Afterwards, as TV camera crews mulled around getting interviews, Micah was approached by Nate. All he wanted to do was get into the showers. Sports drinks turned sticky pretty quickly, and as they had mostly been raspberry he looked like Carrie at the prom.
“Can I talk to you for a sec?”
That didn’t at all sound foreboding.
“What’s up?” Micah asked as they found a quiet corner.
“You had some kind of trouble on the field?”
“What?” Micah rewound the game, play by play, in his head. “Not really.”
“It’s already on social media.”
Had Micah received a knock to his head, or something? He couldn’t remember any tussles on the field where he might have inadvertently injured someone.
“You had an altercation with the crowd?”
It all became clear. “Oh, that? Some guy called me a pansy, and when I kicked my goal I just yelled back at him.”
“He called you a what?” Nate was aghast.
“A pansy.”
“That’s not on!” Nate spluttered.
Micah would have almost laughed, if he hadn’t seen how seriously Nate was taking it. The truth was, he had almost entirely forgotten the whole thing happened. That was how little it had really mattered to him, at least in the afterglow of playing in his first (and winning) game and actually kicking a goal in it. “It’s nothing. Just a bit of sledging. And I gave back as good as I got.”
“I’m going to have to go and tell the others.”
“No, don’t!” Micah grabbed his arm before he escaped. “I don’t want a big deal made out of this. Especially for the other guys to find out. I don’t want them to think I can’t handle this.”
But he could tell by the set of Nate’s mouth that he hadn’t swayed him. “I’m sorry, Micah. But this is really serious, and it needs to be reported. We can’t be seen as being too lenient on this issue. Especially as you’re the first—well, you know….”
“Gay?” Micah said bluntly.
“Well, Declan Tyler got there before you. But you’re currently the only one who’s out, and we have to protect you.”
“But I don’t need protecting.”
“I’m sure you don’t. But I have to report it anyway.”
As Nate left, Sam sidled up to him. “Okay, what’s going on?”
With a melodramatic sigh, Micah told him. He knew he wouldn’t get the response he was hoping for.
“He’s doing the right thing.”
Yep, that was about what he expected. “I don’t want to be the poster boy for bigotry. Or tolerance, which is just as fucking bad.”
“Tolerance is bad?” Sam asked.
“Yes! Because it isn’t acceptance. It isn’t shrugging off as if it’s normal, which it is! It’s basically saying: I don’t like you but I guess I have to put up with you against my will.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Sam admitted.
“Why would you have to?” Micah said, and it didn’t sound very nice at all.
“Hey,” Sam said. “I’m on your side.”
“No, you’re not. At least, not like that. Nobody’s on my side. I’m the only one. I’m hanging out here all by myself.”
He walked off to the showers, hoping he could forget about everything for just a few minutes. Maybe then it would all wash away in the stream of hot water and disappear down the drain where it belonged.
WHEN HE came out of the shower, he was waylaid by Nate before he even finished wrapping the towel around his waist.
“They’re going to have a meeting about it when we get back to Perth,” he said. “Just giving you the heads up.”
Micah, who was still getting used to the lackadaisical approach to nudity (and other people’s nudity) in an AFL change room, flushed. “Am I in trouble?”
“No!” Nate said. “They just want to see if there’s anything they can do.”
“They think they can magically cure homophobia among fans?” Micah asked. “They still haven’t cured racism.”
“You’re angry, and I get that.”
“I’m angry because it’s being made a big deal of.” Plus the fact he was being mollified. “What if the press ask about it before we have our secret super-duper war room meeting?”
“The coach is just going to say that we’re looking into it and they won’t comment until they’ve reviewed all the footage.”
“And what am I meant to say?”
“Nothing.” Sam appeared over Nate’s shoulder. “Just… try and avoid the media.”
“Bit hard when they camp outside our room. I’m going to run into them as soon as I leave here.”
“Just say the same thing they’ll say. That you want to wait for a review.”
“I already know what happened. I was there, remember?”
Nate sighed. Micah knew he was giving him a hard time, when he had nothing to do with the decision. For Nate’s sake, more than anybody else’s, he acquiesced.
“Fine. I’ll be quiet.”
“We’re not expecting miracles,” Nate said, and Sam snorted.
Micah turned and headed for his locker. Sam jogged to catch up to him.
“You don’t have to worry. We’ll take care of you.”
“I said this before to Nate. I don’t need looking after.”
“Yeah, you do. You’re our rookie, you little shit. So deal with it.”
Sam tousled his hair, just like an annoying older brother, and left him to get changed in privacy. None of the other guys were in there as Micah had been the last to hit the showers. He pulled on his tracksuit in their team colours, and slung his bag over his shoulder. Past the change rooms his family was waiting for him. They were excited by the team’s victory, even though it wasn’t a Melbourne team. Micah guessed they had to take the Dockers in their heart on some kind of level—after all, it was their son’s team now—but they would always remain loyal to their own. They were probably more pleased about his goal, but Micah’s own sense of achievement had been dulled by the controversy now hovering over it.
And then he saw Declan Tyler, gliding towards him as if emerging from the shadows, bidden.
Micah knew he would be the one to understand.
AS HE had thought, Dec was the only person to understand. He had convinced the rest of the Johnsons to meet him later for drinks where the rest of the team would be congregating, and now he, Dec, and Simon were heading towards the car park. They had premium car parking—probably something to do with the media pass emblazoned on the dashboard.