Then Dad was whooping and hollering because when the ball hit the ground it kept going, head over heels, and rolled between the goalposts. Max had his first-ever points on the board. He stuck his hands in the air like footy players on TV and sprinted around the oval high-fiving the boys in his team. Callum gave him a bearhug, and the other Devils were leaping up and down because Max’s goal had put them in front. They were winning.

Back in the centre of the field, waiting for the umpire to do the ball-up, Max looked at Leon and saw a huge smile on his face. Leon wasn’t standing with Dad and Mum; he was off by himself on the opposite side of the field. Max didn’t blame him—Dad was embarrassing. Max would have liked it if Leon could be friends with his family and come over to dinner, but Dad was always saying stuff about Parkie with a sneer in his voice, so Max knew he didn’t like Leon. Max did, though: Leon was the best adult around.

Max was still thinking about Leon when someone kicked the footy down the field, and he was left behind again. Sometimes this game got at him. All the running was annoying. Back and forth. Up and down. He hated it when he ran out of breath, and he hoped the game would be over soon so he wouldn’t have to run anymore. Maybe Dad would buy him a sausage sandwich for being a football superstar. He deserved it, didn’t he? His first goal of the season!

Now he was scoring goals, he could see himself playing for Hawthorn or Essendon when he was grown up. One time he’d overhead Robbo say that Dad used to have loads of potential and could have gone all the way if he hadn’t busted up his knee. Whatever had happened to Dad’s knee must have been serious to stop him playing for one of the big-time teams in Melbourne. Maybe Max could go all the way too. Then he could earn tons of money and buy food for Rosie and the pups, and keep them forever. He could also pay for cigarettes and not have to nick them for Jaden. Life would be a whole lot easier. Max couldn’t wait to grow up.

He didn’t have much luck for the rest of the game, but that was okay because he’d done his bit by scoring the goal, and his team was still in front. There wasn’t much time left anyway. A few minutes later, the umpire blew his whistle, and it was over. They had won!

Max was glad to stop. He went up and shook Leon’s hand because it seemed like the proper thing to do, like the footy heroes who won the Brownlow Medal each year.

‘Great work,’ Leon said. ‘You kicked the winning goal.’