Page 122 of The No Try Zone
He drops me and clasps me on the shoulders as I take a breath. “Can’t wait to get you home to meet Mum – hope you don’t have plans after the season because we’re taking you to Melbourne.”
I look at him in confusion. “Ollie, what is happening right now?”
“You did the right thing is what’s happening,” he says, thwacking my back with far more enthusiasm than is strictly necessary. “And if my sister is happy, I’m happy.” Then he puts his hand on my neck and pulls me to him as he leans forward, dropping his voice. “And so help me if you hurt her again, I’ll feed you to crocodiles, yeah?” He leans back and slaps my back again, definitely harder than needed, and definitely on purpose. There’s a distinct, deadly serious gleam in his eye as he smiles at me. “Congratulations to the happy couple.”
“Thanks,” I tell him as I straighten, sincerely grateful for his protectiveness and only a little afraid for my life.
A few minutes later, we’re all loaded onto the bus and are en route to the stadium. It’s a quiet ride, and I’m grateful for the lack of drama even though I half wonder if Ansel and Ollie might have sent a message to the team. The majority of the guys wearing headphones or earbuds, listening to whatever music gets them most hyped and ready to play. I sit by myself, needing the ritual of reviewing our roster versus their roster and going over the plays we’ve worked on this week.
This entire season, I’ve spent the hours leading up to the match in a state of controlled panic. I’d never been like that with my college teams, and figured it was just a result of this being the pros. But as I look over the names written in pen on the spiral-bound notebook, touching each one as I think about the player and their strengths, and how to leverage those as best as possible today, I realize that I’m calm. My knees aren’t bouncing, my heart isn’t racing, and I haven’t reached for my ever-present lucky quarter, either.
Guess this is what happens when I stop trying to control everything.
Neesha and Sam peel away from the team as we walk into the stadium, the two of them heading for the pitch as the rest of us angle for the locker room. Chatter starts up as soon as we’re through the doors, the men pulling off their music and starting to get ready. Kit bags hit the floor, uniforms are pulled on, ears are taped up, knees are wrapped, socks are donned, boots are laced.
I stand off to the side with Ryan and Elliott as the guys toss the occasional glance my way, and I know they want me to say something about the press conference. But now isn’t the time. Instead, I discuss last-minute strategy while we have time. I’ll be up in the booth as always, and while I’ll talk to my assistant coaches through the headsets, my control is gone the second the game starts.
But this right here, the easy camaraderie of the team as they pull on their uniforms, tossing tape to each other to wrap up ears or knees or both, listening to the different accents as they all give each other shit, it might be my favorite part. All our work comes to fruition here, in this room. The smell of old sweat and cleats permeates the air, but we’re all so used to variations on it that no one notices.
Lennox approaches and jerks his head as he passes me. As much as I’d rather not, I feel like I owe it to him to follow.
“What’s up?” I ask when we’re in a corner away from the rest of the guys.
“Is it true?”
“Which part?”
“Kari. She’s head of PR now?”
I look thoughtfully at him. “That’s the goal. Why?”
He shrugs. “No reason.”
I’m confident his answer is bullshit. But there’s no need to press him.
“Ollie’s not being a prick,” Lennox observes, changing topics quickly.
“True,” I agree.
“It’s nice,” Lennox says.
“It is.”
“Saw the presser. That was good.”
“Thanks.” I suppress a laugh. “Are you – is everything okay?”
“Yeah!” He clears his throat. “Yes. Right. Well, thanks.” He nods and stalks back to the bench, picking up his boot and shoving his foot in with gusto.
Five minutes before we’re set to go onto the pitch, I step into the room and clap my hands for the guys’ attention.
“I hope your day has been less exciting than mine,” I begin, and a low laugh comes in response. “And I’ll give you the story later. But right now, we’re here to remind the Lights how we’ve already beaten them once this season. And we’re going to do it again. Right?”
A chorus of cheers answers me.
“Stay focused, remember the drills we’ve practiced, and keep possession of that ball.”
Ollie raises his hand.
