Page 32 of Fever Dream
“And then you’re straight back on the treatment table or ice baths or whatever Thornfield has you doing. You clear?”
“Crystal,” Casey nods.
“Alright then, scat. All of you,” Coach says, turning back to his computer screen with a finality I can only admire.
Casey is the first out the door but he waits in the hallway for me, eyes bright and radiating happiness. Ben and Tim depart in the opposition direction but Casey grips onto my wrist when I approach, pulling me along until we make it to the treatment room. As soon as we’re inside he shuts the door and pulls me into a hug, the kind of full bodied one that should not short circuit my brain the way it does.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he squeals, squeezing me so tight I can barely breathe. I take it all though, sliding my hand into his hair.
“That was all you, Case,” I tell him.
“Nope, Harry. That was you.”
He doesn’t let me go and I just hold him back as all the emotions of the past few weeks and months seep out of him. Gee he gives good hugs, the kind that you could wrap yourself up in forever.
He pulls back just slightly, eyes gleaming with emotion as he smiles up at me, that inch or two of height in my favour making him tip his head in a way I like more than I should.
“Don’t you have a Captain’s run to get to?” I chide, not wanting to let him go but needing space from him at the same time.
“Right. Yes. I absolutely do,” he grins. He takes a step back, fully separating himself from me and I miss him already.
“Well then, off you go,” I add, smacking him on the ass the way footballers all seem to love, whatever the code. He bites down on his lip again, I internally curse, and he leaves me with an open door and a full heart.
***
Game day at the East Coast Fever’s home ground—the Fever Pitch—is a very different experience to what I had observed in Melbourne last week. For a start, the stadium is far smaller with a capacity around the thirty-thousand mark as compared to a hundred thousand last week. It feels more like a suburban home ground than a modern-day colosseum.
But there is an electric buzz around the stadium, and I can only assume that is all due to the fact Casey Calloway will be running out for the first time in Fever colours.
The game is a sellout, the first time ever in the Fever’s four-year history. A third of those tickets were sold since Friday when Casey was named in the squad. If he’s feeling the pressure he doesn’t show it as I work on him in the rooms before the game. Despite the vastly different sporting code, this right here feels familiar—the buzz of the locker room, the strong scent of Deep Heat, the undertone of sweat.
Casey’s at ease, muscles relaxed and feeling good. He’s in the zone and focused in a way I haven’t seen of him before. I mean, Casey’s always focused on his goals. But this is different.
“Looking good, Callie,” I say as I tap his knee. He sends an amused smile my way at my use of his football nickname, but I feel like calling him Case or even Casey would stand out down here in the engine room.
Casey pulls himself up from the treatment bed, doing a few hamstring stretches as I watch. I’m about to give him my usual peptalk about taking it easy and not putting too much pressure on his adductor, focusing on those other muscle groups we’ve been honing these past few weeks. But I don’t. Casey knows this and I know he pays attention when I speak.
Instead, I lean closer and say, “You got this, Case.”
“I know,” he nods back, sharing the briefest of smiles with me before Mick Brabham calls the team to order. I watch him go, knowing our time together wrapped up in our little bubble is over. He’s part of the team again now, not just my little project. But this was what it was all about. Getting him back out on the field. Helping his new team to hopefully put a win on the board.
And if he does so happen to look extra fine in that navy and silver guernsey that shows off his sculpted biceps, and if his ass does look extra edible in those little navy shorts, well, that’s just the cherry on top.
Ben and I head up to the ground before the team to set up our sideline medic station, the club’s junior doc, Emma, atour side. The buzz is even more electric up here as I scan the sea of navy and silver supporters in the stands, sprinkled with the occasional orange and black of the visiting team, the Yarra Thunder, and I feel excitement stir in my stomach. The stadium’s signs are all lit up,Everybody’s got the Feverrunning across the electric boards in navy and silver swirls.
The Yarra Thunder are welcomed to the field with a smattering of cheers and a few boos but nothing like we experienced in Melbourne last week as the away team. It’s understandable a team this new hasn’t produced the passion of the teams with a century of history behind them.
And then a roar goes up as the Fever run out onto the pitch, pyrotechnics shooting white sparks on either side of the tunnel. Casey is right up the front beside James Langton as the Fever’s team song blares from the speakers.
The teams peel off for drills whileFeverplays out over the loudspeaker and I feel myself smiling. The game day crew deserve a lot of credit for making the most out of their home matches. The social media crew have been extra busy this week too, teasing the fans with snippets of Izak Devereux’s amazing goal scoring ability, Sonny Ingram’s tackles and Casey’s beautiful ball carrying skills.
Even I’m excited and that is something I had not expected to feel about a game of Australian rules football.
The game gets underway at the Fever Pitch and it’s the home side who claim first blood with a clean disposal into the fifty-metre arc kicked by none other than Casey Calloway. Vadra converts the first goal from a slight angle and the Fever Pitch goes off.
***
I have Casey on the treatment table the moment we’re down in the rooms at the half time break. The soft whimpers he’s making when I massage his adductor are not making me feel better at my decision to let him play. He lets out a deep groan when I press on a certain point.
