The Miracle Goal

by Tony Wilson

  He put in his mouthguard. He was ready to go.

  Ray was going to kick that goal.

  Today, that was Joel’s mission.

  TEN

  It was hard enough for Joel to get himself a kick, let alone Ray a goal.

  The Strathdale Sharks were playing the South Bendigo Scorpions. Joel’s team was sitting on top of the ladder and favoured to win, but the Scorpions were in good form — they’d won five on the trot.

  Also, the Sharks were missing some key players.

  Right from the opening ball-up, Joel had a tagger standing right next to him. And sometimes right on him. It was a kid they called Crodog, and he apologised a few times after he stepped on Joel’s toes.

  But it was quite a few times. He also held Joel’s jumper at centre throw-ups and boundary ball-ins. Joel asked the umpire to watch Crodog, and the Scorpions players who heard him made fake crying noises.

  ‘Waaaah waaah! Poor Joel Selwood. Can’t get as many kicks as he normally does.’

  He wasn’t getting as many kicks as usual. Over the season, Joel had averaged over forty possessions a game. Some days he’d had fifty plus. His combination of speed, endurance and skill meant he made it to a huge number of contests. He seemed to win almost all of them.

  Today, though, was difficult. Every time Joel went towards the ball, Crodog would do something to slow him. A few times he even put both arms around his waist, which should have been a free kick.

  Joel complained to the umpire again. Again the Scorpions players cranked up fake baby sounds.

  ‘Waaaaaaah,’ Crodog bawled, rubbing his eyes. ‘Waaaaaah!’

  The first quarter was scrappy and slow-moving. The Scorpions had a big blond full-forward called Willo, who booted four goals. It could have been more if he kicked straight.

  With Joel blanketed, Fish was the Sharks’ top midfielder. He was roving the ball beautifully and tackling ferociously. Fish kicked the Sharks’ first goal of the second quarter to peg the margin back to fifteen points.

  Polly was on fire. If any of the boys had questioned her spot in the team, they weren’t anymore. She took four chest marks in the backline, judging the ball brilliantly each time.

  Ray was playing just like he’d said he would. He was deep in the forward pocket, parked like a statue next to the behind post. On the few occasions the Sharks ventured forward, Ray was at sea. He’d just scuttle around with his odd, limping run, sidestepping the action, unsure of where to stand.

  How was Joel going to land Ray a goal? Maybe a more realistic aim was to get him a kick?

  Nearing half-time, Joel won the ball near goal. He managed a scrappy kick, just as Crodog slung him to ground. Almost by accident, the ball was bouncing in space in front of Ray with nobody between him and the goals! But Ray fumbled the ball when he first tried to pick it up, and then tripped over his uncooperative feet at the second attempt. With Ray face-planted in the dirt, Lewis sprinted in to pinch the footy and walk into an open goal.

  The Scorpions lead was back to ten points.

  Ray dusted himself off and clapped Lewis. ‘Go Sharks!’ he yelled.

  At half-time, Mr Gallus gave Joel some advice on shrugging the Crodog tag.

  ‘Don’t hit him. Don’t do anything illegal. Just push his arm away each time and run!’

  ‘I am running,’ Joel said.

  Mr Gallus crouched down at eye level. ‘Joel — you’re running to get the ball at the moment. For the next bit, try running for running’s sake. Sprint five times up the ground, then five times back, and don’t even worry about the ball. Go fast! No kid has your endurance, Joel. This Crodog dude will blow up like a rusted-out car that’s missed its last service.’

  Joel did exactly as his coach asked. He went on long, searching sprints, first one way then the next. He barely worried about the ball. He did it at a pace that left his own lungs and legs screaming.

  Crodog was feeling it worse.

  ‘What are you doing, you maniac?’ he wheezed, as Joel exploded into his next long-range effort. ‘The ball isn’t even going there!’

  After five minutes, it was as Mr Gallus said it would be. Crodog was a heaving mess. After ten, he was dragged to fullback, down next to Ray, and he stayed there.

  Joel looked over to the bench and grinned. Mr Gallus gave him a big overhead clap. He’d done it. He’d broken the tag.

  Then Joel went back to doing what Joel did best. Winning the footy. He won the ball at the centre breaks. He won it across halfback. He drove the Sharks into attack time and time again. Joel had six possessions in as many minutes, and the Sharks were suddenly on top.

  Joel hadn’t forgotten his pre-game promise. He kicked one goal late in the third quarter, a freakish right-foot banana from the boundary line that wouldn’t have been out of place at the MCG. Ray had been camped out by his favourite point post. Joel couldn’t have passed that one to him.

  But when he took a sliding chest mark, ten metres out, and the siren sounded for three-quarter time, Joel looked for Ray and there he was. Right beside him! The closest Shark.

  It was four points the difference, Scorpions leading.

  ‘Owww,’ Joel moaned, grabbing his calf. ‘Cramp!’

  ‘Cramp?’ the umpire said. ‘Kids don’t usually get cramp.’

  ‘Owwwwwww!’ Joel groaned. He handed the ball to Ray. ‘I don’t think I can take my kick.’

  A few of his teammates protested.

  ‘Oh come on, Joel, just take it,’ Riley yelled.

  ‘Seriously, Joel. It’s just cramp, you’ll be okay in a second,’ said Lewis.

  Joel shook his head. ‘I can’t. I’m sorry. Ray’ll slot it.’

  Joel saw Ray’s jaw clench. He could tell Ray thought his cramp was dodgy, that he was faking it so Ray could shoot at goal.

  Which he was.

  Except he didn’t want Ray to know that.

  Joel stretched his calf. He moaned a bit more. Crodog and some other Scorpions did a bit more fake crying. ‘Waaaaaaah!’

  Ray limped nervously back for his kick.

  ‘Give yourself more room,’ Joel said.

  The footy was enormous in Ray’s tiny hands. The right hand, the one that needed to guide the ball, was Ray’s claw hand. It pressed against the ball like a crab. Ray cupped his good left hand under the nose of the ball. It was a peculiar way to line up.

  ‘Go, Ray,’ Joel murmured.

  ‘Gooooo, Ray!’ sang a strong voice from over the fence. It was Ray’s mum.

  A few of Joel’s teammates were walking towards the huddle, not bothering to look. They had their hands on their hips. Lewis was one of them.

  Crodog waved his arms on the mark like a demented scarecrow. ‘Woooooo!’ he called. ‘Come on, buddy. Fuzz it. Fuzz it! You can’t kick this.’

  Ray walked in. One step. Two steps. Then he did a funny little hop. Then he ran a couple of steps. Then he kicked.

  The ball hit somewhere between his knee and his ankle. It wasn’t a powerful ‘shin’ either. It dribbled from the contact and didn’t even reach the man on the mark. Smiling and surprised, Crodog bent over and picked up the footy. Ray raised his hands to his head.

  ‘Okay, then!’ Crodog laughed.

  ‘Oh, Raaaaaaay!’ Fish moaned, turning his back to walk to the huddle.

  ‘My ball,’ the umpire called. ‘Three-quarter time.’

  Joel limped over to Ray.

  ‘Don’t bother with the limp,’ Ray said. He didn’t sound happy. He sounded like he wanted to cry.

  ‘Sorry,’ Joel said. ‘I guess I probably could have taken the kick.’

  Ray sucked in a few deep breaths. Then he looked straight at Joel. His eyes were shining, but the grin was returning to his face.

  ‘You’ve done enough, Joel. Don’t worry about getting me a kick. I’m just happy that you talked me into playing. It’s been awesome. I’ve had so much fun wearing the gear and running around and actually being in the team. I never thought I’d do this. You don’t have to worry a
bout me. You just play your normal game.’ Ray patted Joel on the back. ‘Hey, I really want us to win!’

  ELEVEN

  It was the best final quarter of the season.

  The Scorpions kicked the first two goals. Joel could tell by the way they celebrated that their opponents in red and white thought they had it — sixteen points in front. Kicking with the wind.

  Fish tugged on Joel’s jumper as they jogged back to the centre. ‘Plenty of time,’ he hissed. ‘I’ll win this centre break.’

  True to his promise, the ball went up and in a blink, Charlie Fishburne was streaming out of the centre, ball clutched to his chest. He dodged two tacklers, then another. The Scorpions players screamed, ‘How far!’, but Fish threw the ball on his boot, just in time. It bounced and rolled and dribbled over the line. Goal!

  Two minutes later, Fish did it again. He tucked the ball under his arm and went off on another of his hair-raising runs. Again the Scorpions couldn’t pin him. The parents on the sidelines went crazy as Fish dodged Scorpions defenders. This time he remembered to bounce the ball, and when he looked up, the only player between Fish and the goals was —

  Ray. By himself. In the goal square.

  Ray raised his arm, calling for the ball.

  Pass it! Joel thought, crossing his fingers.

  ‘Pass it to Ray!’ Mr Gallus screamed.

  Fish moved to pass, but then at the last minute, checked his kick. He’d seen who it was at the top of the square.

  With all the defenders behind him, Fish just kept on running. He sauntered past Ray, right up to the goal line, where he booted the ball through for a six-pointer.

  Fish jumped in the air to celebrate.

  So did Ray, and ran over to Fish for a big high five.

  ‘Unbelievable, Fish. Goal of the year!’ Ray exclaimed.

  The difference was again four points. The game turned into a slog. Kids were running from everywhere to dive on the ball. The footy spent an age in the Scorpions’ forward line, but Polly threw herself on the ball time and time again.

  Joel gritted his teeth and jumped into the ruck contests, third man up. Ball-up after ball-up, they inched it around the boundary. Joel started to get nervous. They were still behind. There couldn’t be much time left. They couldn’t let the Scorpions score a goal.

  Suddenly the play opened up for Joel. Ned Rath’s hit-out slammed into his chest, and he was charging out of the back line. Joel lifted his eyes. Anthony was leading towards him on the wing. He wasn’t the best overhead mark, but right at that moment, Joel believed. He passed it. Anthony marked it cleanly. Joel kept on running, and Anthony delivered it back.

  Now Joel was flying. He thought about taking a bounce or two, but again, there was Macca in a Sharks jumper, waving an arm at centre half-forward.

  Joel kicked it to the side that favoured Macca, and Macca stuck his ample backside in the way of the Scorpions’ centre halfback. It was the best mark of Macca’s season.

  The parents were shrieking.

  There had to be only seconds left.

  Joel kept on running. Macca handballed it back.

  Joel’s legs were feeling tired, but it was now or never. He was inside the forward fifty and the Scorpions’ best defender was charging at him. Joel shaped to go one way, but then shimmied his hips and went the other. The defender made a diving lunge but was left sprawled on the ground.

  Joel lifted his eyes. He was forty metres out, possibly within range if he got a good bounce. The angle was tight. If he kept running he could make sure of it. But he was tired, and a tackler was closing.

  Mr Gallus didn’t like them shooting from here. He said it was a low-percentage shot.

  The team thing to do would be to centre the ball to the top of the square.

  There were two players there. Joel knew who they were. Ray and Crodog. Both were backing towards the line. Neither expected Joel to pass the ball. Why would he? Joel was the best player in the team. This was for the win!

  But Joel suddenly didn’t care about the win. He’d trusted Anthony and Anthony had come through. He’d trusted Macca and Macca had come through. He pointed with his left arm and called Ray’s name. ‘Lead, Ray!’

  Joel guided the ball onto his right boot and squared it to the area Mr Gallus called ‘the hot spot’ — fifteen metres out from goal, directly in front.

  Crodog was so surprised he was slow to respond.

  Ray was surprised, too, but Joel had called him in. He found himself in front of his man with the ball tumbling towards him. He put his hands up.

  ‘Mark it, Ray!’ Mr Gallus screamed.

  ‘Go, Ray!’ Ray’s mum yelled.

  Players and spectators took a collective breath. This was it.

  Whack! The ball went through Ray’s hands and hit him square in the mouth. Ray seemed momentarily dazed, and his hand went to his face, but he recovered when he saw Crodog picking up the ball, preparing to clear it.

  Ray dived at the fullback. Amazingly, he hooked Crodog’s shorts with his bad hand. Then his good hand joined in, and Ray had a grip on the elastic. He had Crodog by the shorts, getting dragged along behind.

  Crodog was trying to break the tackle. He pushed with his hand to shrug off Ray, but Ray kept hanging on.

  It was like something out of a cartoon. Ray’s legs flying out wide as his undersized body was flung about. Again the defender tried to push him away, but Ray pulled and dragged and refused to let go. Desperate, Ray got a hold of the fullback’s wrist. Then he had two hands on the wrist and like a small hunting dog felling a mighty buffalo, pulled the defender to ground.

  The ball spilled.

  ‘Holding the ball!’ the umpire whistled. ‘Incorrect disposal.’

  The parents went nuts. So did the players. Joel handed the ball to Ray. Ten metres out. Top of the goal square.

  ‘Just relax,’ Joel told him. ‘You’ll kick it.’

  Ray lined up with his same awkward style, but this time didn’t sweat over it. He walked in and casually booted it over the fullback’s head.

  The siren sounded as the ball was sailing through.

  Joel threw his arms in the air. It was a miracle. Somehow they’d pinched it. A miracle win and a miracle goal.

  He ran forward to give Ray a victory hug.

  But he was too late. Fish and Lewis and half the team were already there.

  TWELVE

  It was interleague day and Hale-Bopp night.

  The day part went well. The Bendigo League won its game against the Ovens and Murray League, and both the twins played.

  Troy’s ankle had recovered in time, and he was excused his night off training. He was hurt, after all.

  Adam had made it to every training — rain, hail or awkward-situation-where-he-had-to-be-in-two-places-at-the-same-time.

  It was glorious. Adam only wished he could tell more people. He especially wanted to brag to Mr Fleming. ‘Hey, creepo, we won! I kicked two goals. But none better than the one my brother and I kicked against you! Suck eggs!’

  Only he couldn’t. He couldn’t even tell his best friends at Catholic College. If it got out, he’d be in heaps of trouble.

  The one person who did know was Fiona. Strangely, she held her tongue, too. She seemed to sense the importance of keeping it quiet. Indeed, from the day of detention, the prank war had ended and she and Adam had sort of become friends.

  Fiona even came down to the Queen Elizabeth Oval for the game against Ovens and Murray. She rolled down to the fence on her dragster after the match. ‘Well done, Selwood,’ she said. ‘Keep that up and one day you’ll be as good as your nine-year-old brother.’

  Adam laughed and they chatted for a while.

  All the Selwood boys had seen Adam talking to the tall girl. They let Adam have it in the car on the way home.

  ‘Adam’s got a girrrrrlfriend,’ Troy sang, getting the ball rolling.

  Scott and Joel joined in with some wet smoochy-smoochy noises on their forearms.

  ‘Is that
right, Ad?’ Mum asked. ‘Don’t you tease him, boys. It would be nice to have a girl around once in a while. What’s her name?’

  ‘Nobody,’ Adam said, pressing his forehead against the rear passenger window. ‘There’s no girlfriend.’

  ‘Fiona,’ Troy said. ‘Nobody’s name is Fiona. And she’s in luuuuuurrrrve with Adam.’

  Adam snorted. ‘She’s not in love with me. She put a skink in my bag.’

  Mum laughed. ‘Oh, the prank girl! Well. Who would have thought? I hope her mother forgives you for the honey. My, my.’

  ‘I liked her dragster,’ Dad said. ‘Tell her I like her dragster.’

  ‘I won’t tell her,’ Adam said, red-faced and embarrassed. ‘Because I don’t have a girlfriend.’

  ‘When do you think she fell for you?’ Troy teased. ‘Was it at detention, when you were actually me?’

  It was out of Troy’s mouth before he realised he was saying it.

  ‘What?’ Mum and Dad said at the same time. ‘Rewind there. What did you just say?’

  Adam buried his head in his hands. ‘Idiot,’ he said to Troy. ‘Capital I, capital D-I-O-T.’

  The two younger boys continued to smooch their arms.

  ‘Let’s talk a bit more about this detention,’ Dad said, pulling over to the side of the road. The twins laughed sheepishly. They explained about interleague training and Troy’s injury and Adam’s appointment with Mr Fleming. They explained about Mr Fleming and how he hated football. They explained how they’d used their ingenuity and genetic gifts to get a great result.

  ‘We both played, didn’t we? And we both played well. It was win-win!’

  Mum made her hmmm noise.

  Dad continued to look at them.

  Troy battled on. ‘We’re twins, Dad. Don’t punish us for doing what we were put on this earth to do.’

  ‘What?’ Mum asked. ‘What is this calling you’re talking about?’

  ‘Twin tricks,’ said Adam.

  That made Mum laugh.

  ‘We didn’t hurt anyone,’ Troy said.

  ‘We still did the detention — between the two of us,’ Adam added.