Next Saturday we play Wangaroo for the Peninsula Junior Colts Premiership. The whole town is talking about it, it’s the biggest thing to happen here since the second prize in the S.A. Tidy Towns Competition (Section B). Just shows what sort of town I live in. Hopeless.
You’ve got to look like you’re trying to stop him, though. If you don’t then you’re a gutless wonder. A gutless wonder is about the worst thing you can be in our town. If you’re a boy that is.
Even though the Point was only a half an hour’s drive from the Port, the two towns didn’t have much to do with one another. The footy was really the only place where Nungas and Goonyas got to hang around together.
‘Nukkin ya?’ said Pickles. ‘Geez, you’re talking like one of them now.’
‘So what,’ I said.
‘Well I s’pose he is a mate of yours and all,’ said Pickles.
‘Matter of fact, he is,’ I said.
The whole tribe was there, sitting around the kitchen table, waiting for dinner to be served. Except for the old man, of course. As usual, he was down the pub.
‘I don’t know what Arks, I mean Mr Robertson, expects of me.’
‘That you do your best. That’s all anybody expects of you. Do your best and he’ll be happy as Larry.’
I reckon a family is a lot like a team. Perhaps it’s the original team. You’d think, wouldn’t you, that given his lemming-like qualities, Team-man would be just about the best sibling you could have? Do anything for you, for the family. Good theory, but wrong.
That word again – responsibility. I’d been hearing it so much lately. From my teachers, from my parents, from everybody. Because I was tall (was that my fault?) and I played footy […] I ended up with all this responsibility. It didn’t seem fair.
My poor Mum didn’t have any teeth. She’d gone into hospital and they’d taken them all out, every last one. It was because of us kids.
I’d never been to the Point […] Once Dazza and I decided we were going to do it. […] But then we started thinking about those stories they told in the front bar – wild Nungas with spears, boomerangs that come from nowhere and knock you senseless. We got scared and ran all the way back to the Port.
‘My own son a gutless wonder. A gutless fucking wonder.’
I rubbed my forehead. I’d never felt so ashamed in all my life.
It’s just a game of footy, Blacky. The team, the town, the glory – that’s all crap. What’s important is your life […] If you try to stop the Thumper, you’ll be killed. If not killed then crippled.
‘Then why’d you pass it?’
‘Dunno.’
‘C’mon, you must’ve had a reason.’
‘Cos Clemboy hadn’t had a kick all day.’
[…]
‘Christ, Dumby, I’ll never understand you blackfellas.’
‘And I’ll never understand you whitefellas.’
We both laughed.
‘BOONGS PISS OFF’ had been there for ages […] I wasn’t sure if Clarence had seen it, she didn’t say anything. Still, I didn’t feel comfortable. I felt guilty in some way. I hadn’t written it, but I hadn’t scratched it out either.
I could do the same, couldn’t I? Protest. Not by setting fire to myself. That was a bit over the top. I’d retire, that’s what I’d do […] I’d tell them why, too. Because you cheated Dumby out of his medal, you lousy bastards.
‘He’s a character ain’t he, that Tommy Red?’ said the old man, when he’d gone.
‘He sure is,’ said Slogs. ‘Pity there’s not more like him out there.’
‘Hey,’ said Big Mac. ‘Did ya hear the one about the boong and the priest?’
And they all laughed, all the regulars. Especially Slogsy. But I didn’t. I don’t know why, I’d laughed at the joke before. But tonight it didn’t seem so funny any more. And I knew it had to do with Dumby and Clarence and Tommy.
‘BOONGS PISS OFF’ was still there. Seeing it reminded me of the night of the grand final Do. I hadn’t seen Clarence since then. Dumby either. I was having second thoughts about my retirement […] And maybe I’d been wrong about the McRae Medal. Mark Arks had played really well. And that pass of Dumby’s was lunacy.
That’s exactly how everything looked after the shooting. That’s how I felt, too. Inside and outside. Grey and heavy, like lead, like a sinker. If they dropped me off the jetty I’d plummet straight to the bottom.
‘Yeah, the footy club. Are they doing anything for Dumby’s funeral? He was one of our players, wasn’t he?’
‘No, I don’t think so, Blacky. Sport’s one thing, this is another. It’s better not to get the two mixed up.’
But I knew Mike would still give Greg some good advice. Mike always gave good advice […] That’s why I hated ‘The Brady Bunch’ so much. It was unlike real life. My life anyway. Grown-ups didn’t solve problems, they made them.
In the distance I could see the jetty – a blurry line floating above the water. Maybe Pickles and Dazza were sitting at the anchor right now, looking toward the Point, telling each other stories they’d heard in the front bar. […] What had Dazza said? Play with fire and ya gunna get burnt. Maybe, Dazza, but not burnt to death.
Then it clicked. What Darcy had said earlier that day when I said they should paint over the graffiti – ‘I daresay they should.’ Now I understood what he meant. They should, but they couldn’t because there was no they. Well, maybe there was but they were too busy. […] They had no time, but I did.
‘And what does this graffiti say?’
I considered a slight deviation from the truth. I could say it said […] ‘BOB BLACK IS A BASTARD’. And all I was doing was protecting the good name of my father. No, that was too outlandish – I persevered with the truth.
‘Boongs piss off.’
I closed my eyes. Tomorrow there’d be hell to pay, but at that moment, down there at Bum Rock, my brothers and sisters around me, I was happy. Happier than a pig in mud. I was as happy as Larry.
