‘You nervous?’ Jamila asked me on grand final morning as we walked around the park, holding hands. She had woven pink streamers through her hair. ‘Go F Team!’
While Hunter and his team had the luxury of focusing only on the grand final, we still had the review for our school in a few weeks. There was still a lot to be done and we needed all the help we could get.
The last of the old chairs and tables were emptied from the school and the bars from windows had finally been removed. Our seniors stayed back, scrubbing and cleaning the walls, ready for new paint. The juniors went around and scraped chewing gum off the benches while the inbetweeners hosed down the bathrooms.
The photoshoot we had with Maxine early last term was printed on different-sized murals around our school. She had personally delivered them, which was a good chance for us to apologise for the way we treated her.
‘We’re actually not bad people, I promise,’ Ibby said, dressed in his apron. ‘But we sometimes say dumb things and we’re sorry for being disrespectful.’ He then gave her a small tray of Lebanese desserts he had made in our school kitchen.
There was something in the air now that made us feel a little more worthy, especially since so many people from our families and the community came and helped in whichever way they could. My dad talked to the boys, trying to give them advice about jobs, while Abdul and Saff helped unload some new computers into the library. New carpet was installed and the shelves started to fill with books that Feda and others had covered in plastic. Mum had brought over the Arab Orchestra to help her and the P&C with the school gardens. Uncle Charlie parked his ice-cream truck outside of the grounds and sold heaps of honey jars, donating the proceeds back to our school.
I laced up a pair of brand-new footy boots that had been left on my bed by Feda with the note, ‘Good luck, you brat!’ I ran a few laps to try to clear my mind and relax before the boys arrived. Jamila sat back on the little hill and waved her ‘F Team’ flag when I passed her.
Huss, PJ and Ibby arrived and got straight into running laps, each with their music in their ears. Mr Archie and Mr Ahmed came with Aaron and the Cronulla boys, and a couple of boxes. We stretched and warmed up with our usual drills followed by a run-through of the game plan we had against Team A.
‘The best type of revenge is success,’ Mr Archie reminded us. ‘Put all your energy and focus into this game and not the nonsense off the field.’
Hunter’s team stepped out of their gleaming coach, headphones and sunnies on, all carrying the same red Nike training bags like they were some professional team.
Mr Ahmed threw the ball at PJ’s head. ‘Concentrate.’
‘Sir! You always do that when I’m not looking.’
‘We have a surprise for you lads,’ Mr Archie announced. They opened the boxes to reveal our new pink-and-white jerseys, with our own F TEAM logo, and matching black shorts.
We put on the new jerseys, ready for the team photo, as the crowd began to arrive. I knew Uncle Charlie was here because I heard the ice-cream truck music from down the street. I also knew my family was here, because the smell of kefta on a barbecue filled the air.
The boys from our school arrived in style, with big drums and Arabic music pumping. Some Sharks and Bulldogs players had come and headed straight over to the food. Mr Bennett from Cronulla came not only with the girls’ rugby teams, but busloads of students, too.
Aaron’s mum had come and sat next to my mum, even though her white friends had saved her a seat on the other side. It was a small gesture, but the smile on Aaron’s face told me that it meant the world.
I could feel knots in my stomach as Hunter and his team stood only metres away, taking their official team photo. You could cut the tension with a knife as we waited to take ours, except Riley was missing.
‘Where is he?’ I asked, looking through the crowd. ‘He was just here a minute ago.’
‘He went to the toilet,’ Huss said. ‘He should be back by now.’
And then Riley walked out to a loud cheer.
‘No way, bro!’ Ibby pointed.
Riley, for the first time, wore no headgear, confident enough now to show his white hair. PJ picked him up and held him on his back, hollering and spinning him a few times until Riley’s face was as white as his hair.
‘He’s gonna vomit, ya hayawan,’ Ibby said, trying to help Riley down. ‘His hair will turn whiter.’
Matt stared at him. ‘Really, dude? Whiter?’
‘That’s like saying one day you’ll stop eating,’ Lee said, fixing his glasses. ‘Both things are impossible.’
With three minutes to kick-off, I took one last look at Jamila, who waved and smiled. It was weird seeing her only a few metres away from my mum, who I’m sure if she found out about us, would turn this place into my wedding venue.
Our photo had been taken and now both teams stood face to face, ready to shake hands. As we walked down the line, not only did the A Team barely shake our hands, they mumbled threats under their breath, trying to get under our skin.
We formed one last huddle with Mr Archie and Mr Ahmed before kick-off.
‘This is it, lads,’ Mr Archie said with his arm around Aaron and me. ‘I couldn’t care less if you win or lose, just go out there and do your best.’
We stared at him in disgust.
‘Really, sir?’ Ibby said. ‘You don’t care if we win or lose?’
Mr Archie rolled his eyes. ‘Okay, I’d prefer you to win but I’m serious. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come and the unbreakable brotherhood you’ve formed. You’ve exceeded all our expectations and have set the bar so high.’
‘You go out and show everyone how good you really are,’ Mr Ahmed shouted, geeing us up. ‘No matter how hard they try to break us down, we’re going to rise up each and every single time. Why? Cos we’re the F Team!’
We cheered and hollered, ready to rock and roll.
Mr Archie held out his hand. ‘Alright, lads, hands in, after three. One, two –’
‘The F Team,’ Lee shouted again.
‘No, it’s after three,’ Mr Archie explained.
‘Oh, sorry.’
Mr Archie tried again. ‘Okay. One, two –’
‘The F Team!’ Lee shouted.
Ibby threw the ball on the ground. ‘Ya Allah! AFTER three!’
PJ shook his head in disbelief. ‘A genius, but can’t count to three.’
Aaron and I nodded to each other, ready for the game of our lives. The referee blew the whistle and the crowd cheered as PJ ran hard towards their line. The booming impact made PJ lose the ball in the first thirty seconds.
Well that was an anticlimax.
Hunter high-fived his team mates. ‘That’s just a little taste of what you’re in for.’
They had the ball twenty metres out, but their first set play saw Hunter kick the ball dead because of our solid defence. They had a few more set plays and for a while it felt like all we were doing was defending, until Riley found some space. He ran down through the middle with Lee in support and once he passed the ball, we knew no one was going to catch Lee. I could hear the drums get louder as he got closer to the line and scored.
6–0.
We had a few more opportunities to score in the first half, but that was it. They never lost focus and came at us stronger than ever. PJ tried his hardest to control his anger but another dropped ball had him being called things like butter fingers or coconut by the other team, which only made him play worse. Aaron and I tried to calm him down as the ref warned Hunter’s team to keep it civil.
They produced one of their set plays that saw a kick hit the post and bounce back into play. Hunter picked it up and scored under the posts. He slammed the ball into the ground like he was King Kong.
‘Isn’t he too short to do that?’ Ibby said, trying to catch his breath. ‘Boys, we need to stick to our game plan,’ I reminded them as we waited for the other side to convert. ‘It doesn’t matter if we make mistakes, we need to forget about them.’
PJ’s back was towards me and no matter how much Aaron or the boys spoke to him, he was at the point where we needed to let him be.
6–6.
Hunter’s team dominated the rest of the half and held onto most of the possession. Aaron and I were their main targets, attacking and rushing in when we needed to kick, which only put more pressure on us. Their repeat sets and offloads killed us and their fifth tackle options always saw them get the ball back. Mr Archie and Mr Ahmed shook their heads in disbelief. The crowd was quiet now. It wasn’t like they were playing the best footy, it was just that we couldn’t get ourselves to complete the sets without dropping the ball. Huss and Riley tried a few strategies, but they fell short of the try line. To make things worse, Hunter’s team was awarded a penalty right on the half-time whistle.
14–6.
We sat on the bench, trying to catch our breath. Mr Archie talked us through the set plays while Mr Ahmed finally managed to get PJ to calm down. ‘Make your family proud and remember that our school needs this more than anything else.’
They were playing some quick footy and it was hard to gain any momentum because of our unforced errors.
‘Lads, it’s only 14–6,’ Mr Archie said, handing out some water. ‘Get back to basics and hold onto the ball.’
Mr Ahmed looked at Aaron and me. ‘I need more from both of you. You need to take control and do what you were doing in training.’
‘It’s hard,’ Aaron said, shaking his head. ‘We’re trying, but the ball keeps getting dropped.’
PJ stood up. ‘Boys, I’m sorry. I’m back now.’
‘You sure?’ I asked.
‘Just watch me.’
Second half.
I knew what I needed to do. The wind picked up, with some light rain falling onto the oval as I kicked the ball high into the air. It swayed from side to side until Scott caught it for the A Team.
‘Keep them up high,’ Huss said, running beside me. ‘The winds are getting stronger. They won’t be able to catch them for much longer.’
Hunter’s team ran hard and strong, wanting to score first. They gained some metres, but a heavy tackle by PJ saw them make their first mistake. PJ and Ibby jumped in the air in celebration before breaking out into a little dance.
We broke out of the scrum and Aaron made a run across field. Riley, being first receiver, passed it to Huss who then passed it on the inside to Ibby. Huss broke their defence and managed to get an arm free, offloading the ball to Matt, who ran through the middle to score beside the posts.
Huss converted. 14–12.
We went back and forth with our defence, each team giving everything they had. The referee warned Hunter’s team, threatening that a penalty would come our way if they didn’t stay onside. And it didn’t take long before we got one. I wanted to give the boys a break, so I called for Huss to take the two points.
14–14.
We were now even and time was ticking. The rain fell a little heavier and the winds were a little stronger but that didn’t stop the drums from beating or our parents yelling out from the sidelines. Hunter and his team had the ball thirty metres out and looked dangerous. I called out to the boys, reminding them to mark their man. They pushed through our defence with their short balls and constant offloads until they got over the line, near the corner post.
They missed the kick. 18–14.
Mr Archie signalled to me the time we had left. If we were going to do something, we needed to do it now. I could see the boys felt tired and broken, knowing how hard we defended to still be down one try. Hunter and his team boasted as though they had already won, unaware of what was about to come. I knew if we continued with our set plays, we’d eventually get over the line.
And we did.
Aaron caught a high ball that I put up and scored, just inside the corner post. We heard his mum yell so loud that we actually stopped to see what was going on. All the pressure was on Huss to make the kick. He took a couple of breaths, looked up at the posts and stepped back, only to have the wind push the ball so it just missed the target.
18–18.
Golden point.
We were given a five-minute break before we had to head back. Hunter and his team argued while we organised ourselves. Through all the cheering and noise, one thing calmed my nerves.
The sight of Jamila.
She smiled with her hands close to her heart, clenching her fists. I stared at her until my heart beat normally again and my thoughts became clearer.
Mr Archie called for us with only two minutes left. ‘Lads, I believe you can do this. You owe it to each other. You owe it to your brothers.’
The referee blew the whistle and we wasted no time tackling hard. Even though our muscles were sore and we had no energy left, we didn’t let them gain many metres. On their fifth tackle, they kicked it high in the air, making it difficult for Huss to catch the ball. We all held our hearts in our mouths as the ball landed safely in his arms.
The crowd cheered.
All we had to do was hold onto the ball and gain as many metres as possible to have a decent attempt at a field goal. I knew if we wanted metres that Lee was the guy to do it. Riley passed the ball to PJ who barged through, freeing his hand and offloading to Lee who was in support. He made a break but not enough to get us in a good position for an easy field goal attempt. I knew that all of Hunter’s team was going to rush forward when I had the ball since it was our last tackle.
Riley passed the ball to me. I stared up at the shaky posts. It was too risky. If the posts were shaking about, then there was no way the ball was going to keep its line. I turned to Aaron, who read my mind. While everyone thought I was going to kick for the posts, I dummied and chipped the ball over Hunter’s head. It bounced just enough for Aaron to sprint through, pick up the ball and dive between the posts.
The crowd jumped in joy and drums beat until the ground shook.
Aaron ran and tackled me to the ground, celebrating our win against the A Team. The boys jumped in, as well as Mr Archie and Mr Ahmed. We cheered and rejoiced until the referee blew his whistle and made it official that we, the F Team, had won the grand final.
We turned to see Hunter’s team lying on the ground, shattered they had lost. We walked over and shook their hands, even offering to help them up. Some accepted, some didn’t, but at that point, we didn’t care because we were the champions.
Elias and Johnny ran onto the field with their camera and recorded the celebrations. The Bulldogs players congratulated us and presented us with the trophy. Aaron and I held it up to a roar from the crowd. Dad waddled up and hugged me, shouting to a bunch of media that I couldn’t possibly be a terrorist if I was this good at footy. And if that wasn’t emotional enough, Huss’s mum had brought Big Haji, who waited by the trees in her new wheelchair. Huss ran up and fell to his knees, kissing her hands. We all huddled around him until she knocked him on the head with her stick, telling him to stop crying and be a man.
I wanted to hug Jamila but not with my family still around. I knew I’d see her later without the stress of the comp on my shoulders.
I celebrated with the boys and hugged Huss one more time. ‘If I ever turn my back on you, do me a favour and punch me.’
‘And if I ever sell you boys out again, do me a favour and knock me out, too.’
Aaron and the boys joined us for one last group huddle. The atmosphere was electric. I couldn’t believe that it was finally over.
We were now more than a team, we were brothers.