The Crush (20 page)

Matt had to lead by example if he wanted his teammates to believe they could still win. Looking around at the fellas standing in the rain, he realised they were thoroughly demoralised after being punched, kneed, penalised and virtually knocked out of the game. Resentment was starting to burrow deep. Princes Boys College players were playing dirty but the ref was letting them get away with it. The Mongrels wanted to retaliate but Matt had clearly said no. Even this late in the match and with little to play for, he didn't want them to sell themselves out. They'd played simple, honest footy all year to get to the finals. They weren't going to dishonour themselves for twenty lousy minutes of revenge.

The Mongrels plodded into position as the Lions once again had possession of the ball. A burst of energy saw Matt take the next three tackles himself. They were big hits that floored each of his opponents. That fired up the crowd and his teammates.

Grover and Hazem accepted the challenge next and drove their tackled player back a good ten metres. The guy tried to off-load to one of his mates but the ball slipped from his hand and the Mongrels jumped on the fumbled ball.

It swapped several pairs of hands before Matt caught it again. He wanted to give it to Rhino and watch him bulldoze down the middle of the field, but the big guy was out for the rest of the game. Matt ran five metres, only to be tackled by Blackwell. The Lions captain crunched down on his hip and punched him in the ribs. Only anger inspired Matt to return painfully to his feet and roll back the ball.

The next play spurred them on. A deceptively lazy tackle saw Grover beat two defenders. He passed to Hazem, who passed to Chris. The Sundance Kid saw an opportunity and kicked the ball over another defender's head. Matt chased after it, scooped it from the ground then bolted full-speed towards the tryline. The Lions had been caught napping and he planted the ball down for four much-needed points.
Chris converted and the scoreboard read 13–18. Fourteen minutes to go.

They had to hurry.

The Mongrels received the ball again but the Lions defence tightened. They smothered each of the next four plays and nearly knocked Matt out on the fifth. Blackwell clapped his mates and shouted there needed to be more of the same.

Wiping the rain from his eyes, Matt nodded to Chris to get ready to kick on the last tackle. The rest of the Mongrels readied themselves as did the Lions. The wet ball whizzed into the Sundance Kid's hands, but instead of booting it down the other end of the field, he threw a long wide pass to Hazem out on the wing. The Rocket barely caught it and exploited a gap in the Lions defence. He ran a good fifty metres before two desperate tacklers brought him down only five metres from a try.

Hands on hips, Matt spat. The trick had nearly worked.

Ten minutes left.

The Lions muscled their way back into the Mongrels half but without any result. The Mongrels swamped them on the last play and Matt tackled Blackwell before he could get a kick away. The solid defence had forced a turnover.

The Mongrels pounded their way down the field and before long, Matt had the ball again. Charging forward, he ran straight into a vengeful Blackwell. The Lions captain slammed him into the ground, fired a fist at his face then used his face as a stepping block for his spiked boots. Matt screamed with pain as Blackwell stood over him. Chris had seen the attack and pushed the Lions captain away from his best mate. Blackwell threw an insult back and that was enough for Chris. Already enraged at bad refereeing decisions, he threw a punch straight at Blackwell's head but missed. Blackwell retaliated and started an all-in brawl. Fists flew as Lions and Mongrels fought it out in the centre of the field. The ref and touch judges rushed to stop it as the guys unleashed a season's worth of aggro. Matt tried dragging players away from the melee but copped a blow to the chin. He spun away just as the ref put an end to the fight.

The ref called over the Sundance Kid, Blackwell and Matt. He asked them what the fight was about. Blackwell denied everything.

‘I didn't see any stomping either,' the ref said, agreeing with Blackwell. ‘But I did see you pick a fight with the Lions captain then throw the first punch. That's why I'm going to give you ten.'

‘What!' Chris said, just as amazed as Matt. ‘What are the spike marks on Matt's face? Upside-down zits?'

The ref blew his whistle and signalled he was sending Chris to the sin bin for the rest of the match.

‘You can't do that!'

‘I just did,' the ref answered. ‘Now go!'

Angry, Chris shook his head then started to walk off the field. But not before one last snipe. ‘What colour are your jocks today, ref? Gold and purple?'

Blackwell laughed smugly.

‘And you!' the ref said, turning on Aaron. ‘Think yourself extremely lucky that you're not joining him.'

The whistle blew and it was another penalty to the Lions. They burned up time as they slowly played their next set of six. Thankfully, they remained scoreless.

The ball was once again in the hands of the Mongrels. But they had to do the amazing to win. They were trailing by five points with four minutes to go. A try and a goal would give them six points and win them the game.

The first tackle proved fruitless. The Lions quickly wrapped up one of the Mongrels and readied for the next one. The second and third gained some metres, but the fourth lost them the same amount of ground.
The fifth play saw Hazem rocket forward and off-load to another one of their players. That helped them get twenty-five metres from the Lions tryline with two minutes to go. The Mongrels were kings when it came to last-minute wins. They were desperate for one of them now.

The ball came to Matt and he quickly fired it towards Hazem again. Two Lions players tackled him but failed to grab him around the arms. Hazem easily off-loaded to Grover, who kept the ball alive. He whizzed it back towards Matt, who passed it to Big Mack. The big centre charged forward, drew two defenders then twisted to off-load the ball again. Matt had scooted around to receive it and he quickly realised a gap had opened. He dummied to his left but zigzagged right. Bad move. Lions players guessed his ploy.

Whhheeeeeee!
The final siren had sounded. His heart almost stopped.

This was their final shot. Matt put up a bomb as two tacklers speared him in half. The ball soared in the air, high and out of control. It started falling dangerously close to the sideline. Somebody grab it!

Lions and Mongrels players leapt into the air, stretching with slippery hands to catch the wet ball. The crowd sucked in its collective breath as it
bounced off fingertips. It fell to the ground and thudded near the corner. Blackwell saw it and pounced. But Hazem lived up to his name and blasted towards it. He banged his hand down on it a fraction before the Lions captain.

The blue and white army screamed for joy as the Mongrels celebrated. Try! They were 17–18 but still had a goal to kick. If they could put the two-pointer over, they'd win the grand final.

‘What do you mean Chris can't kick it?' Matt asked the ref.

‘Sorry, but he's in the sin bin for the rest of the match. You're going to have to find someone else to do it.'

That was bad news. Chris was the team's sharpshooter. No one else in the team came close.

‘No way, Matty. Not me,' Grover said, when Matt offered him the kicking duties. ‘I've got two left feet.'

‘You're kidding, right?' Hazem answered. ‘This is way too important. If I stuffed up, no one would ever forgive me.'

The rest of his teammates gave similar answers.

Drawing in a deep breath, Matt knew what he had to do.

He squatted down and set the ball on a mound of sand as his teammates, the Lions players, teachers,
coaches, fans, talent scouts, parents and Kelly all watched him. Never in his life had so much pressure rested with him. The grand final. The Mongrels could win it. All he had to do was boot the ball between the posts then go home and celebrate. Easy, right?

But he was kicking from the sideline on a miserable afternoon. The ball was wet, the grass was slippery and he had never kicked for goal in his life. Short of an earthquake, he didn't think the odds could be any worse.

Matt lined up the kick, stepped backwards, gulped and crossed himself. This was it. He ran in and let fly …

The crowd went silent as the ball curved towards the goalposts. It sailed end over end towards them with boundless energy behind it. From where he was standing, Matt grew more and more confident the longer he watched. The shot looked good. No, it looked great! He choked on the excitement. They were going to win!

The ball hit the crossbar, shook water from the posts and then bounced back into play. Matt couldn't believe it. He'd missed.

Princes Boys College had won.

An hour later, a dripping shower head was Matt's only companion as he sat in the grey loneliness of the change room. Overcast light filtered through three grimy windows above the empty benches, lockers and urinals. The air reeked with the smell of body odour, sweat, mould, feet and yellow cakes of soap. The sombre voices of his beaten teammates had fallen silent as they'd showered, changed and slowly drifted out to suffer quietly at home. The weight of defeat had crushed them all.

The Lions were a different story. They'd celebrated when the last kick had failed. They'd piled onto each other, screaming and cheering along with the crowd. The hardest thing was seeing Blackwell hoist up the trophy.

Matt shivered. Water dripped from his hair, face, arms, jersey, bandages, shorts and boots. It pooled around the foot of the bench he was slumped on and trickled into a small drain nearby. He wasn't wet only from the rain. He'd stood in a cold shower for who-knows-how-long. He'd hoped it would wash away the anguish that tortured him. He'd let his mates down and that hurt the most.

Leaning forward, he cupped his hands over his face and cried.

His muddy boot launched the ball into the air. It flew through the rain and headed for the goalposts. While wobbly, it was accurate. Sailing through the middle, it bounced to a stop near three other balls scattered around the in-goal area. Matt didn't care, though. He grabbed the last one and lined it up for another kick.
Thump!
It too soared through for a goal.

Unable to watch her son torment himself any longer, Heather rose from the grandstand, opened her umbrella and walked across the empty field. She placed a hand on his shoulder just as he reached down to scoop up the balls.

‘Time to go.'

‘No, I've got to keep practising.'

He grabbed the fourth ball but the other three fell from the cradle of his arm, plopping back onto the ground. He lashed out at them with his boot, splashing mud everywhere. With none left to kick, he ran his hands down his face, embarrassed at his outburst.

‘C'mon,' his mum said softly. ‘You did your best. It wasn't your day to win.'

‘Why? Princes didn't deserve to.'

His mum shrugged. ‘I don't know why, mate.'

‘It just isn't fair.'

‘I know. But don't destroy yourself over it. You can walk away saying you played your best.'

‘But that's nothing compared to winning the grand final, is it?'

His mum didn't argue. Whatever she said wouldn't help. Instead, she focused on getting him home.

‘It's time to go. Chris's party's in a couple of hours.'

‘No way. I'm not going.'

‘Why not?'

‘I can't face the guys after this.'

‘
Matthew
.'

‘They'll never forgive me.'

‘If they truly are your friends, do you think they'd hold it against you?'

A pause.

‘No,' he said eventually.

‘Exactly. Knowing your mates, they'd blame themselves first.'

Matt let her words sink in. She was right, of course. His mum always was.

He picked up the balls, dumped them in the change room then reappeared dressed in blue jeans, a black T-shirt and red flannelette shirt. His wet clothes sagged in his ratty school bag, which was slung over his shoulder.

The two of them walked through the main turnstile. The sound of rainfall echoed through the tunnel as his mum told him the good news: she'd kept her job. The beancounter had been sacked instead. The good news distracted him enough to ask a few questions. But before his mum could elaborate, he spotted trouble.

Aaron Blackwell was standing in front of the Bulldogs talent scout, mouth agape. His dad was jabbing the scout in the chest and arguing hotly. Under a tree, Kelly waited patiently.

‘What do you mean, the club's not going to sign him?' Knuckles demanded.

‘After that display today, I doubt any club would be interested in him. That's some of the dirtiest playing I've ever seen.'

‘You're joking, right? That was just boys being boys.'

‘Is that what you call stomping on faces, breaking an arm and knee-capping players?'

‘Oh c'mon! We used to do that all the time in our day, Terry. League's all about a bit of biff.'

‘Not these days. It's all about public relations, pay-TV, ratings, money, sponsors and lawsuits. Your kind of football doesn't exist any more.'

‘But he's the best there is. You know that.'

‘Sorry, but he's a liability. I don't like dirty players. And neither do the fans. I'll be recommending to the club that we look elsewhere.'

‘You can't do that! I captained Australia, remember? And I virtually ran that club once. I've got friends everywhere.'

‘Then you go and talk to them. My guess is they'll have nothing to do with you when they find out that you planted ecstasy on that Cassidy kid.'

Knuckles' face turned white. ‘How'd you know about that?' he hissed.

‘Dad? What does he mean?'

‘Hasn't he told you?' the scout said. ‘Your father paid a kid seventy-five dollars to put drugs in Matthew Cassidy's school locker then tip off the teachers. The news was leaked to the club and we
black-banned Cassidy from our list of hopefuls. Except someone overheard your father on the phone discussing the drugs and made an anonymous phone call to us. We've been making our own investigations since.'

‘Who told you?' Knuckles said.

Matt looked at Kelly standing under the tree.

The scout shook his head and pulled on his cap, ready to leave. ‘That's none of your business. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go.'

The talent scout stormed away to his car, leaving Aaron in shock and Knuckles seething.

‘What good are you to me now?' Knuckles said. ‘This is all your fault, you know?' He slapped Aaron hard on the side of the head then chased after the talent scout, yelling at him that no one crossed him like that.

Dumbstruck, Aaron stood in the rain clutching his head. ‘No!' he shouted. He picked up a garbage bin and hurled it at the back wall of the grandstand. It spewed rubbish everywhere before falling to the ground and rocking to a stop. Then he stomped on the bin until it was completely out of shape.

Doubled over, trying to catch his breath, he saw Kelly waiting under the tree. ‘What are you staring at? Get over here!'

‘We better go,' Matt's mum whispered to him.

‘No. Give it a sec.'

Holding a green canvas raincoat over her head, Kelly walked over to her boyfriend as he cursed and swore. ‘It's all your fault, you know that! You shouldn't have come and tried to see me before the game. You interrupted my concentration. Between you and my father, I haven't got a hope of being selected!'

‘Aaron, it's over.'

‘You've ruined my entire life, you hear that? Because of you, I won't be playing football next year. I'm so sick of …' Then, realising Kelly had said something, he asked, ‘What did you say?'

‘It's over.'

‘What's over?'

‘Us.'

He flinched. ‘What?'

‘Our relationship—I'm ending it.'

‘What?'

‘I don't love you, Aaron. I'm leaving.'

‘Leaving? You can't do that.'

‘Yes I can. And yes, I am.'

‘Don't be stupid.'

‘I'm not. I'm being smart for once.'

‘No. I won't let you.'

‘It's not your decision. It's mine. And I've made it.'

She turned around and started walking, but Blackwell reached out and yanked her back.

‘You're not going anywhere, you understand? No whore of mine tells me we're finished. I'm the one in control here.'

‘Don't call me that.'

‘I'll call you anything I like,' he said, shaking her.

‘Stop hurting me!'

‘I'll hurt you a whole lot more if you think you can ditch me. No chick's going to spoil my big day. That talent scout's already done enough damage. I need to celebrate, and it might as well be back at my place with you.'

Hungrily, he lunged at her neck with forceful kisses and worked at her top. Matt wanted to rush over and knock Aaron out, but his mum restrained him as she watched Kelly fight back.

Kelly slammed the side of her hand into Blackwell's Adam's apple, making him choke. Freeing herself, she stepped backwards and warned him to stay away from her. He didn't, of course. His eyes full of hate, he rubbed his neck and made a clumsy pass at her. Kelly dodged him and pulled a mobile phone from under her raincoat.

‘Touch me and I call the cops!'

‘You won't call them. You're too gutless.'

‘Want to find out?' she asked, beeping out the emergency number on the phone.

He made a sudden move but she proved she wasn't bluffing by placing a finger over the send button. Blackwell stopped. Then laughed nervously. ‘Okay, you want to be like that? Fine. I'll play your game for now. You'll come running back to me tomorrow, begging me to forgive you. You just wait.'

‘No I won't. I've made up my mind. I don't need you any more.'

‘Yeah, right. You haven't got the brains to look after yourself. You don't even have any friends.'

‘I do so.'

‘Like who?'

‘Like me,' Matt spoke up.

‘Cassidy! What are you doing here?'

‘Making sure my
friend
gets home safely.'

‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘It means it's time for you to leave her alone.'

‘Kelly, tell this feral to get lost. This is between you and me.'

‘No,' she said. ‘He's offered to walk me home. And that's where we're going.'

Blackwell's eyes narrowed as he watched Kelly walk over to Matt, his mum still watching from the entrance. Then, reading more into it than he should, Blackwell said, ‘Wait a minute. It's you, isn't it? You've been putting these ideas into her head, haven't you?'

‘I only told her the truth.'

Blackwell jabbed a finger in front of Matt's chin. ‘Lies more like it. What's in this for you anyway, huh? You trying to steal my girlfriend?'

‘No.'

‘That's it, isn't it? You're trying to steal Kelly away from me.'

‘I—'

‘You can't beat me on the field, so you try to take my woman?'

Blackwell clenched his fists, ready for a fight but Kelly threatened to phone the cops again.

‘Get out of here! Don't you understand? I don't love you, Aaron. You disgust me.'

‘But you're my girlfriend!'

‘No, I'm not. I never have been. You don't own me. I finally have my life back and as long as I live you're never going to be part of it again.'

The outburst shook Blackwell. She was serious. He huffed at her audacity. No one ditched him. He was Aaron Blackwell. The Number One Man.

‘You're nothing without me,' he snarled.

‘I'll manage,' Kelly retorted.

He snorted then licked rain from the side of his mouth. ‘This isn't finished. Not in the slightest. I'm coming for you, Cassidy. And you,' he threatened Kelly. ‘You can't hide from me all your life, you know.'

‘I'm not hiding,' Kelly said. ‘I'm finally standing up to you.'

Blackwell tried to think of a comeback but didn't have one. Instead, he left to find his father.

Kelly breathed out. The relief on her face was clear. Matt placed a steadying hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She gave him a pained but victorious smile.

‘How does it feel to find your voice again?' his mum asked, coming up behind them.

‘Powerful.'