Just before kick-off time, the men performed their final stretches. Then the umpire tramped onto the field. Leon was exiled to the bench, of course. Usually eighteen players were on the field and four on the interchange bench, and the coach subbed players on and off for a breather. Today, however, Leon was the only one on the interchange for his team, so they were seriously down on numbers and needed him more than they were letting on. He sat alone, perched on a plastic chair, telling himself that the best way to break into a town like this was through sport. Problem was, he could end up here for the whole game. He suspected Robbo would only use him if they were desperate. And if they let him on the field, he would have to pull out something spectacular, like walk on water. But he was up for it. He just had to stick it out.

The siren sounded, the umpire bounced the ball and the game was on. From the start it was brutal, neither side taking any prisoners. Robbo shouted and swore from the boundary, brandishing his fist at the opposition, the umpire, even his own team. Bodies thumped and clashed, men sweated and cursed, and everyone grovelled after that slippery mud-coated ball. Even though it looked like war, Leon couldn’t wait to get out there. But as the minutes ticked by and his body cooled down, he realised he was just another spectator. He tried to convince himself it wasn’t much of a game anyway, more like rugby than footy—a form of legalised murder. He didn’t want to be killed or put in a wheelchair or smashed to a pulp. But excuses didn’t make him feel better; there was no glory to be had on the sidelines.

At quarter time the men huddled on the field, bending over with hands propped on knees while Robbo yelled at them. They slugged from water bottles passed round by Shane, and jiggled their mouthguards and spat on the ground. Leon stood beside them and stretched, but he felt too clean. The men wore their mud and scrapes like badges of honour.

The second quarter was even rougher, and when the other team pulled ahead, the local crowd hissed and booed. At halftime, in the clubroom, Robbo roared at the men to start scoring goals. They glared at Leon in his clean blue shorts; they didn’t understand how much he would give to get dirty.