Bouts of depression seemed to come without cause. Sister Marie could always tell when he was wrestling with his tortured emotions because he went quiet, unable or unwilling to commune with his friends. During these times he even thwarted her attempts to break through. He cared about nothing, found joy in nothing. Occasionally, she caught him weeping. He was careful to hide this from anyone near, but she saw through any charade he threw up. Her heart broke when she glimpsed redness around his eyes. What tormented this boy so deeply that he could not hold back the tears? She forced herself to remain aloof, girding her emotions so she could find a way to heal his.
After many approaches, from counseling to mere hugs, Sister Marie settled upon music as the best remedy to break Nigel’s spells. Saint Malachy’s Boys Choir rivaled its football team for notoriety in the Melbourne area. While every boy was required to audition for the elite group, not all had the quality of voice for admittance. It was a badge of honor for the chosen few, not only for the special gold blazers each wore with pride, but also for the perks the choir enjoyed. While the football team played a circuit limited to Melbourne and a few surrounding towns, the choir traveled throughout Victoria and once each year to Sydney where it performed with other choirs in the vaunted Sydney Opera House. On the occasion of each trip, the choirboys were excused from classes and all chores, much to the envy of their classmates.
Nigel was reluctant to audition. He knew he had no choice, but those who listened as he was put through the scales, detected a deliberate attempt to hide a magnificent voice. No matter, the choir director decided after the first audition, there are plenty of others who want to sing. Let this one break his bones on the football field. Sister Marie saw through Nigel’s childish attempt to avoid the responsibility of his gift. Each time he was rejected, she brought him back with a scold, telling the choir director to test him again. It became a battle of wills among all three. The choir director wanted no one who was not committed. Sister Marie would not tolerate anything less than the best effort from one of her boys. Nigel would not be compelled to do something he did not want to do.
“Why do you fight this?” she demanded.
“Why do you make me?” he sullenly replied.
“Football cannot be your only outlet. You must develop your other skills. Then you will have more choices when you become a man. Choice is good.”
Even at thirteen, Nigel had his sights set on the huge stadium across the city where the professionals played Australian Rules football. He dreamed of one day being one of the stalwarts who marched onto the field to the cheers of thousands. He was determined to become a football star. Apart from his studies, he would tolerate no other distractions. He continued to fight her and dismissed the pompous choir director.
The turning point came six months after his first audition. He had just turned fourteen, reached a height of six foot two and was once again leading Saint Malachy’s to the premiership. By now the long hours of practice and physical conditioning were beginning to sculpt his body into a perfect combination of sinew and muscle. He was fast, strong and confident. Anchoring the center, he was the one who carried the oblong ball, called footy, the farthest and kicked it the longest through the goals. Saint Malachy’s was the team to beat and every opponent circled the date when it would face the reigning champs.
Penfold College, an elite grammar school accustomed to winning before Nigel arrived in the league, was bent upon regaining its former glory. To that end, it recruited the best athletes it could find from across Victoria and even outside the state where indigenous families from the Northern Territory and Western Australia were invited to enroll their sons on full scholarship. This year, Penfold’s football club was a formidable machine, running up impressive scores against all comers. The midfield boasted players equal to Nigel in both size and strength. Penfold’s coaches drilled the team seven days a week, not only to be sure it would crush its smaller opponents, but most importantly, so it would be ready to overwhelm the hated Saint Malachy champs.
When the teams finally met in a match that would decide the pairings for the preliminary final, the players on both sides were prepared for a fight. The rainy afternoon made the footy difficult to hold. At the Full Forward position, Nigel was his team’s leading goal kicker. He was marked by Penfold’s powerful back line, prepped to keep him at bay no matter what it took. The hitting was hard and not always clean. Throughout the afternoon he was buried beneath a sea of bodies pounding him into the mud. Each time he endured intentional elbows to his face and gut. Nearing the end of the match, the teams were tied in a low scoring affair sprinkled with brief interludes of aggressive pushing and shoving. A few punches were also stealthily thrown when the umpires weren’t looking. It had become a grudge match.
With time dwindling, an errant Saint Malachy handball was picked up by an alert Penfold player and kicked high through the goal for a score. Nigel stood for a moment to catch his breath before returning to the forward line where his team would battle for possession of the final center bounce, one last chance to even the match before time expired. As he turned, a Penfold player came alongside and delivered a crushing elbow to his face out of the umpire’s view. Nigel dropped to his knees as his assailant quickly ran to his teammates.
A hallmark of boy’s athletics in Australia is proper comportment. While scrums often take place, they end quickly with harsh punishments meted out to all involved. Nigel followed the rules because he had been taught to remain disciplined and because he knew his importance to his team. In the back of his mind he also feared retribution from Sister Marie. This time, however, his temper got the better of him. Kneeling with his throbbing face in his hands, he watched in rage as his assailant returned to his position laughing. Then in a fit of anger he leapt to his feet and ran after the boy. With two Penfold players trying to hold him back, he delivered four quick blows to the boy’s face, rendering him helpless. Quickly the umpires separated the teams, assessing a fifty-meter penalty and free kick against Saint Malachy. As the last seconds ticked off, Nigel’s rage turned to remorse as Penfold kicked a goal, putting an insurmountable twelve point advantage on the scoreboard. For the first time in four years Saint Malachy’s failed to qualify for the semifinals.
Sister Marie’s wrath would not be contained. For weeks she sentenced him to the kitchens, making sure he performed the most onerous tasks the cooks could find. When he was finished she sent him off to scrub the toilets. She met his protests with stony silence, giving him no hope of reprieve. Unlike the choir standoff, he had no leverage. She held him under her thumb.
“Do you want me to sing?” he asked, hoping.
“I want you to do what you are doing.”
“Please, I’ll join the choir.”
“It does no good to pursue it now just to avoid responsibility for your behavior.”
The agony lasted another month before Sister Marie sent him again to audition for the skeptical choir director. This time, thoroughly chastened by her reprimand, Nigel gave his best effort, winning immediate appointment. By the time the choir headed to Sydney for its annual concert, he received his gold jacket. He was inducted into the prestigious choir not only as a member of the chorus, but also as a soloist.
Taking the lead frightened him. It did not come naturally as it did on the field. Secretly, he was conflicted by his talent. He worked hard to master the notes and to bring them from his lungs precisely the way the choir director demanded. But, too often, he fell short in his own mind. There was the manner dictated by the director and there was the way Nigel felt it should be done. He hid his misgivings, fearing it would be judged as one more sign of stubbornness that would meet with further discipline from Sister Marie. The chance to play football could not be risked again.
The bus ride to Sydney opened new vistas. There was certain wanderlust in his heart, born of his aboriginal heritage. Farms and bush extended in every direction, awakening wonder to his senses. He felt himself aching to stroll into the grassland so he coul
d breathe in the air and listen to nature. When the coast came into view, he saw surfers in the distance, looking like sticks bobbing on the waves. He dreamt of joining them in their search for perfect harmony. He vowed one day to make his home along the coast, but never far from the majestic bush lands that skirt its teeming waters.
Sydney brought love. Her name was Reina, the Hindu daughter of the Bangladeshi Consul based in the city. Reina played the violin and attended the Sydney Conservatorium of Music. She was a year older than Nigel, statuesque with long black hair and smooth olive skin. They met by chance when she brushed his arm in the reception area of the Tulip Hotel where Saint Malachy’s Choir was staying. The beautiful young woman excused herself with a confident smile then continued on. Nigel followed her with his eyes, captivated. Up to that moment he’d taken little notice of girls. Few graced the halls of his all-boys orphanage and his studies and sports afforded little idle time to meet them socially. Reina was the opposite. She knew many boys from the formal affairs she attended with her widower father and through her education in the finest private schools wherever his duties took her. While their brief encounter merely resulted in momentary awkwardness, Nigel was smitten. That night he saw her again on the stage of the Opera House where she displayed her talents performing a difficult piece. Her skill was clear, even to the ears of the young orphan. When it was Saint Malachy’s turn to perform he looked out into the audience, hoping she would notice him as well.
Later, at the post-performance celebration, he watched her across the room with her friends. He could not bring himself to approach, but when she took the floor with the many boys who invited her to dance, he was filled with envy. Reina had none of his self-consciousness. When a dance ended and just as she came close to where he stood, she politely sent her partner off and came to his side.
“Do you dance?” she asked.
“I don’t know how.” Nigel stammered, embarrassed.
“Then do you talk?”
They spent the rest of the evening chatting easily. When it was time to go they exchanged promises to write. And, over the ensuing months they corresponded weekly by letter. They met again the next year, inseparable except for music practice and their performances. They kissed for the first time while walking the streets near the Sydney Harbor Bridge.
He was sixteen when his athletic skills brought notice. He stood six foot five with a powerful physique that made him all but unstoppable on the field. Professional teams from Geelong, St. Kilda, and as far away as Fremantle sent scouts. Eventually, the Saints came forward with a contract offer. Nigel brought Sister Marie to meet the team’s representative. She had her doubts. She foresaw broken limbs and rattled skulls, but her greater concern was Nigel’s fragile emotions, which continued to suffer from the periodic depressions for which only music seemed to offer relief. His stellar academic performance and its earlier than normal completion meant that he was free to move on to a career in the sport he loved, but she feared that he was too young, that he did not yet have the mental toughness to withstand the pressures he would face. It was over this danger that she grilled the poorly prepared St. Kilda man.
In her heart she knew she could not prevent Nigel from pursuing his dream. Were she to invoke her guardianship and say no, she knew it would only be temporary until he was eighteen and could make his own way. Waiting those two extra years might enable him to gain the mental fortitude to deal with potential failure, but the cost would be great. He would descend into a chasm of depression. He would hate her. This she could not bear. So, at the end of that long afternoon she penned her consent and the St. Kilda scout fled from the most grueling signing he had ever endured.
By age seventeen, Nigel Whitehurst, the boyhood star, took the field for his new team. The yearlong preparation had been daunting. As feared, his brain had been rattled by a concussion and a hamstring pulled so severely that it took two months of therapy to heal. But, the Saints saw promise in the boy. He had a knack for the goal, something the perennial last place team needed desperately. Still, there was much debate among the coaches about bringing him up. Another year of seasoning would simply make him better and prepare him for an illustrious career, perhaps epic stardom. Money, as always, won out. The team’s owners saw the chance to turn a profit for the first time in years. Just moving up in the standings, behind the youngest player in the league, would assure sellouts.
At first, he fulfilled all expectations. Through the first quarter of the schedule he was the Saints’ leading scorer and ranked among the top ten in the league. But the long schedule began to take its toll. By the tenth match the brutal hitting that now targeted his every move, produced aches and pains that did not easily heal. He was facing bigger and stronger men. The far more punishing tackles sapped his strength. By mid-season he was sidelined.
Sister Marie did not attend Nigel’s professional matches, but she kept in close contact with others who watched him play. When she learned that he was off the field she knew the effect would be devastating. Even with all of his physical and intellectual talents, she recognized that he lacked resilience. In part, this was due to his easy success. He knew little about how to deal with failure. With no time for other pursuits and no place of retreat like the orphanage she feared that he would be unable to rebound.
And, she was right. Nigel slipped into deep depression. Soon, he isolated himself from his coaches and teammates, speaking little and rushing off to sit alone in his team owned apartment after practice. His calls to Reina became less frequent until she was compelled to call him every night, just to be sure he was well. She also recognized his depression because she knew the symptoms, having witnessed it first hand during one of his choir’s annual visits to Sydney. Their relationship suffered from distance and, try as she might, she could not breach his wall of silence.
During the final weeks of the season the Saints staged a rally. Nigel no longer figured in the matches. The coaches were impatient with his depressed state, seeing it as selfish pique rather than the psychological paralysis it really was. But when the team went on a win streak that put them into finals contention, everyone became energized. Even Nigel, accustomed to winning, began to shake-off his lonely self-hate. The daily practices became more spirited as each player smelled victory on the coming weekend. The weeks of relative inactivity gave Nigel’s body time to recuperate. He regained much of his strength and was healed from the nagging injuries that dogged his mid-season performance. His play in practice once again returned to its former level. The coaches saw a secret weapon that could be employed during the season’s last match, St. Kilda’s chance to reach the finals for the first time in a decade.
The tragedy happened with five minutes remaining in the final quarter against archrival Collingwood. The bruising battle had taken a toll on both teams as bodies slammed against one another, only to eke out meager gains in a low scoring tie. From the opening second, Nigel took tackle after bruising tackle. To his credit, he fumbled only once, but often found himself at the bottom of the pile where fists bludgeoned his body in an attempt to wrestle the footy from his arms. He was spat upon, kneed in the groin and gouged by thumbs craftily applied out of sight of the umpires. Both teams knew a score would be hard to overcome.
Collingwood controlled the action and with dogged determination, moved the footy forward in slow, but steady progress. As time wound down, the strategy was clear, maintain possession, run down the clock and gamble on a last second score just as time ran out. Nigel was just as aware of his club’s predicament as everyone else. St. Kilda had to regain possession or its season was over. His legs were heavy, but he was convinced that only he could gather the speed to break through and snare a Collingwood handball. He stayed at the front, surveying the opposing line and marking the Collingwood player he expected to get the ball. Sure enough, the footy moved down the field in the player’s direction. But as the last handball skimmed the air, Nigel made his move, leaping over a defender and intercepting it cleanly. He gathered the foo
ty into his arms at full speed and sprinted toward the St. Kilda goals. The stands erupted as he pulled away. Collingwood players scrambled to follow with St. Kilda’s players tearing at shirts and shorts in an unabashed attempt to hold them back. Any number of penalties could have been called, but the umpires held their whistles.
As he neared the goals, Nigel was certain he would have the chance to pull up and kick the ball through. The nearest Collingwood player was close, but no legal tackle would have the momentum to knock him off his feet. Nevertheless, as he brought his powerful leg up to meet the footy, a jarring hit from behind propelled his body into the air. As the footy slipped from his hands and sputtered out of bounds, he came down in a heap, consumed with pain. The crowd noise never entered his ears as he passed out.
The illegal back tackle that ruptured Nigel’s spleen, tore the ligaments in his knee and fractured his ankle, only served to steal St. Kilda’s chances. Despite the post-match reporting and subsequent suspension of its player, Collingwood was victorious. A huge scrum broke out on the first play after Nigel was taken from the field on a stretcher. Even St. Kilda’s coaches joined the fray, so enraged that they had to be forcibly restrained. A few of St. Kilda’s fans tried to climb the barriers to get at the Collingwood bench, but security rushed out to discourage their efforts. Some of the Collingwood players looked over their shoulders nervously. The blatant assault was shown on live television a dozen times, depicting the horrible effect it had on Nigel. Sister Marie rushed to the hospital as soon as she was told. His spleen was removed the next morning. His ankle was put in a cast and his knee required two operations and a year of physical therapy.
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