The MCG
(Melbourne Cricket Ground), AUSTRALIA.
N
o matter what, Ward wasn’t going to let Sheldon win—not today. His palms curled into fists as Ward ignored Sheldon’s side-smirk and focused on the prize.
Amid the deafening roar of over ninety thousand spectators, men battled like fighters in a modern-day Colosseum. The crowd’s passion reverberated through Ward’s body, energising him.
He shouldered into position amongst the mash of uniforms, getting elbowed by other players while striving for possession of their talisman, the Sherrin. Slick with sweat, Ward stole the red leather ball from another man’s hands. He burst through the scuffle, bounced the ball against the manicured turf, and with an almighty boom of thunder that echoed from his boot to ball, it sailed through sombre skies.
Ward trailed its projection as players jostled for the best position. Open palms begged to receive the gift, but it was captured in a vice-like grip by his tall-timber teammate, Nick.
Ward pulled up his Saints’ game-day socks, glancing at the rest of his teammates. He led the arrow-head wave of warring males back into position, as they regained their breaths ready to battle the Magpies as soon as the ball broke free.
Two teams. Eighteen men on-field, while four waited like chained fighting dogs ready to pounce from the bench, all bearing the battle-weight upon their shoulders. They would do this. For their teammates, for the club, for the fans, and for the dream of becoming Australia’s finest.
Scents of rain and mashed grasses mixed with meat pies, beer, and wet wool, filtered down from the over-full stands. Thunder rolled like a wooden whiskey barrel across a stone floor, spilling rain in bucket loads that drenched cowering crowds. An icy wind whipped through the stadium, but nothing would disrupt the Grand Final replay.
The ball slippery. The ground an ice rink, and visibility was reduced. But the warriors remained and fought amongst the sweat, tears, and mud.
Again, there was the rush into the mud-pit to gain possession as they soldiered on, thrashing it out for the umpire’s centre bounce of the ball. The ruck-men punched at the Sherrin that ricocheted higher and further along the field.
Ward leaped onto a team player’s back for elevation as his stretched fingertips grazed the leathered jewel twirling in the rain.
Sheldon mirrored Ward’s action, clambering over another player, vying for the ball.
Ward’s human step ladder slipped in the sludge and the floor beneath Ward was gone. He pushed off, gaining for leverage while still reaching for that ball. All that mattered was getting possession of that damned ball. Blinded by tunnel vision, he didn’t see it coming.
Ward and Sheldon collided, spearing into each other mid-air. Head to head. Shoulder to shoulder. The pain blinded Ward as gravity pushed him crown first to earth.
And there his world stopped.
Knocked unconscious, his body twitched as if lying on a watery bed of electrified grass. Then he finally stilled beside Sheldon.
The ball bounced twice, then rolled to a stop in the puddle between the two players.
Nobody moved. A collective gasp came from the crowd. Everyone waited for a sign of life from either of the motionless men sprawled across the grass beneath the pouring rain…
Because it looked like they’d broken their necks!