Greg had been so pleased with himself, and so bone-tired, he hadn’t thought about the boots for a while. Or if he had, it had been in a happy, fuzzy kind of way. He’d come to think of them as his. He couldn’t bear to think of having to give them back.
After Greg had had a sleep, he and his father turned on the TV to watch a replay of the Dockers– Roos game. Then it all came flooding back. He watched Toggo run onto the ground with a pair of boots which he knew were identical to his own — but not the same. The boots Greg had were special. There was just something about them that made you feel good, made you know you could play as well as you possibly could.
Greg and Nick had heard already that the Dockers had lost by five points. Greg hated knowing the scores before watching a replay, but the results had buzzed around the oval during his own match. He hadn’t been able to really concentrate on the Dockers just then, but now he could. All his attention was on the man in the number eight guernsey. Come on Toggo, boot a bundle. You show ’em, mate.
The Dockers started explosively as usual, even though the ground was wet and the ball got slippery very quickly. Toggo and Darryl Nannup both scored quick goals. Toggo’s was a straightforward kick, no big deal. But Dazza’s was amazing. He seemed to put a second bend in the banana.
The rain came pelting down then and the MCG was covered in sheets of water. Players were slipping and sliding everywhere, struggling to keep a grip on the ball and the ground. Even little Dazza lost his footing and skidded five metres on his back.
The Roos fought back with one goal one point. They were lifting their game and looked like they were going to run on with it. Even though he knew the Dockers had lost, Greg was getting nervous.
Then, suddenly, Toggo seemed to find something in himself. For ten minutes he had a dream run. He was in all the play, and everything he did came off in a big way. He took a screamer of a mark from the back of a pack and converted, no sweat. He soccered one off the ground that bounced the right way and scored a major. He grabbed possession in the left pocket and snapped one over his shoulder that went straight through. You could see he was really pleased with that one. He raised his fist in the air. Dazza ran up and slapped him on the back.
At quarter time the commentators were saying that Matt Tognolini was running into form. Greg hoped so. It’d give the armchair critics something else to talk about for awhile.
Toggo started strongly again in the second quarter. He seemed to be really firing. Greg was with him when he leapt high for a mark.
Whether it was the bad conditions, or the contact he made with the full-back going up against him, Toggo got off balance. His left leg took his weight awkwardly as he came down. He clutched the leg behind the knee, and took a couple of those awful hobbling steps that coaches and fans hate to see. They nearly always mean serious tendon damage.
‘Hamstring,’ ‘Hammy’, ‘Hamstring’ — Greg, Nick and the commentator all spoke at once.
Two Dockers runners were out to Toggo in a flash, and carried him off, supporting his weight between them. The cameras managed to get a close-up as they neared the race leading down into the players’ rooms. If the look of pain on Toggo’s face was anything to go by, he was in a lot of trouble.
The commentator seemed to think so. ‘Well, that’s very bad news for the Dockers. If it is a hamstring, Tognolini could be out for weeks. And he was just starting to get into his stride …’
‘It doesn’t look too good,’ said Nick. ‘Bad luck, eh? He was just getting it together.’
‘Yeah.’ Greg was stunned. He had an ache in the back of his throat. It was terrible bad luck. But maybe, if Toggo had been wearing the killer boots, if Greg had given them back, Toggo would be all right.
‘You’re real quiet, mate,’ Nick said.
Greg felt too sick inside to say anything.
‘It’s not the end of the world, you know,’ Nick went on. ‘These things happen in footy all the time. It’s not the first injury he’s had and it probably won’t be the last. He’ll be back before long.’
‘What’s up?’ Rowan asked from the doorway. Replays, even losing ones, didn’t usually involve this much doom and gloom on the old lounge.
‘Toggo’s injured. Hamstring,’ Greg told him.
‘Oh, tough.’ Rowan meant it. This wasn’t a time for crowing. It did cross his mind, though, that Toggo out of action was a plus for the Eagles. They were due to play the Dockers in a couple of weeks.
‘Yeah, tough.’ Greg stood up. ‘I think I’ve seen enough of the match, Dad. I’m going to muck around on the computer for a while.’
Greg went into the spare room and shut the door. He did a sound check. The TV was a faint buzz and the commentator’s voice was just a blur. Good. He couldn’t bear to take in a single word.
What Greg missed seeing and hearing was how the Dockers patchwork forward line-up really struggled. They tried their hearts out with Toggo gone, but it wasn’t good enough. There was a yawning void for a specialist full-forward.
Matt Tognolini, who’d watched the second half of the game from the interchange bench, saw it as clear as day. And he saw what the coach would have to do. Big Luke Vidovich wouldn’t be an emergency next week — he’d be in the team. And the position he’d be playing would be full-forward.
Alison was waiting for Matt at the airport. She’d seen the hamstring go in living colour. It had been terrible seeing the look on Matt’s face in close-up when she was five thousand kilometres away.
She’d spoken to him briefly on the phone, and he’d given her the verdict. The injury was bad as hamstrings went. Three weeks minimum, could be six. And then he’d need a week or two to get up to match fitness again. Even with swimming and upper body work, Fitzy would probably want him to have a run or two with South Fremantle in the local competition. Given his form this year, there’d be too much at risk for the coach to drop him straight back into the team. It looked like he could be on the sidelines for quite a while.
Toggo was rehashing this in his mind as he came through the airports sliding doors. Seeing Alison standing there lifted his mood a lot.
‘Come on,’ Alison said, after they’d hugged. ‘Dempsey’s waiting in my car.’
Dempsey went crazy when she saw Toggo. She was so happy to have him back, but she knew straightaway that something was badly wrong. And why was he limping? The sound she made in her throat was half pleasure, half concern. Which is about as complicated as it gets for a dog.