or a moment you struggle, but only for a moment. As those hot firm lips squelch onto yours you start to feel dizzy. The roar of the crowd gets fainter and fainter. ‘I wonder if Norths won or not,’ you think, then, as your arms hold Alex tighter and closer, you stop caring. You don’t know how long the kiss lasts but when the two of you finally separate the oval is in darkness, the crowd has gone home, and nothing but scraps of paper and empty cans remain as evidence that a game was played there.

‘I’m sorry,’ Alex says.

‘Sorry? What do you mean? That was great! Who cares about stupid old football?’

‘I’ve got a confession to make,’ Alex says.

‘Confession? How do you mean confession?’

‘Mikel told me what he’d done.’

‘Mikel?’

‘Mikel’s the little guy who made the deal with you about Norths winning for as long as you’re watching them.’

You stand there with your mouth open.

‘And,’ Alex continues, ‘I’m a Magpies supporter.’

You don’t say anything.

‘I tried to talk you into missing the games,’ Alex says.

You start to walk away.

‘I’m sorry,’ Alex says again, to your back.

Somehow you’re not surprised. Those Magpie supporters will stop at nothing.