The Crush (19 page)

Ghosts of steam rose from the shaved scalps of the Mongrels as they listened to the national anthem blare across the muddy football field. Heavy rain splattered against their faces as they lamely mumbled the words along with the eight hundred students, teachers and parents assembled in the shelter of the Princes Boys College stand. Waving gold and purple flags, or blue and white streamers, the fans were hungry for a great game of league. And what better way of seeing one than at a grand final.

The music finished and a roar went up as the players ran onto the field. Deep into his team's own territory, Matt clapped and shouted at his players, trying to rev them up. They hopped on the spot, rolled their arms, pulled up their long socks or
gnashed their mouthguards between their teeth. Everyone was nervous but, more importantly, eager to win.

Matt glanced at the crowd, trying to pinpoint Kelly. She hadn't told Blackwell the bad news yet, he was sure of it. The Princes captain looked too calm and focused standing on the other half of the field. Matt hoped she wasn't having second thoughts about ditching him. But he didn't have any more time to worry about her. The grand final was about to start.

The Lions kicker perched the ball on a mound of sand then stepped back and waited. The ref surveyed the field, raised a whistle to his mouth then blew.

Boot!
The game was on!

Chris caught the ball then off-loaded it to Rhino. He charged forward before three burly Lions smacked into him and took him down. The big Maori quickly got to his feet and rolled the ball backwards for Matt, who shot it to Hazem.
Crunch!
The Rocket came off second best to a shuddering blow, much to the delight of the crowd.

The Mongrels burnt off five tackles before being forced to kick on the sixth. Chris put in a long missile that the opposing fullback easily caught, tucked under his arm then darted forward with.

The retaliation was equally brutal. Hazem burst
from the left side and tackled the fullback. He held him down long enough for both sides to regroup. Blackwell threw the ball to a meaty prop, who charged forward, trying to bust through the middle. But Rhino was keen for revenge and knocked the Lions player to the ground. On the next play, Blackwell dummied to his five-eighth while off-loading behind to his hooker. The hooker circled around the back and dodged one defender, then two. Grover lunged wide and ankle-tapped him but he managed to escape. He broke through the Mongrels defence and ran straight for the tryline in the distance.

The screaming crowd rose to its feet as it watched the hooker bolt twenty metres. Chris was homing in on him and the race was on. The hooker curved towards the right-hand side of the field, trying to weave past the Sundance Kid blocking his way. Chris was within reach when the hooker did something tricky. He braked suddenly and sidestepped the Sundance Kid. Chris overshot him and left the tryline exposed. The hooker restarted his run but lost his footing on the wet grass. The crowd booed and cheered as three Mongrels jumped on top of him.

The three tacklers still hadn't got off him when the
ref arrived. The whistle blew and the first penalty was awarded to the Lions. ‘Holding!' Matt barely stopped himself from cursing. They were only fifteen metres from the Mongrels tryline. The penalty gave the Princes Boys College a shot at goal. Their team could put the first points on the board and steal the psychological advantage.

Matt barked at his players clustered together around the goalposts, rain washing mud and grass from their faces. ‘No more stupid stuff, fellas. We don't have a second chance at this. Keep up the pressure and let them make the mistakes, okay?'

The crowd cheered as the Lions kicked a 2–nil lead.

Invigorated, the Lions were even more determined to score on their next set of six. They powered down the field again, forcing the Mongrels back into their own twenty. If it wasn't for some tough defence, the Lions would have scored again.

A wayward bomb saw Matt get the ball. He rabbited past two defenders and made a small break that got the crowd to its feet. However, Blackwell and a second Lions player caught him, lifted him up and speared him into the ground. He crashed into a puddle, mud flooding into his nose and mouth.

Slightly groggy, Matt looked to the ref for a penalty
but the whistle stayed silent, much to the disgust of the Mongrels supporters.

‘Stop faking it, feral,' Blackwell said. ‘Get up and play.'

Spitting out gunk, Matt did just that. As the ball went wide to Hazem, Blackwell smashed into Matt with his shoulder as he ran by.

The Mongrels made a good thirty metres when the ball came Matt's way again. He gave a flick pass to Grover, who ran forward, drew two markers, then passed it back to Matt, who had circled past him in the meantime. The move caught the Lions off-guard and gave the Mongrels a chance at the line.

Matt zigzagged left, skipped over a tackler and ripped off a hand clutching his jersey. Legs buzzing, he crossed over the Lions forty, thirty then twenty metre mark. Blackwell zeroed in on him though, and caught him by the hips. The momentum of the tackle and the slippery grass saw them slide over the sideline. The touch judge waved his flag as the Mongrels' chance to score disappeared.

The big hits, heart-stopping tackles, small breaks and nervous bombarding of the in-goal areas continued relentlessly as both teams desperately tried to get points on the board. Teeth rattled in heads banging against the muddy ground and errant
knees and elbows smacked into chests. The game was as brutal as any Matt or his teammates had played in but they resisted the pain. All they could do was fight back and hope to win.

The breakthrough came in the thirty-fourth minute. A breach of the ten-metre rule allowed the Mongrels to kick for touch twenty-two metres out. Matt pounced on the ball and took a quick tap before the Lions could reform. He swung it out to Hazem, who shot it to Grover. He cut through weak defence before passing it to Rhino who charged under the posts for a try.

Chris easily converted the goal, giving their team a 6–2 lead.

Thirty seconds before half-time, he booted a field goal and gave them a 7–2 lead.

Clapped from the field, the Mongrels were jubilant as they marched back to their change room, covered in mud. They were completely coated in brown, apart from their eyes. It was amazing that any of them could tell which team they were passing the ball to.

The Lions were clearly downcast. There had been several times when they had come close to scoring but hadn't finished the job. Knuckles was screaming at them as they trudged towards the grandstand and their own change room.

‘I should bench you for the rest of the game, you know!' Knuckles shouted at his son. ‘That's the worst football I've seen you play all year! You're a joke out there! If you don't start scoring tries, I'll send some ball boys out there to do it for you!'

Knuckles was still yelling when they disappeared underground.

Matt moved his teammates along to talk to them himself. They were doing great but the grand final hadn't been won yet. Don't get comfortable. Strengthen the defence around the wings. Complete the sets. Forget about fancy stuff. And keep grinding their opponents down. If they did that, the premiership would be theirs.

With ten minutes to go, Matt walked back outside to confirm a rumour that the talent scouts were there. He looked for them in the grandstand, but couldn't see them. Maybe they were grabbing some hot food or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

‘Matt.'

He looked up and saw Kelly. She was holding an umbrella and leaning over a railing.

‘G'day. You haven't seen those talent scouts around have you?'

‘I think I saw them go out the back.'

‘Any reason why?'

‘Checking on Aaron, I think.'

‘Speaking of whom, have you told him yet?'

She shook her head. ‘After the game.'

‘You haven't changed your mind?'

‘No. But don't worry. Nothing he says will make me go back.'

He nodded, more for her sake than his.

‘See what colours I'm wearing?' she asked, pointing to her beanie.

‘Blue and white.' He grinned. ‘Doesn't that make you a traitor?'

‘Only if you lose and everyone pays me out.'

‘We won't lose.'

‘You better not.'

They smiled just as a teacher busted Kelly and ordered her back to her seat.

‘Hey, Kel?' he asked nervously, before she left. ‘I, um, don't know what you're doing tonight, but do you want to come to a party at Chris's house?'

She looked behind her at the rows of Princes boys and Mother of Mercy girls sitting in the grandstand. ‘I can't. Our school's making everyone to go to a party at Princes Boys College tonight.'

His hopes deflated.

‘But I'm sure I can sneak out of it.'

All right! Matt grinned wide as Kelly playfully
winked at him then walked back to her seat. Oh man! Their first date!

 

Hunting for the talent scouts near the canteen, Matt found Blackwell and his father instead.

‘Do you want people to think you're a failure? Well you're playing like one. That Cassidy kid is making a fool of you.'

‘I'm trying as hard as I can.'

Knuckles gripped Aaron by both sides of his head and yanked him forward. ‘Then I should have called you Pillow, because you're just as soft as one out there. It's a wonder those talent scouts are interested in you. I wouldn't even pick you for the Under 9s the way you're playing. You hear me?'

Knuckles pressed hard against both sides of Aaron's face, like a vice. Aaron cried out in pain and tried freeing himself but his old man seemed to get a thrill out of the screams.

‘Stop bawling like a kid. Pain's good for you. Elite footballers don't feel pain. They live for it.'

Aaron quieted, but it was a struggle. His face boiled red as his father kept squeezing. Matt wondered if he should get help. It looked like Aaron was going to pass out.

Finally, the sounds of the crowd cheering the
players back onto the field forced Knuckles to release his son. With a snarl, he threw him against a brick wall. Still in agony, Aaron rubbed the sides of his head as his father stared at him, nose-to-nose. ‘Now get in there and smash those Bankstown kids out of the game. Especially that Cassidy kid. I don't care how you do it. Break their bones. Knock them unconscious. Just as long as you win. Because if you don't, you can forget about coming home. Ever!'

 

The mudfight started again but this time Blackwell's team struck back ferociously. They scored two quick tries to post a 14–7 lead. Instead of outplaying the Mongrels, Aaron did exactly what his father commanded. He ordered his biggest players to gang up and take out the smallest Mongrels players with merciless tackles. The Bankstown players didn't have a chance. Matt copped the brunt of the assault. Shoulders boomed against his skull, hard heads cannoned into his guts and swinging arms knocked him from his feet. Each hit left him more and more drained. His teammates copped it badly too. They slammed into the juggernauts then crumpled at their feet, either injured or too dazed to play on. One of the smallest players dropped the ball in a
bone-cruncher and a Lions player scooped it up to score under the posts.

The second try came through milking penalties. Every time a Lions player was tackled, he'd buck or scream until the ref awarded a penalty for holding. Other times they'd pretend they'd been bashed with a swinging elbow and take a dive. One such penalty saw Princes take the tap twenty metres from the Mongrels line and score in the corner after three more tackles.

Ten minutes later, Blackwell ordered his players to remove Rhino from the game. The Lions forwards aimed every tackle at the big Maori's knees until one finally popped under all the punishment. Rhino toppled to the ground, trying to hold the excruciating pain in check but was eventually stretchered off gritting his teeth. That left a huge gap in the Mongrels defence. The Lions snuck in another try, taking their lead to 18–7 with twenty-one minutes to go.

Another tactic was to send players to the blood bin. At the first sight of blood, the ref had to order a wounded guy off the field to get fixed up. But the Lions players saw it as an excuse to knee or punch the nose of their opponents in tackles and remove them from the match. It was nearly as low an act as
the head-high tackle on Matt that almost beheaded him. At least the Mongrels got a penalty for that and the Lions player was marched off.

The worst moment of the game came next. One of the Mongrels was hit hard in the chest and the hips by three tacklers. The kid landed badly just as Blackwell deliberately jumped on his outstretched arm to force him to let go of the ball. Everyone heard the bone snap and the kid scream. As the crowd booed loudly, Matt and the Mongrels rushed over to their teammate to see if he was okay. He wasn't. Immediately they sought revenge.

Insults were slung at the other side before the ref intervened.

‘It was an accident,' Blackwell said, full of sickly sweetness.

‘I'll show you what an accident looks like!' Chris shouted.

‘Back off!' Matt said, grabbing his mate before he did anything stupid. ‘It won't do us any good.'

Blackwell laughed. ‘Listen to your friend, feral, or you might be the next one to end up in hospital before this match is finished.'

‘Good, then I'll be able to see your brain in one of those preserving jars.'

Blackwell lunged at him, but Matt dragged Chris away before a fight broke out. ‘Save it for the game,' he warned.

‘But they're cheating, man!'

‘I know. I warned you at half-time what they'd get up to. But stay cool. Don't blow it for us. I'm gonna need you if we're going to win this.'

The ref awarded the Mongrels a penalty as the kid was taken off the field by medics. Blackwell copped an earful and a warning that he would be put on report, but it didn't matter much. The attack had served its purpose.