Suddenly feeling all of his eighteen, almost nineteen, years, Micah Johnson was a baby among giants. What the hell was he doing here? He was going to be crushed.
His thoughts were interrupted by the completion of “Advance Australia Fair,” and the two captains making their way to the coin toss. Fremantle won, and their captain chose the northern end to kick to. There was one last team huddle, and Micah knew he should have been paying attention to what their captain was saying, but he couldn’t concentrate. He was already sweating, believing that he shouldn’t be there. He was out of his element.
But when the siren sounded everything shifted into clear focus. Sound returned to its normal levels, no longer muffled; even his eyesight became crystal and finely attuned. He was alert, he was pumped, and he was ready to prove himself.
“You ready?” Sam asked as they ran to their positions.
“Hell yeah,” Micah said, and they did the customary hand slap. Sam added the butt slap for good measure.
Cheeky, Micah thought, and it was the last free thought he had for the first quarter.
HE WAS taken off for the second quarter, and Micah couldn’t blame the coaching team. He had barely seen any action, and when the ball had managed to come his way once, it slipped from beneath his fingers and bounded off in the opposite direction to him and into another player’s hands. It was gone before he could even contemplate his next move.
“We’re just resting you,” Nate said. “It’s not for the whole game.”
Micah hoped that was true. If that was the only play he’d get in his first game, it was hardly a salubrious debut. It would have to be quickly glossed over in his autobiography, if he had enough of a career to justify one. Right at this moment it didn’t seem likely.
By halftime they were nineteen points down. Sam came off the field, wincing slightly.
“I think I’ve turned my ankle,” he told one of the medical staff. They instantly swarmed over him as if he were a Formula 1 car careening into a pit stop. His boot was unlaced and pulled off in a fraction of the time Sam would have done so. Micah peered over the shoulders of the medics, and grimaced at the puffiness of Sam’s ankle.
“I can still play, right?” Sam asked. “Just strap it up, she’ll be right.”
By now the coach was over, watching his player with an eagle eye. Micah knew they wouldn’t risk putting Sam back in if there was the possibility he could do any further damage to it.
“Well, what’s the verdict?” the coach demanded.
“We can strap it up. But we’ll monitor it. Bring him off every ten minutes.”
“Nah, you don’t have to do that!” Sam protested. “I’ll be fine!”
“Do you still want to play next week?”
Sam wilted under the coach’s “this is serious, don’t fuck with me” face.
“Good. Johnson, you’ll alternate with Mitchell.”
Micah tried to not look so ecstatic. After all, he was getting back on because Sam wasn’t playing at full capacity.
“It’s okay,” Sam groaned as the tape started to tighten his foot and support it. “You can celebrate. I would, if I was you.”
His nerves disrupted again, Micah stared out onto the ground and waited for the halftime siren to sound.
THIS TIME, when the ball flew towards him, Micah was ready. He leapt into the air, and successfully took a mark. The ball was now his to dispose of. He looked around for a teammate who was closer to the goal, but the only one was Ryan, and he had two Collingwood players flanking him. It would be nearly impossible for him to get a clear shot at the ball, and they couldn’t risk it falling into enemy hands yet again.
And then he heard it. Some bright spark yelling out from their seat, obviously close to the front for him to even be able to hear it, “Just kick it, you pansy!”
It could have gone either way. Micah could have felt all will leave him, and fumbled the ball.
But righteous anger took over instead. It always seemed the way for him. He did things not for himself, but to prove others wrong or for somebody else. It was never really for him, even though he benefited from it. He had come to the conclusion that as long as it was done, did it really matter why he did it?
A short run, the dropping of the ball, and the satisfying thud as it connected with his boot. He was still running as it flew into the air, and as he slowed he watched it soar into the centre goal (although a little bit to the left).
His first goal.
That sense of being underwater came back to him again as he was swooped upon by his teammates. He could hear the dull roar of the crowd, and dizziness struck as he realised he was off his feet, being swung around by the rest of the guys in congratulations. He caught a quick blur of Daril’s glee in his fellow rookie now being on the board, and Sam standing on the edge of the field whistling with his fingers in his mouth. As soon as Micah’s feet hit the ground all sensation returned, and the team dispersed for the return of the ball into play. It was all business again.
But the fear had been broken. He was a true AFL player now.
He turned back towards where the sledge had come from. There was no way he could tell, or even hazard a guess, who the culprit was, but Micah grinned broadly and raised his arms in the air in victory.
“This pansy just scored!” he yelled. He didn’t know if they could actually hear him, but they would know by his stance that he felt as if he had just proved a point.
But he couldn’t dwell on it. As the ball came his way again, Micah sprang into action.
IT WAS his only goal of the night, but it still felt as if he had kicked ten. All he wanted was to get that barrier behind him, and he was happy he had achieved it. The fact they won was the icing on the cake. Standing in the centre of his team as they sang the club song, Micah was a Cheshire cat as they doused him in sports drink and gave him the true welcome to the big leagues.