besides, he’s a great centre. I think that’s why he’s been giving you such a hard time lately.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Junior, puzzled.

  ‘You know, because you’re playing so well and stealing the attention.’

  ‘But I don’t even want the attention!’

  ‘I know, you’re the quiet type.’ Liam laughed. ‘That’s okay. I hate talking in front of my class at school. But sometimes you have to defend yourself, or guys like Corey will keep pushing you around. You don’t want to be a pushover, do you?’

  Junior shook his head. Liam nodded, then ran off for his turn at the tackling bag. Corey trotted back and shot Junior a glance, but Junior just looked away.

  Is Corey really jealous of me? he wondered. It didn’t make much sense. Corey was an amazing player and super-fast. Why would he be jealous of Junior? Liam’s words echoed in his head. Because you’re stealing all the ­attention.

  ‘Okay, team, we’ve got a big game this Saturday,’ said Coach. ‘Let’s see if we can keep this roll we’re on going. Last week was great, but everyone’s going to have to play at their best to beat the Hawks. They’re not coming second by luck.’

  ‘That’s okay, Coach, we’ve got Junior. The Hawks don’t stand a chance,’ said Tai.

  ‘I’m so sick of you going on about Junior all the time!’ said Corey. ‘There are other players on this team, you know.’

  Tai held up his hands. ‘I’m just saying he’s been playing well lately.’

  ‘What’s the point of winning if we get booed when we walk off the ground?’ added Corey, throwing a squinty-eyed glare Junior’s way.

  ‘That’s enough. No one likes getting booed, least of all Junior,’ said Coach Steve.

  ‘Yeah, who cares what a bunch of sore losers think, anyway,’ exclaimed Azza. ‘It’s not like our fans are booing us.’

  ‘They might if someone makes us the most hated team in the comp!’ said Corey.

  ‘Corey, just forget abo
ut it,’ said Coach Steve, trying not to lose his patience. He looked over at Junior. ‘If you want to be a good footy player, you can’t let these things get to you.’

  He was speaking to Corey, but looking directly at Junior. The only problem was, Junior wasn’t looking back. Instead, he was staring at the shadows cast by the floodlights and worrying about what would happen if he played well again on Saturday.

  ‘Junior, are you in there?’ Mele called through the bathroom door.

  Junior paused for a moment. ‘Um, sort of,’ he said finally.

  ‘What do ya mean “sort of”? What are you doing? What’s with all this steam?’ asked Mele.

  She is so nosy! ‘I’m just having a shower,’ Junior called back.

  Junior did have the shower running, along with the tap in the sink. Both hot water taps were turned all the way, which was why the room was full of steam. He wasn’t in the shower, though. He was dressed in his mother’s thick and very pink bathrobe.

  He’d seen an ad on TV where a large man got into a sauna and came out as a young child. Junior knew it was meant to be funny, but he thought it was worth a try. If he could shrink himself a little before Saturday, maybe people would stop commenting on his size.

  As Junior stood there sweating in his homemade sauna, he was beginning to wonder if it was worth it.

  ‘Why are you having a shower at three-thirty in the afternoon?’ asked Mele. ‘That’s weird.’

  ‘What’s weird?’ Junior heard Ramona ask.

  Great, this is all I need, thought Junior. She must have just arrived home from uni.

  ‘Junior’s having a shower and making a lot of steam!’ said Mele.

  ‘At three-thirty?’ said Ramona.

  Junior rolled his eyes.

  ‘That’s what I said,’ said Mele.

  ‘How long has he been in there?’

  ‘Ages.’

  ‘Junior, finish your shower and open this door. Mum’s gonna kill you if you waste all the hot water,’ said Ramona.