As of next week, I will be a single mother beginning a Masters degree with a part time job and a terrible habit for perfectionism. The anticipatory sleeplessness has begun already. I turn and turn and turnover – but no one grabs the ball and runs off with it.
I’ve been thinking that the best way to tackle a long, lone spell with the Bomblet and a full schedule, is to face it like a full back: presence and intimidation; playing with a close check; relying on my capacity to read the play better than him. He is an impressive opponent, the Bomblet. He plays hard and fast, the ball and the man and he rarely accepts a rotation. The problem with the full back model is, I don’t fancy sticking to my man like glue and I’ll be limited in my capacity to run off him and create play, without the support of any team mates. The risk of ending up in a game of catch up is too great. He can be explosive, the Bomblet!
I need an alternative approach.
* * *
In the first thirty minutes of Saturday’s Swans v Blues clash, I became more than a little bewitched by the shining light of the big #18 – Jesse White. Like Hamlet’s ma I sat, with Bazza’s corpse hardly tepid, admiring the lead and leap of the 21 year old. An in-form Dwayne Russell (see quotes) agreed: ‘Barry’s been keeping him out of the spot too long’. With his facial hair arranged like a novice gangster – sideburns, scratchy mo and goatee – White’s 105kg frame gave the Swans much needed confidence up forward.
And then, it came to me like a pleasant dream where desirable strangers play bit parts and all the signs make sense.
In this dream, I saw the haze of life for the next two months: work to get to, trains to wait for, preschool curfews to make. Morning cuddles to allocate, meals to dream up, lunchboxes to stuff, a tired face in the mirror to fix. A trolley to push and garbage bins to drag, sheets to tuck and pets to keep alive and skirting boards to vacuum. Reading to do and writing to do and thinking to do. Clothing to wash and magic tricks to teach and birthday presents to procure and ugg boots to air and stories to listen to and stories to read and realities to shield and cosmic events to explain and tips to do and heaped up teaspoons of Milo to forbid. Afternoon chatter to horde and horde. Comfort for his bouts of loneliness, for things that don’t work, for the irrational desire for incompatible friends. Endless negotiations over quiet times and ‘nothing’ times, over the execution of the most basic human tasks and which of his four alter egos would be joining us for dinner. Getting to night time university, dinners to leave and kisses on pillows, babysitters to arrange and yawns to suppress, opinions to have and opinions to share and quiet drives home on night-time streets to savour. Contempt for routine to stifle and mind traffic to censor so sleep can come and it can start all over again.
And, in the dream, into the picture rides … Jesse.
‘Could he be the “white” knight Sydney’s been looking for?’ asked the commentary team.
‘Well he’s certainly all-white,’ they guffawed.
Wide awake, it occurred to me, with his fourth goal for the half, that whether he was the answer to the Swans forward structure or not, he would be the answer to my structure, my white knight, a 196cm bolt of inspiration delivering a master class on dealing with an opposition. I would face my months ahead, not like a full back, but like a full forward.
Put the body work on early. Don’t wait until I’m in a one on one. Move, move, move. Be in the shower before he can complain about dressing; be in the car before he can spoil with reluctance to go to preschool; be in the kitchen chopping before being smothered by another LEGO police narrative; be in bed before it’s under 6 hours until he’s up again.
Get front position. Anticipate what is coming. Have confidence in the 1762 previous meetings with the Bomblet. Take away doubt and back myself.
In moments of uncertainty or indecision, spin. Strong leading forwards run up to the wing, prop and spin the ball in their hands while waiting for options. Spin the hands on the clock, the lid on the whiskey bottle, Justine Clarke on repeat, the hills hoist, lies, remote controls – whatever it takes to buy some time or space.
Be prepared to double lead when behind. Eliminate the risk of staying back in the contest and bringing things to ground. Without reliable crumbers, I’ll just be left with crumbs.
By the time I’d gotten through a half of footy, I was feeling supremely confident. If ‘the kid’ could do this well in just his 14th senior game, and his first at full forward, so could a veteran like me.
Fake it ‘til you make it.
As the match progressed, I was so inspired by the revelation, that I was even taking hints from the opposition ruckman floating to full forward. The commentators remarked on Kreuzer, ‘Even his misses go through!’ Good point.
Score off your bad shots. When I find myself, accidentally, in the die cast toy car aisle at Woolies, think bribery. When all I’ve organised for dinner is left over self-saucing chocolate pudding, think bribery. When I haven’t done my ‘homework’, think the 3 hour, M rated dinosaur DVD … and bribery.
Even other key position players were making sense. Swans, Mattner and Grundy, the #29 and #39 respectively, are constantly being mistaken for each other. Great idea!
Pretend your somebody else. I have often observed the Bomblet snuggling the leg of his aunty at a family function when both of us have been wearing knee-length denim skirts. Dress like the other mothers at preschool.
Despite heading into August/September without a pre-season to speak of, underdone, with only a handful of runs in the reserves, I was feeling super confident of my chances by now. I was even anticipating a night out at Crown and possible Legend Status in the new Hall of Fame.
Play the full four quarters.
Super confident, that was, until the siren sounded for the fourth quarter.
Maintain a lead of more than 15 at all times.
The steepest denouement unfolded, the structures fell apart, the opponent ran rampant, the supply dried up and … Jesse was rendered lame.
Oh no. What if it all ended up like this for me? What if I find myself, after a couple of weeks, with my early get up and go deflated, run off my legs, toyed with by the Bomblet like impotent prey, rendered completely ineffective? It gets worse. What if, in trying to play both forward and back, in trying to fill the gap in front of the danger man, I too end up like Teddy, taken down in courageous backward flight, prone on the turf with the Bomblet’s knee cap imprinted on my shattered rib cage, coughing blood? It’s no coincidence that the man taken down on Saturday is the Swan with the greatest amount of time on the field this season – 94.5% of all game time. That’s about what I’ll be doing! (Although, without the broken ribs, punctured lung, chest drain and ground transfer, a few non-negotiable days in hospital and some heavy painkillers could be just the ticket.)
I felt grim after the match, desperately grim, but began an immediate review. All of Jesse’s good work was undone by the Fab 4 in the navy blue. Change of plan! Perhaps this stint is best taken on like a midfielder? But I know I don’t have the tank to match it with the Bomblet in the midfield.
I joined him in a bath on Saturday night, suspiciously staring into his bottomless green eyes, wondering what he has in store for me. After a curative dinner of pungent cheeses and a generous balloon glass of my father’s finest medicinal Calvados, bed beckoned. There’s a TV in the bedroom at my parents’ place. It was just before 11pm - footy broadcast time in NSW. Time for a night with the old flame. Buddy. Just as my hope needed recharging, a reinvigorated Buddy reminded me how the full forward can indeed get the job done.
He was mercurial, he ran on the ball and then re-appeared in the forward line, his defensive pressure superb. He wasn’t afraid of a bit of biff, baiting and niggling Didak – ‘unsociable football’ I think they call it.
Don’t be afraid of being a bit unsociable with someone a fair bit smaller than you.
He retrieved, fended off and, by the all important fourth quarter, Buddy was finishing them off. ‘There’s nothing better than a forward keeping their feet’, called Matthew Lloyd in commentary.
Keep your feet. Don’t go to ground.
I slept well, bound in sweet dreams of my ‘white knight’ and my best buddy.
* * *
On Sunday, we were back in the city and back to reality. Watching North versus the Tigers, the inevitable became apparent.
Any battle between human souls is never usually one-sided.
My months one-on-one with the Bomblet will be a time for raw courage. For all my silver lined dreams of the big boys at full forward, no doubt it will eventuate into a skill-less scrap, every disposal a 50/50, missed shots, turnovers, attacks and counter attacks, all the play under pressure, no easy possessions, endless stoppages, raw nerves, scoring opportunities without reward, goal for goal for a deadlock in the end, the type of game where you need a third man up, but there isn’t one available. Perhaps a draw is desirable in my case.
Don’t, whatever you do, lobby for extra time.
Probably just as well my team is not heading to September. But we are headed to Rivalry Round – a perfect warm up for a couple of months with the Bomblet.
Happy tipping!
And to better bear the angst of whatever might be worrying you, you need to read this and this. Life is a rich field of dung just waiting to sprout edibles and these guys completely understand that.
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