by Kathy Lette
So, um, we went to this guy’s place and he took his clothes off. And I’m looking at this twelve inches of his. And I said, ‘You’re not gonna put that in me.’ And he says, ‘Oh yes I am.’ And then afterwards he explained all about team spirit and that. ‘Get your end in, get your friend in.’
So, that’s the way they do it. Tag team. It helps ’em play together better. Except the coach. When he comes in the bedroom the uvver guys are s’posed to leave and shut the door. It’s a sign of respect, see. ’Cept the younger guys, they don’t always obey the rule. Standards have really dropped since the younger blokes started getting into first grade. Trouble with the younger ones, the ones who brung you up the club, is, well, no offence love, but they’re a bit too easy. No standards.
Like, the older footballers, they show a girl more respect. When I gave birf to Tiffany, all the guys brung me ’round flowers and chocolates in hospital. I know Davo denies she’s his. Even though, like, Tiffany’s the spittin’ image of him. It wasn’t his fault but. I’d never fallen pregnant. I didn’t realise … Like, when I was fourteen, I got raped by about firteen surfies and I was torn inside and, um, the doctor told me I’d neva get pregnant. I neva expected to get up the duff, so I neva took the pill. So in that situation I can’t blame him for farvering a child … Can I borrow your lighter? This one’s dead.
See, I got drugged in a hotel when I was a virgin. Me girlfriend was fifteen. And me uvver girlfriend was sixteen. And they were the biggest molls that walked the face of the Earth. Vinegar Tits and Wok-eye, have you heard of ’em? We were down the pub and someone slipped a mickey in me drink. And, um, I’d only had a few … Like, I wasn’t a one-can-wonder. I used to drink beer at home wiv Dad before he choofed off, and I’d only had about two sips of this beer and I was frowin’ up and delirious. See, they was jealous ’cause I was a virgin. I don’t fink the surfie guys they set me up wiv realised that I was a virgin. And, um, this bloke said, I’m gonna take you for a drive to sober you up. The blokes just fought I was a slut like Vinegar and Wok. But I was probly the only girl in the whole school who didn’t go to bed wiv blokes and that. See, I was too embarrassed to take me clothes off. ’Cause I didn’t have any titties or pubes. Yeah, me girlfriend, she said she knew this chick that didn’t have any pubic hairs and all the guys she went to bed wiv called her ‘Tennis ball’. So I said to meself, ‘Oh, that’s not gonna be me. I’m gonna grow some parts before I go to bed wiv a bloke.’… Have you got enough room? Put all them toys on the floor. We was lucky to get this flat. Lotta unmarried mums live in this block and we sort of look after each uvver’s kids. There’s just these coupla rooms and the kitchen. It’s kinda cosy but.
And anyway, um, this guy drove me down the National Park and I was delirious. Everythin’ was just all blurry. And all these guys were pullin’ themselves on me. All I remember is sayin’, ‘Don’t! It hurts! It hurts!’… What about some Cheezels? They’re a little bit soggy but, sorry …
You’re okay, you know that, kid?… But ya gotta be street smart. Like the way I’m bringin’ up Tiffany. Like, a couple of weeks back some of the players were round here and there was this new guy, the new little winger we’ve got, and the guys were intimidatin’ him. They was sayin’, ‘Oh, look at it,’ you know. ‘Look how little it is,’ and flashin’ their well-hung bits. And I said, ‘Go outside so I can concentrate on this new piece of meat.’ He was that nervous. And, um, they said, ‘No. Your kid’s out there.’ Tiffany was watchin’ TV and I said, ‘That’s no excuse,’ ’cause they’ve known Tiffany, like, you know, since she’s bin born. And so Tiffany must have bin hearin’ me sayin’, ‘Get out of the room. Give me ten minutes,’ ’cause she knocked on the door and said, ‘Wouldja like me to get youse some beers?’ She’s four. Very well-mannered. Very feminine. Very bright. She knows what goes on. She’s got, not a hatred towards men, but she understands what women go frew. Like, I just want my little girl to be more street smart than me. Like the uvver day. The soft drink man knocked on the door and she said, ‘Go into the bedroom and take your clothes off. The condoms are in the cupboard.’ I cracked up. Sweet little treasure. Give Mummy a kiss … Speakin’ of drinks, top-up?
Actually, the guys are a bit pissed wiv me at the mo. Not that I live for them or anyfing. I don’t, like, you know, depend on them. But, sure, it does get a bit lonely here at home. ’Cause, I mean, I’ve got a kid. I can’t go out. Except to the shops and to the game. So the footballers liven fings up, you know. Like, the uvver week, I was sittin’ at home watchin’ the wrestlin’, when there’s this knock on the door. Davo, that’s Tiffany’s farver, he arrived wiv about seven blokes on a bucks’ party. I had a girl stayin’ here called Kayleigh. She’s called Slippery Dip, do you know her? ’Cause of her tits. A rool big girl, and a horny little fing. And apparently she is roolly good in bed. When she was havin’ oral sex wiv a man, she’d take him all the way down her froat and just sort of move her froat type of fing and he’d ejaculate, and I fought she’d choke but she didn’t, and the blokes was ravin’ about her at the bucks’ party. And I was sayin’ to her, ‘What didja do?’ You know, I fought she’d taken me spot wiv the team type of fing! And nobody’s neva gonna do that, right?
Anyway, see, oh they were funny. The wrestlin’ was on, and they, you know, all these guys were wrestlin’ you know, and jumpin’ and gettin’ each uvver in headlocks. And someone had this video camera type of fing, and they were makin’ porno movies. Only there was no film in the camera or nuthin’. But Slippery Dip fought there was, so she’s lickin’ her own tits and that, like this … How’s your glass? What about some dip? Here we go. French onion. I got the recipe from the Women’s Weekly.
Anyway, Davo sort of grabbed me and we went straight to the bedroom. So, like I’m givin’ Davo a suck and he’s on the bed and this uvver guy, Marto, well he’s creeped up from behind me, underneaf me legs and got his head on the back of the bed and he starts lickin’ me out. Footballers neva lick women out ’cause they think women are, you know, internal. I can understand it in a way. Most of ’em are good in bed but. I haven’t roolly come across too many duds. I blow real easy but. Anyway, you can imagine, I was that shocked. It was real cosy. Just the free of us. And Davo, he freaked out. He says, ‘Why aren’t you concentratin’, Frieda?’ and I said, ‘Oh God, how can I concentrate?’ you know, and he said, ‘Is Marto lickin’ you out, is he? That bastard.’ Davo gets real jealous. Especially if I mix with any of the lower grades. I think, you know, he hasn’t admitted it to himself type of fing, but he’s roolly in love wiv me. ’Cept he’s always been a confirmed bachelor and that … So it was a top night all round … Tiffany! Get out of the dunny. There’s germs in there, petal pie.
Anyway, so I was up in the Leagues on the Sunday and this Pam chick, well, she’s roolly moody, you know, and she’s big, about five foot eleven, and she turned round in the pub and in front of everyone she says, ‘Oh, look at the old slut. She gets porno movies taken of her at her place.’ Me muvver goes to the local church, see, and the barmaid up the Leagues is a rool strict Catholic. And she goes to church with my muvver and she’s looked at me. And I just fought, ‘Oh, you bitch, Pam.’ And all these people who know, you know, me rellos were in the club. ‘They took porno movies of her at Davo’s bucks’ party.’ That’s what Pam said. That it was Davo’s bucks’ party. And she sort of laughed, rool cruel.
So anyway, I charged at this girl and I nearly killed her. All the guys had bets on me ’cause I frew chairs and bashed her and really laid her out. Oh, she can fight, but I was cranky.
It wasn’t her lyin’ about Davo havin’ a bucks’ party or the porno stuff, or the fact that me rellos were all in the pub, or the fact that she’s a grot – she’s given poor Murph gonorrhoea twice and once she got crabs off Splodge and gave them to everybody – but, see, I had to stick up for the footballers, ’cause she was droppin’ names. She was sayin’ I’d had porno movies done with Jacko and Marto and Davo. You know? And I had to bash her, ’cause of
their reputations. I don’t worry about mine. I neva regret what I do and I don’t have to, um, answer to nobody. But they’ve got a reputation to lose and a family and wives and that, so I was more or less stickin’ up for them. Besides, I’ve known Davo for heaps. He’s Tiffany’s farver. Wouldn’tcha reckon he’d have told me if he was getting hitched? Well, wouldn’tcha?
Anyway, last Saturdee was Tiffany’s fourth birfday party. Davo was s’posed to come, but he never showed up. So I rung his best mate, who said, ‘Oh, he’s gone to pick up his tuxedo, he gets married this arvo.’ And then he tells me the woman Davo’s marrying has two children to him that I didn’t even know about … Top-up?
So I, um, got drunk and gatecrashed the weddin’ reception and fronted up to him. Like, I wasn’t upset for myself, understand. I couldn’t give a stuff. But for Tiffany. Like, that’s a rool horrible fing to get married on her birfday. And the coach was there. Like, I’m an Aries and, well, this stupid dickhead of a coach, he’s new and just doesn’t like me. This coach just started draggin’ me out of the reception place for no reason. He’s a rool idiot and Davo turned round and laughed right at the wrong moment. Like, I’m gettin’ dragged out of the place and he turns round with a big smile on his face, and I just clocked him. Bloody oath I hit him. Broke his nose. I gave him the best hit you’ve ever seen. Wiv one punch I fractured his nose and split his mouth open. See, I had, like, free bruvvers, and they used to bash me. So I think it’s sort of, you know, kind of survival. I just shape up, like a bloke.
It wasn’t that he was gettin’ married. Like I said, I couldn’t give a stuff. It’s just that it was Tiffany’s birfday. And I was a bit blind. And I’m an Aries. And I was feelin’ rool emotional ’cause we’d lost the first match of the season. To the Parras. And I reckon it was Davo’s fault. He played rool lazy on the field. He’d let the whole team down, you know. He’d only bin thinkin’ of himself. He didn’t even take into account the hopes that uvver people might have had pinned on him, right? For the match and that, I mean … How’s your glass? What about some Brandivino? It’s leftover from the party …
Anyway, while Davo was on his freakin’ honeymoon night in a posh hotel in town, I got drunk and rang up his muvver and said, ‘Would you like to see your granddaughter?’ And she said, ‘Oh, I’ll have a word to my son about it.’ And apparently Davo just denied that she’s his. Then he come round a few nights ago and got rool aggro … It’s not his fault. They need a certain amount of adrenaline, footballers, to get out on the field, see. He gave me a hidin’. Roolly bashed me. But see, I’m pretty soft-hearted. I had him charged with assault, just to put a bit a wind up him. I mean, his farver’s a millionaire. They, like, own this big bridge construction company type of fing. I mean, I don’t wanna be greedy, but he could pay just a little maintenance … I was always gonna drop the charges. But a few of his detective mates got a bit dirty on me. Leanne reckons that was why me flat got raided and I got busted for dope on Wednesday … But nah. It was a coincidence. The coppers neva woulda set me up like that.
So, anyway, Leanne-Leanne-the-Footy-Fan and me, we got blind at the game yesterday and we started given’ the blokes marks out of ten at the club later. I gave Davo a score of two. And Jacko nine. Anyway, the new coach, we gave him the lowest score, so he’s tryin’ to give us the flick pass. But it’ll neva happen. It was just a joke. The boys love me. They need me. I’m team mascot, see?
J’wanna know the secret to my success? Why I’ve lasted so many seasons? I don’t act like a wife. If I’d wanted to be a wife, I coulda had any of the guys. They’d stand in line to wed me, right. But being mascot is like a marriage, see, but to the whole team. My boys roolly need me. Like, I’ve got all their addresses and phone numbers and that … I’ve got somebody who checks up for me at the motor registry and I get their dates of birf and I send them birfday cards an’ that. They always freak out. Oh, I send them to their work addresses, but it’s just they don’t want me wastin’ me money buyin’ cards and that, see?
It was just that Davo’s different to the uvvers. They call him Bryan Brown, ’cause he’s a rool rugged, handsome, glamour boy, you know? And he likes to do fings on the spur of the moment. Like … we make love anywhere. Rootin’ on rocks in parks. Out on the cliffs. And Davo, he always takes off his jacket and puts it on the ground for me and says, you know, ‘Lay down on this.’ Footballers don’t usually offer their jackets to get all messed up. Usually blokes say, ‘Ugh, don’tcha put your spermicide on me jacket. The wife might smell it or somethin’.’ Not that I was in love or nuthin’, right? But Davo was always different to the others. It was sort of gallant for someone to lay his jacket down. It was just so … romantic.
I belong to that team, see. That new coach, he can’t just ban me from the club for life. I’ve even got the team name tattooed on me privates. And on me hip too, with a heart and a scroll. They’d be lost without me. I mean, I don’t look too bad, do I? There’s no way they’d dump me … is there?
That’s where you’ll screw up, see. You’re young. You haven’t toughened up. You’ll do somefing dumb like fall in love … Look, love, you won’t last the season.
A melanoma called Bruce
I drove my bomb of a V-Dub down Kurnell Road, Cronulla, past the stinking rubbish tip, past the leagues club, home of the Sharks, past the factories and the smouldering rubber tyres and burned-out car bombs. This was Captain Cook’s landing place. The birthplace of our nation, we’d learned at school.
Cronulla was in a time warp of flanno shirts, desert boots and panel vans. It was still a full-on surf city. Nothing had changed since my days as a Surfin’ Gherkin.
There are heaps of gangs in Sydney. There’s the Headbangers, Footyheads, Bulldykes, Petrol and Revheads, the Hub-Cap Biters, the Hippie Vegos, Wogs, Dapto Dogs or Chocolate Frogs, and even lower on the racist rung, the Asians, who are hated ’cause they’re head-and-a-halfs. We Skips and Joeys used to pay out on the Wogs for taking all the jobs, now the Wogs blame the Asian Invasion and call them Slopeheads. There are heaps more gangs – the Bong-Brains, Cone Heads, Mods, Trogs, Rude Boys, Rockabillies, Westies … But the ones I know best are the Waxheads.
Surfers are an amphibious, beach-dwelling species, who hunt in packs for females with ‘margarine legs’. You know, easily spread. Chicks are nicknamed bush pigs, swamp hogs, maggots, spitters or swallowers. Or, if you’re good-looking, a glamour-maggot, or a glam-mag.
I hadn’t surfed at Cronulla for untolds. Years in fact. Not since the day I spun them out by taking my boyfriend Garry’s board out. At first I just grovelled, wobbling in the shallow white water. But after I’d stood up the boys in my Greenhills Gang told me I was a scumbag moll and to rack off out of their territory. The alpha surfie, Bruce, spat on my back and drove over Garry’s board in his kombi. He’d never got over the fact that I’d broken up with him for Garry. He’d beaten Garry up on a number of occasions to get his own back – always when Garry was stoned or pissed, and therefore easy prey. When Garry showed promise as a possible pro surfer, it was Bruce who got him into drugs to ruin his chances.
I left Cronulla shortly after Bruce broke Garry’s board. Gazza followed me, but then slept with my best friend and my whole world imploded. But a year later, I did start surfing. Since buying a car, I’d been surfing up the Northern Beaches. Turned into a bit of a contest-head too. Only amateur … but I knew I’d never be considered ‘hot’ until I got a bit of recognition from the boys at Cronulla. That was why I’d come back – revenge and a bit of a recco.
The waves would be working at Voodoo. I trekked through the sandhills, where we used to come after dark to pull bongs and make cracker night ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ noises at the lights of the oil refinery. The sun was rising over a solid south swell. It was six-to-eight-foot perfection with a light offshore. I stood in the car park watching the sets build. The lines were jacking up with the tide and pounding the reef. Voodoo is heaps dangerous. Not just ’cause of the hozzos, you know, the waves that ho
spitalise you, but they’d also whacked the sewerage plant there, which attracted the great whites. How else would you mark the birthplace of the nation?
Still, the only sharks hanging there on this day were the two-legged kind. A station wagon was pulled up on the lip of the car park overlooking the reefs. The guys inside were either asleep in the back or pulling a morning bong before getting out there for an Early. I yanked on my fluoro vest. This was their territory. I’d have to get in a few waves before they got out there.
By the time the boys surfaced in their sluggos, I was waxed up and doing warm-up exercises. In their multicoloured wetties they looked like licorice allsorts. Sussing them out, I nearly threw up. It was Bruce and his mates.
‘Perf surf.’ Squid hawked and spat a projectile globule of phlegm onto the asphalt.
‘Filthy waves,’ agreed Bodge. ‘Classic.’ He looked comical with the rubber arms of his wettie dangling beside his body. He and Bruce were classic Surf Nazis – the type of guys whose party trick is to get drunk and set their pubic hairs alight.
‘Whoa! I’m out there!’ Bruce scrunched his Poppa brand juice carton and sent it rattling into the garbage bin.
Board tucked neatly under my arm, I jogged past them towards the sea.
‘Whoa!’ added Bodge, his eyes burning holes in my speedo-clad buttocks. ‘I’m in there.’
‘Shit! Surf chickens.’ Squid punctuated his sneer with another guttural gurgling.
Looking at those gaping left tubes as they crashed into the Voodoo reef, I got nervous and paddled into the line-up too early. With no one else out in the water it’s really hard to judge where the sets are peaking. I sat astride my board. The sun was rising and I strained to see through the glare. The horizon lifted. I was too far inside. Right smack-bang in the impact zone.
