It was a long season. There were a few more moments as it played out, but only a few. The last vestige from a stolen wealth of talent. He was making up the numbers, and he knew it. Still, he played the year with an extra jumper under his guernsey and a smile under his headgear.
As we walked off the field after losing our last game, which had been our first final, I suggested we make ourselves scarce in a pubwards direction to celebrate, well, everything really. He smiled and looked over my shoulder, where Naomi was waiting for him. “Nah, mate” - he waggled his translucent eyebrows - “I gotta date.”
He held out his hand to shake mine and, as he walked away, he paused, turned and thanked me heaps for helping him with the footy — he’d loved it, every bit of it. I watched him clasp Naomi’s hand.
“Um, yeah,” I said. “No worries.”
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