We arrived just as our footy coach was calling the team for a final word.

He scowled at Jack and me. Bubba still hadn’t arrived.

‘You’re late,’ he barked at us. ‘Stretch!’

‘Mr T, when does the game start?’ asked one of the players.

‘In ten minutes. Now listen up, boys. It’s a must-win game, this one. Perhaps even a chance for some good percentage. We might talk about that at half-time. I want the centre corridor used as much as possible. Keep it moving and kick the ball long to Travis and Richard, okay?’

That was Fisk and Mazis. The two of them could tear apart any defence, I was sure of it. I’d been watching them during lunchtimes, marking, kicking and generally mucking around with a football.

Like the other Legend sports, we were going to get points in three different areas of the game. With football, there was the traditional quiz, the skills sessions and the games themselves.

Mr T (I don’t think anyone could pronounce his surname) had put up pretty detailed rules on the Legends noticeboard. The main thing to remember was that any points you got in this first game, against Scornly, would only count for one point each. They were worth twice as many in our next game, and then three times as much in the final game. You needed to play well to stay in the team. Very well.

I was playing on the halfback flank. Bubba was up in the forward pocket, with Jack in the centre.

There were a lot of people about. Most of the classes had come out for a look, as well as plenty of parents. There was also a group of kids in ties and blazers, all in a tight bunch. Jack told me later that they were kids and teachers from Ascot College, checking out our form.

I wondered if any of the Wetherhoods were about. Maybe they were too busy spray-painting trains or robbing little old ladies or something.

We got on top pretty early, with Richard Mazis pulling in two massive grabs in the first quarter and kicking two big goals from centre half-forward. Both Jack and I were getting a few touches. By half-time, Sandhurst had a 23 point lead.

Mr T came over to me as I took a long drink of water.

‘You’ve got good skills, Mitchell. I want to see you run off your line a bit this quarter and give us some drive through the middle. Take a few risks, all right?’

I nodded, excited by these instructions. I had been playing defensively, not allowing my opponent to get too involved in the game.

I charged into the middle as the ball was being thrown up for the start of the third quarter. Big Jimmy Paisley had possession of the ball. I screamed for it. I was open and in space. He handballed it neatly over their rover and I charged off, dodging one player, then another. I took a bounce and looked up. Fisk was charging at me, yelling for it. I noticed Bubba, way down near the point post, and went for him instead.

Bubba marked the pass on his chest, but the angle for his shot on goal was almost impossible. He missed.

I snuck a look at Fisk. He was staring at me, seething. He didn’t say anything. He looked around, then raced across to pick up a player.

In a moment, there was a runner, one of the kids not involved in the Legends competition, by my side.

‘Coach says nice run, but terrible option. Do that again, and you’re off.’ He looked at me. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, and raced off.

I looked over at the coach, but he wasn’t looking at me. It had been a dumb decision. I had to redeem myself.

The pattern of the game continued. I got a few more chances to deliver the ball into the forward line and twice managed to hit Fisk on the chest for two easy marks and two easy goals. Bubba got his chance too. With the last kick of the game, he plonked through a goal after being given a handball from Fisk. Fisk probably could have kicked the goal himself, but Bubba was alone in the goal square, and only had to turn around and dribble the ball through for a goal.

We ended up winning by 37 points. Amidst all the backslapping and stuff at the end of the game, I walked up to Fisk.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Stupid pass. Split-second decision, you know.’

He looked at me, shaking his head. ‘No, it wasn’t, Grady,’ he said. ‘If you’d made a split-second decision, you would have passed it to me, because you’ve got a football brain. You would have done it automatically.’ Fisk stood, only a metre from me, pulling at some strapping on his right shoulder. He was yanking it hard. ‘Instead, you thought too long. You thought of your lonely, fat friend, kickless for a whole half, and decided to give him a turn. Mr T would have smashed your head in if we’d lost by a few points.’

For a moment he moved forward, threatening, his face only centimetres from mine.

‘That’s enough, Travis,’ said Mr T. Fisk sauntered off. I stood there, fuming, staring at his back.

‘I don’t need to say anything, do I? Your decision-making has to be for the team. Cross that white line there and you leave everything else behind, right?’

‘Yes, Mr T,’ I said, looking him in the eye. He returned my gaze.

‘You’re a very good footballer, Mitchell. That 35-metre pass hit the target on the chest, and you were moving pretty fast yourself.’

‘Was I at top speed, when I took it?’ Bubba had appeared from nowhere.

We both looked at Bubba.

‘Well, you were moving faster than the point post,’ laughed Jack from behind us. ‘Hey, let’s go see how the girls are going,’ he suggested.

‘Remember what I said, Mitchell,’ said Mr T as we grabbed our gear.

We stopped at the netball on our way back to the change rooms.

There were two games in progress, both against Scornly. Next year there was going to be football for girls and netball for boys, depending on the numbers.

‘I think it’s an A and a B team,’ said Jack.

Luci, Rebecca and Mia were playing in the same team, and it was the gun team. Luci and Mia were playing in the goals. Mia was working hard up the court while Luci seemed to be doing the bulk of the scoring. If the ball got through, Becky was there in defence to mop up and clear it away. Then there was Corinne, the goalkeeper. She was so tall she could have slam-dunked a goal, except that she was in defence.

They looked like a good team for sure, and the scoreboard confirmed it. When we left, they were leading by 11 goals, or points (I better ask Luci which), and it was still the third quarter.

Bryce had given Mr T his goal umpire’s white coat and flags and was now trying to convince us to miss the pie night and traditional speech from Mr T about the Legend of Football month. Bryce was keen for us to go back into the library to investigate and study the plans. But we were having none of it. Jack and I wanted to hear the speech, and Bubba was hanging out for a pie – or three!