The Wetherhoods, however, were not done yet. After taking the centre pass, the wing attack threw a massive long pass into their attacking circle. Corinne stuck her long arms up and caught the ball a split second before the Wetherhoods goal shooter crashed into her. Corinne didn’t budge. She was like a rock.
Suddenly it was over, and people were rushing onto the court to hug and high five the Sandhurst team. Even Luci and Mia were hugging. It sure is amazing how sport can bring people together.
I didn’t imagine Fisk and I would be hugging after the game, but our relationship was different on the footy field.
Bubba and I left the netball soon after and jogged over to the footy oval, where most of the players were already kicking footballs around.
The big crowd was rolling down towards the oval. I couldn’t see the Wetherhood team anywhere.
‘Where are they?’ I asked Bubba.
‘I think they come up out of the ground,’ he chuckled. Bubba was feeling pretty relaxed. He was on the interchange bench.
Mr T called our team over and told us to stay focused on the ball and keep it moving fast among our own players.
Some cheers and car horn blasts distracted me. It was the Wetherhoods. They were jogging onto the oval in a close pack. They looked big, tough and mean. Their uniform was a mix of black, red and yellow. They were pushing at each other and shouting.
Mr T raised his voice. ‘Get in close, everyone.’
I looked to see Fisk’s reaction to the Wetherhoods’ arrival. There was determination in his face. He looked pumped. I was feeling excited too, but also nervous.
‘There are supporters out here that you have never met,’ Mr T continued. ‘People who are ten, twenty years older than you. And this game means so much to them. They have played for this school. And most of them have never seen the Inter-School Trophy. Ever. We’ve battled the Wetherhoods and Ascot for years. Today, we have a chance to do something special. You are a special team. Work together and make me, your parents and every person in our school community proud of you.’
In the first quarter, we played the best we’d ever played. We slammed on four goals to the Hoods’ solitary point. But when some of the Wetherhoods started to shove and push, Chaz Green got a whack on the head and it started to get ugly.
In a flash, Fisk and Mazis raced up to a tough, freckle-faced kid and were pushing him around. More and more players raced in. Luckily, the quarter-time bell rang as the umpire stepped in. He pointed players over to their coaches, threatening that if there were any further upsets the players concerned would be immediately sent off.
Mr T spoke to Fisk separately during the break.
By half-time the game had evened up. We were only a few points ahead. Mr T did his usual rotation of players so that everyone got some playing time. This meant that Bubba came on into forward pocket. Mr T told me that I was now playing centre. I had kicked two goals in the first quarter, but after that two Wetherhoods had played on me and I’d hardly had a touch since.
We took up our positions for the second half. You could feel the excitement and anticipation in the huge crowd. I hadn’t experienced anything like it before.
The Wetherhoods scored two quick goals before we’d settled and they managed to keep this lead for most of the third quarter. We were relying on a few class players, while the Wetherhoods were pretty strong all over the ground.
By three-quarter time, our big guns were looking tired. Mr T spoke again about the extreme effort required to overcome hardships and achieve great things. We shouted encouragement at each other as we left the huddle for the last quarter.
‘We’ve got to hold them in the first five minutes,’ a voice said to my left. It was Fisk. He was looking at me. ‘We stop them in the middle, then we’ve got a chance.’ I nodded, amazed at the amount of words he’d spoken to me.
‘You can play, Grady. It’s up to us, so work your butt off. C’mon!’
All of a sudden, the Legend competition didn’t matter so much. We were in a game of footy. And I was part of a team.
I reckon I laid four full-on tackles in those first few minutes. The ball was just bobbing back and forth around the centre area.
‘Front right!’ I yelled at Fisk as he went up for another ruck. It worked like a dream. He swivelled in mid-air and knocked the ball straight into my path as I raced past on his right. I broke through a Hood tackle and was suddenly in clear space.
I could hear the roar from the crowd as I sped towards goal. I took a bounce, got myself balanced, and ran a few more paces before firing at the goal. The goal umpire didn’t have to move as he signalled full points. I jumped in the air, throwing my arms up to encourage the noisy crowd to make even more noise. They did. I ran back to the centre, glancing at the scoreboard. We were four points down.
‘Bloody ripper,’ Fisk panted to me. ‘Watch out for their number eleven. He’s gonna take you out.’
Sure enough, a mean-looking kid with spiky hair and a gold stud in his ear raced over to me.
I felt a few blows to my ribs as we jostled for possession in the packs. But the Wetherhoods were good at getting away with this sort of rough stuff, and there was no whistle from the umpire to signal a free kick.
For the next ten minutes or so, both sides only scored a couple of points each. The ball drifted between the two half-forward lines.
I was continuing to get my share of pushes and shoves. But finally, the kid on me went too far. A pack formed about halfway between the centre and our half-forward line. He elbowed me as we stood waiting for another ball up. It was too much, and I shoved back, harder. The kid fell over dramatically, arms flying in all directions. Wetherhood players rushed in, pointing at the number eleven lying on the ground. The umpire blew his whistle and I knew straight away that I’d been sucked in.
‘You’re a loser,’ number eleven snarled at me as he bounced up to take his free kick. He made as if to kick, but then at the last moment he dummied and started to move the other way. He was trying to run around me to gain ground. I bounced back onto my right foot and flew at him. I got a decent hold on his jumper and, as he dropped the ball to kick it, I flung him off balance so that all he kicked was air.
There was a cry of ‘Ball!’ from the crowd. The umpire agreed. I picked up the footy.
A moment later Fisk flashed by and I went to handball to him. The Wetherhoods’ number eleven was jumping in the air with his hands outstretched, ready to intercept the handpass. But I had my own dummy ready.
While he was off balance, I ran around him easily, took a bounce and looked up. There was a Hood player close on my left, but I knew I had a few more metres before I had to release.
Surging on, I gained a few more precious metres, getting closer and closer to the goals, before finally taking the shot.
As the ball thumped into the goalpost, I was crashed to the ground by a head-high charge. I went down in a heap, dazed and sick.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion.
I heard the umpire’s whistle. Players hovered around me. Someone helped me to my feet. The football was shoved into my hands.
‘That should have been down-field,’ someone was saying to the umpire.
‘You talk back like that and I’ll reverse the decision,’ he said. And then there was a bell ringing.
‘Okay, fellas. That’s it. Give the lad his shot at goal.’
I shook my head and tried to focus on the goals in front of me. They were only about 20 metres away, but it might as well have been 50. Only two players had bothered to stay down in the goal square. My head was thumping and I felt dizzy. The crowd was screaming. There were Wetherhood players all around me, yelling at me and waving their arms, totally distracting me.
I turned away and, amazingly, found myself staring at Jack only 30 metres away, behind the boundary. He smiled at me and clenched his fist. I smiled back. It was like a splash of cold water that cleared my head.
Amid all the noise and the shouting, I walked back
to take my kick. I tried not to think about the consequences.
As soon as I started to jog in for the shot on goal, I knew I was struggling. I hobbled and wobbled and had no sense of timing or coordination as I dropped the ball onto my foot.
It was the worst kick of my life. It floated for about fifteen metres then hit the ground. I couldn’t believe what I’d done.
The ball bounced. And bounced again. It rolled forward.
‘Touch it!’ someone screamed.
A Wetherhood defender down near the goal line with Bubba went to dive at the ball. But he hadn’t reckoned on Bubba standing his ground on the goal line. He bounced off Bubba, who hadn’t moved. The ball bobbed towards him, spinning and rolling across the goal square towards the line.
A surge of Wetherhoods raced in to touch the ball before it crossed the line. They came from everywhere. Bubba went down in a mass of bodies.
For a moment, I was totally confused. Everyone stopped and stared at the goal umpire. The field umpire rushed up to the goal umpire and said a few words. With a grin, the goal umpire lifted both his arms, and then banged them down. Two beautiful fingers pointed straight at me.
It was a goal! It was a scrubber of a kick, but it was a goal.
There was a huge roar from the crowd.
I made my way down to Bubba, who was lying on his back in the goal square. He was being mobbed by the entire team and plenty of spectators who had rushed onto the ground.
For a moment I was worried that he’d been crushed, but I soon saw the Bubba grin. ‘Shocking kick, Mitch,’ he yelled at me.
‘Just wanted to bring you into the game,’ I replied, patting him on the back.
I turned away again and headed over to see Jack. But he had gone. I searched and asked, but no one had seen him.
Maybe I was concussed? Or having some sort of hallucination?
There was a barbecue after the game and people I had never met were continually patting me on the back and saying ‘well done’, as they did for all of us in the team. Mr T was stoked and a bit emotional as he spoke to us. Which was something, for Mr T.
The noticeboard was its usual hive of activity as I arrived at school the next day. All the scores from the final rounds were up. The biggest talking point, apart from the fact that Sandhurst had won the Inter-School Football Trophy, was that we’d also won the Netball trophy. Ascot had been beaten in their final game by Scornly, which was amazing given the way the ladder looked after round two.
The scores for the quiz and the skills session were still not up. I assumed all would be revealed during the afternoon assembly.
I caught up with Luci and Becky at lunchtime. I was trying to explain my sighting of Jack at the football game the day before when Bryce arrived, breathless and excited.
‘I’ve done it!’ he cried.
‘Calm down, Bryce,’ Becky said. ‘Done what?’
‘Here, take this. I’m skipping assembly.’ He thrust a mobile phone into my hand and raced off again.
We looked at each other.
‘It’s the secret room in the library,’ I said.
All three of us raced off after Bryce.
‘Miss Javros, did Bryce come this way?’ I asked, trying to sound calm and in control.
‘Yes, just a moment ago,’ she said.
And then the bell rang. Kids started to drift out. We stood by the library desk, not knowing which way to turn.
‘Hmm. Well, I thought he came in,’ Miss Javros said a few moments later, having gone down to check that the library was clear. ‘Well, come on. Let’s go and find out who the Legends of Netball and Football are, shall we?’ she said.
We must have been looking a bit dazed.
She ushered us out and locked the door behind us.
‘But what about Bryce?’ asked Bubba.
‘He must have turned straight around and gone back out again. Come on,’ she said.
There was a real buzz of excitement in the hall. Everyone was talking football and netball. A couple of trophies stood on a table out the front, along with other prizes. The Legend bit was just a part of the assembly, but it was the part everyone was most excited about. No one had a clue who had won.
There were plenty of speeches. Mr T spoke and introduced a guy called Tom Pike who had played in Sandhurst’s last successful football team about eleven years ago. Then the principal, Mrs Waite, spoke.
Finally it was time for the Legends to be announced.
They started with the netball. Every girl who played in the winning team had to go out the front for a special applause. It was a fantastic result. Becky came in third, Corinne came second and Luci was the new Legend of Netball. She got a massive ovation.
Then they did the same for footy. We all lined up out the front. I’d pulled my shirt collar up and tried to turn my head a bit so no one would notice the tiny plug in my ear. Some of the teachers stood up while they were clapping. The rest of the school soon followed. Every kid, teacher and parent was standing and clapping. I felt shivery and proud. I was constantly amazed at how much this school loved sport.
Which made me think of Jack. He had helped me and made me feel a part of this new school, along with Bryce. I hoped they were both okay.
The team was drifting back to their seats. Something was tickling my leg. It was the weirdest feeling. The phone was ringing.
I slid my hand into my pocket, eased the phone out a fraction, and pressed ‘accept’. There was a crackle in my ear.
‘Third place in this year’s Legend of Football is Mitchell Grady.’ I tore the plug from my ear and stood. The clapping and cheering had started. I was amazed and delighted to have got into the top three.
I couldn’t wait to find out how I’d gone in the skills and quiz. I shook Mr T’s hand. His eyes were sparkling.
‘Terrific effort, Mitchell. You have it in you to be a Legend of Football. Maybe in front of a few thousand more people than yesterday!’
I smiled at him as I received my certificate. Back in my seat, I bent down to put the certificate on the floor. I waited for the applause for the second place getter, Richard Mazis, and whispered urgently into the phone.
There was nothing but hiss and crackle.
I turned to catch Luci’s attention. She was staring at me. Although we had both just been presented with awards, I knew that all she was thinking about was Bryce. Where the heck was he? Was he in some sort of strife?
I shrugged and tried again. Nothing.
Mrs Waite was speaking again. ‘This year’s Legend of Football is – Travis Fisk!’
Again the huge applause. A moment later, Fisk stood up. He had his fists clenched and was pumping his arms. He walked slowly, high-fiving a few guys on the way. Then he turned and looked at me. The hatred in his eyes had returned. He gave me his usual sneer of a smile, nodded a few times, then made his way out the front.
‘Well, what did Bryce say?’ Luci asked me straight after the assembly.
‘Nothing. I never heard his voice.’
The four of us moved away from the kids pouring out of the Hall.
‘Here, give me the phone. I’ll redial to the last caller.’
Luci listened for what seemed like ages, looking more and more confused. ‘There’s no ringing, no noise at all. Nothing.’
‘I seem to remember us doing exactly this at the last Legend assembly,’ Becky muttered.
‘What’s the next sport, Bubba?’ I asked.
‘Soccer.’
‘Then let’s go and do some early borrowing.’
We raced off to the library, not knowing what to expect.
Football Match Scores and Ladders
(Round 1)
Scornly
1.2.8
3.4.22
5.4.34
8.7.55
Sandhurst
3.3.21
6.9.45
10.10.70
13.14.92
Hoods
1.2.8
1.5.11
3.9.
27
4.12.36
Ascot
0.4.4
3.5.23
5.5.35
6.9.45
P
W
L
For
Ag
%
Pts
Sandhurst
1
1
0
92
55
167.3
4
Ascot
1
1
0
45
36
125.0
4
Hoods
1
0
1
36
45
80.0
0
Scornly
1
0
1
55
92
59.8
0
(Round 2)
Hoods
1.5.11
8.8.56
12.14.86
17.20.122
Scornly
3.0.18
4.1.25
4.3.27
5.5.35
Ascot
3.2.20
7.5.47
9.8.62
11.9.75
Sandhurst
3.4.22
6.5.41
8.9.57
12.10.82
P
W
L
For
Ag
%
Pts
Sandhurst
2
2
0
174
130
133.8
8
Hoods
2
1
1
158
80
197.5
4
Ascot
2
1
1
120
Clearing the Pack Page 5
