Kick Back

by K J

  “Well, Giancarlo, me, an’ Flip.” Morrie spoke to Cam. “We’d meet ev’ry Sunday arvo, and chat about th’ games. Who kicked what goals, how many, best assist, the terrible umpirin’. Still do, me and Giancarlo.” He patted the table. “Right here. Without fail.”

  Sophia and Cam swivelled their heads simultaneously to catch Giancarlo’s response. “So, Cam, Sophia’s friend, what do you want to know? Andiamo!” An expression of singular joy drifted over Cam’s face, her eyes crinkled in delight, and as she brushed back some errant curls, she swivelled her gaze to Sophia, her smile stretched across her lips.

  “Okay, well, which teams do you go for?” She picked up her coffee, then paused, as Sophia tossed her hands into the air, and both Morrie and Giancarlo blew out elaborate breaths. “What?”

  “Cam, love, y’ve gone straight for th’ top shelf. That’s only th’ second most important question anyone asks anybody in Melbourne. Should I ask what team y’ go for?” Morrie’s watery eyes peered at her.

  “Oh God, please don’t,” Sophia moaned, and Cam narrowed her eyes. Morrie gave a phlegmy chuckle.

  “Well, one thing y’ need t’ remember is y’ never change teams. Who y’ barrack for is who y’ barrack for. Take Giancarlo ‘ere.” He lifted his chin. “He barracks for North.”

  “Too right.” The familiar Australian saying sounded endearing with an Italian inflection.

  Cam smiled. “Who do you barrack for, then?” Morrie straightened his back.

  “Wests. All m’ life.”

  A smile played across Cam’s lips. “This is beginning to sound very much like a compass.” Sophia coughed a quick laugh across her coffee cup. “Who did Flip go for?” Sophia stiffened, then very gently placed her cup on the saucer, feeling her face close its doors. Morrie cast a quick glance her way.

  “He barracked for Souths,” he said, and Cam stared intently at Sophia, who’d decided that the view out the window was suddenly very fascinating. Morrie continued, retrieving Cam’s attention. “Th’ point is y’ never abandon y’ team. It’s set. There’s prob’ly a law written that says y’ can’t.” Cam rolled her lips together, then picked up her napkin, flipped it over, and shook it.

  “You’d think that law would be written down at the headquarters of the Football Authorities.” She raised her eyebrows, and Giancarlo barked out a laugh, clapping Sophia on the shoulder.

  “She is full of cheek, like you, giovane.” Sophia gave Cam a half-smile, as Giancarlo took the reins. “Bene. So, you do not abandon your team. You stick with it. You protect what it stands for. It is a love, sì?”

  Morrie rested his hands, a canvas of veins and age spots, on the table. “Most AFL fans’ll tell y’ that on occasion they don’t even like their team.” Giancarlo nodded sadly.

  “Sì. I spend most of my life being emotionally tortured by mine.” He sighed so deeply, that Sophia and Cam giggled. “But, non importa! The point is that it is friendly rivalry. It is the intense passion, and the noise,” his hands gesticulated with each word, “and colour, and the sledging, but after the game, here we are having coffee, then the game is analysed, and your choice of allegiance is not discussed, because that is always set permanently.” Sophia gazed fondly at the man who had been a fixture in her life since she was a child. She reached across and rubbed the top of his hand.

  “Y’ should get a copy of th’ Record,” Morrie rasped, his voice straining and Cam gently pushed the glass of water closer to his hand. “That’ll set y’ straight.” Giancarlo nodded and Sophia caught Cam’s befuddled expression.

  “Come on, Cam. Seriously? You really have just arrived from planet Sports-Are-Dreadful.” Sophia dropped her head. “You’re killing me."

  “Be polite, giovane.” He turned away from Sophia. “Cam, the Record is the official program that spectators can buy at any of the matches. It has all the players, games, statistics, even the umpires’ information. It is very old. The first Football Record was published in 1912.”

  “Wow.” Cam pulled her head back, and blinked. Sophia watched as all the information was catalogued and filed inside Cam’s head. It was fascinating.

  “I’ve still got m’ old Records from th’ big matches. Th’ Grand Finals, o’course.” Morrie sipped his water, two hands clutching the glass. They contemplated their drinks for a moment, and Morrie dabbed his mouth with the little square napkin. “Have y’ had a chance t’ go t’ a game, lass?” Sophia regarded Cam over the top of her cup, and they made brief eye contact.

  “Well, I’ve only been to one so far.” She flicked her index finger at Sophia. “South Melbourne and that other team.” Giancarlo and Morrie laughed, a rumbling grunt and a cough.

  “Excellent, Cam. That’s th’ way. So, now that we know South Melbourne’s y’ team, what was it like for y’ at th’ game?”

  Sophia lifted her eyebrows expectantly, and Cam smiled, reset her cup on the table, then leant back in her chair, her legs crossed. “Morrie, I went to the game as an innocent barbarian, and came away a believer.” Morrie’s face split into a topographical map of smile lines and wrinkles, then Sophia was caught in the gaze from Cam’s twinkling eyes. The jolt hit low in her stomach. Oh. That was nice.

  “I sat with people who were there to cheer on individuals, or a whole team.” Cam gestured softly as she spoke. “I sat near people who yelled incomprehensible things like “ball!” and “mark!” with such passion and ferocity that I knew it came from their very souls.” Sophia’s breath shallowed, her eyes transfixed, as Cam continued. “I felt the thud of the ball every single time it was kicked with such precision that it seemed to be an extension of the players’ bodies. I saw the beauty and understood the reverence when, for a moment, the ball was suspended in the air, the crowd had hushed, all the players jostled for position, thumping and slapping, and then the ball dropped, and everyone suddenly breathed and the stands filled with noise.” She raised her eyebrow, and Sophia exhaled. “That’s what it was like for me.”

  Giancarlo clapped his hands together once, leaned sideways, then cupped Cam’s face. “Strepitose!” He pulled away and beamed. “This one, she is lovely.”

  Cam blushed. “Grazie.”

  Giancarlo’s eyes sparkled. “Prego.” Cam slid her gaze to Sophia, whose mind had just been blown. Stunned. That’s it. That’s the word. She stared at Cam, who was adjusting her glasses again, those curls like rain on her temples and cheeks, then uttered the only words she could think to say.

  “You fraud!” She pointed her finger at Cam who rounded her eyes innocently, her lips holding down a smile. “Nope. You can’t tell me that you got all that from just one game. That’s impossible,” she said incredulously.

  Morrie patted her hand softly. “Footy’s that pow’ful, Soph love. Maybe Cam was able t’ tune int’ th’ spirit of th’ game from day one.” Sophia reached back and massaged her neck, and scoffed.

  “Well, fine.” She brought her hand down to link her fingers together beside her cup. “You also need to know that AFL is a way forward for so many girls, because they’ve not had that one constant in their life before. They get to take control of their journey. They get to be part of a team.” She loosely rolled her hands on the metal top of the table, and regarded Cam for a moment. Giancarlo and Morrie faded into the background. “They get a family, Cam. Sure, they might have a family off the field, but on the field? Their family is right next to them. Particularly for some of the shelter girls. Naomi was one.” Sophia could sense the hot spark of tears. Shit. She flicked her eyes at the ceiling and blinked furiously. “Professional sport can be a shark tank, and that’s why having someone like a team mate guide them and be there for them is so important.”

  Cam studied her for a long moment, her lips slightly parted.

  Giancarlo broke the silence. “Flip understood that, didn’t he, Morrie?” The other man coughed wetly.

  “Tha’ he did. All th’ young lasses gettin’ confidence, an’ skills, an’ all. Flip understood that, no worries.” He s
lowly straightened his back, and spoke to Giancarlo. “It’s time for me t’ go, my friend.” Then he placed a hand on both Sophia’s and Cam’s. “Lovely t’ meet y’, Cam, an’ t’ see y’ again, Soph love.” He grasped the curved handle of his cane, which was the catalyst for everyone else to stand. Giancarlo delivered another shoulder-clasp, double-cheek kiss to both Cam and Sophia, and after a very gentle cheek press from Morrie, followed by a quick wave at Magic, Sophia and Cam found themselves outside the café in the soft pastels of dusk.

  Sophia leaned her back against the exterior wall of the building at the corner, and allowed a small smile to slide onto her lips. Cam patted her back pocket and fished out a Metro card, wriggling it in the air, then waved it in the general direction of the cross-street. “I’ll catch the next tram.” She returned Sophia’s soft smile. “Thank you for inviting me. Morrie and Giancarlo are delightful.” Sophia’s eyes twinkled.

  “Yeah, they are.” She pushed off the wall, which brought her close to Cam’s space. “So, did you learn something this afternoon?”

  “Hmm. I learned quite a lot, actually. Not just about football.” She smirked, then lifted her chin. “You’re an enigma, Sophia Lindstrom.” Sophia laughed, then wriggled her eyebrows in mischief.

  “You know there’s a statute in the Football Authorities handbook that says once you know about the soul of the game, you have to learn the skills as well.”

  Cam’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. “What? No!” Sophia cracked up, clutching Cam’s forearm as her laughter filled the footpath.

  “Ah, Cam. You are so much fun to wind up.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m serious, though. I have to teach you how to kick a football. It’s the rule.” Then she realised her hand was still holding Cam’s arm, so as casually as she could, she withdrew, and slid her hands into her pockets.

  Cam shook her head. “Nope. You’re not getting me out on a bloody football field to play aerial ping-pong.” She lifted an eyebrow as Sophia grimaced at the disparaging label. “Besides, you really don’t want that liability on your conscience. I’m all about exercise that doesn’t involve people trying to…” she paused, “use my body as a line-marking machine.”

  Sophia held eye contact. The banter was fun. It wasn’t quite flirting, more like subtle teasing. It could be flirting, though. Let’s see.

  “I promise I won’t use your body for anything resembling line-marking.” A very faint blush coloured Cam’s cheeks, as an unwitting smile shimmered across her lips. Sophia grinned. Uh huh. Definitely flirting. Cam waved a finger at Sophia’s face.

  “If you can set your flirt-o-meter to zero, then okay, I’ll come and kick a football with you.” She pursed her lips, and pulled out her phone, flicking open the calendar. “When?”

  Sophia sighed. “Not for a couple of weeks. Craig’s got some extra training sessions lined up, and I need to check in with the shelter.” She dipped her head to catch Cam’s eyes. “But it’s a date.” Cam glared, and pocketed her phone.

  “No, it’s not, superstar.” The glare, along with the label, sent a warm glow rolling through Sophia’s stomach, and she watched, enthralled, as the pinks of the sunset reflected off Cam’s glasses, shimmering as she pushed them towards her forehead. Well, damn. I like you, Cam Weathers.

  “Okay, it’s not.” She breathed quietly. “Thanks again for coming this afternoon.” The distant ding-ding of the tram broke the moment, and Cam peered around the corner.

  “I’ll catch this one.” She started walking backwards, smiling at Sophia. “I’ll see you at your next training or game, I guess.”

  Sophia waved casually. “Will do.” She turned to go, but Cam’s voice stilled her movement. She turned back to find Cam already at the tram stop.

  “Hey, I forgot to ask,” Cam said, projecting her voice slightly, and casting a glance at the distant tram. “What was Flip’s real name?” Sophia knew that it was simply innocent curiosity. Her chest constricted, but somehow she managed to sound completely casual.

  “It was Philip,” she called, and she watched Cam pause, glance at the approaching tram, then swing her head back. Her voice carried across the footpath.

  “Who was he?” Cam held Sophia’s gaze, and for a long moment, the muted sounds of the city filled the distance between them. Then Sophia hunched her shoulders, cleared her throat, and just as the tram arrived, she replied, her voice strong in defiance to the vulnerability residing in its core.

  “He was my father.”

  Chapter Seven

  After sharing such a personal revelation, Cam figured that Sophia had snagged her ankle on a little root of regret, because she’d received brief waves and brisk head nods over the past two weeks when she’d attended trainings and the two games. Not that she’d had time to dwell on any of that, as the elevator dinged and the doors flung themselves to the side, like an automated version of “We’re here. Get out!” Work continued. Stories were sent in. Editors bellowed.

  The familiar simmering potential of a Friday afternoon hung over the newsroom as Cam detoured via her desk, accessorised the chair with her backpack, and tossed a smile and a wave at the enormous pair of noise-cancelling headphones, which were cradling Bianca’s head like it was a newborn. She received a vague eyebrow-shoulder lift combo in return for her greeting, which Cam translated into English on her way to Eddie’s office. Hi Cam, how are you? Got some new music at the moment. It’s very mysterious, just like me. One day, you’ll discover I’m a secret agent and I’ll spare you a painful death because you’re kind of cute. She knocked on Eddie’s door.

  “Come in,” he bellowed, and Cam quickly brought her eye-roll back to base as she entered. Eddie was sitting in exactly the same spot as he was last time she’d been in his office, like a grumpy animatronic. She perched on the edge of the chair and wished again for that magical job opening at the Beacon.

  “Morning, Eddie.” She crossed her legs, and looked expectantly across the desk, past the paperwork, and into his face, hidden under the verandah of his brow. He grunted.

  “So, I’ve had a word with the senior reporters and they’re happy with you lot, so you’re all good there.” He nodded seriously, and Cam screwed her cheeks and eyes together in incomprehension.

  “Um. What are they happy with? And why am I all good?”

  Eddie grunted again. “The junior reporters. You’re doing your job, with your content and your summaries and whatnot.” Cam blinked. Whatnot. Nice. She forcibly restrained her eyeballs from embarking on another 360 degree journey. Eddie continued. “So, you’re all good there, which is just as well, ‘cause I want to have a word with you about this women’s AFL series.” Cam leant back in the chair. This was going to go one of two ways. She made herself comfortable.

  “Oh?”

  Eddie frowned and rustled the papers in front of him, the way kids do when they’re learning how to shuffle cards. “You’re going on about the skills too much. I told you not to get involved in stats.” He’d obviously found the paper he was looking for, because he waved it about near his head. “You’ve done game stats for the three matches already. You’ve put in details like the number of kicks, handballs, goals.” He shook his head in frustration, cleared his throat, and scowled. “And!” He jabbed a finger towards the monitor, spun it around, and then jabbed again at the screen. “This!”

  Cam leant forward, and squinted. She couldn’t make out any of the text. “I don’t—”

  “This. The love of the game? Their passion for football? What the hell is this?” He pushed his face towards the screen and read aloud. “‘If we could develop our fan base, we’d be able to share our love of the game with more people. Playing footy for supporters is not just about entertainment, it’s about sharing a story’.” He tossed his hands in the air. “And this! ‘When I’m out on the field, I’m playing with and against women of all shapes and sizes, and it makes me appreciate that women’s AFL is for everyone’.” Eddie’s eyes were round with disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”


  Cam cleared her throat. “No, actually. I’m not. That’s what the players feel. That’s what the rookies feel, and they’re only fresh off the boat. They belong to something special, Eddie.” She straightened her back. “Why can’t I write that? I read one of Trent’s pieces last week where Cooper from Wests Football Club said something similar.”

  “That’s different,” Eddie huffed, and resumed his horizontal paper sorting. “The blokes are supposed to be passionate. It’s their full-time job.”

  Cam grit her teeth, and hissed out a breath. “That’s because they have the luxury of it being their full-time job. The women don’t. They’re not being paid at all.” She hung onto her knees to stop herself from reaching over and strangling him. “If anything, they’re even more passionate about the sport because they’re not getting paid for it.” Cam jerked her glasses off, and ground the ball of her hand into her forehead. Then she jammed her glasses onto her face, and glared at her editor, who was staring over her head at the wall.

  “Look, Weathers, I get that you want to make a difference, and all that #MeToo palaver—”

  “That’s not what #MeToo—”

  Eddie ignored her. “But by running these stories I’m doing a favour for Dennis and the other two on the Women’s AFL board, and this is the direction that we—I want you to take. You’ve only done three stories and I’ve managed to fix them. You’ve got another seven to go, so put in more stuff about the girls outside of footy, okay?” He stretched his skin into a vague representation of a smile, and Cam grimaced. Her right leg began to jiggle, and she could feel the tight pinch of frustration starting to twist, so she stood abruptly.