Page 69 of Fever Dream
This kind of attention is unprecedented for the Fever. The club is not used to generating much interest, especially from the behemoth that is the Melbourne based sports media. Every talkshow during the week is full of the tantalising prospect of Casey versus the Dragons, every newspaper article full of him. We can’t escape it. Not even here in Sydney which has seemed to catch on that the eyes of the AFL world are on us this week.
The club is keen to capitalise on the enormous interest the game is generating whilst also being mindful of protecting Casey from the media circus. His quiet game in Perth last weekend is only adding to the pressure weighing down his shoulders.
As for Casey, he is trying his hardest to treat the coming week like any other game, blocking out the press buzz, implementing his own media blackout for the week. Except I know my Casey and I can see the tension in his shoulders, feel it when I treat him with just that extra special care this week. But his focus is never in doubt and this week seems to have taken it to new extremes.
I do my best for him, to try and be that safe, quiet place he needs me to be. He doesn’t bring up the game once that week and I follow his lead. Even if he does cling on that little bit tighter when we fall asleep at night.
I have never been more nervous when I wake up on Saturday morning on game day. Kick-off is scheduled for seven o’clock tonight which means we have an entire day of nerves to battle. I slept at home last night to give Casey space to prepare but I call him first thing, pretending it’s just a casual check in. He pretends just as easily about how totally fine he is.
“Case?” I ask, waiting a beat. “You want me there?”
“Yeah. If that’s okay,” he says.
“Of course it’s okay,” I assure him, already out the door.
There’s an obvious buzz and energy to the locker room when we arrive later that afternoon after a day spent with Casey. We came early because he wanted to avoid the media that has already started lining up outside the club rooms. He looks good—focused, fit and ready. The nerves are there too but he’s in the zone, mentally ready for tonight.
The sounds of Eminem’sLose Yourselfpulse throughout the room as the boys prepare to take the field. I watch Casey the whole time. His energy is dynamic, almost a living thing, and I can see he’s bringing the team along with him for the ride. They want this as much for him as they want it for the team.
We follow the boys out into the stadium where the energy is even more electric. I know I haven’t been with this team all that long but I have never experienced anything like this at the Fever Pitch. The whole place has come alive for this event and the place is pumping. Huge numbers of Dragons fans have driven or flown up from Melbourne and the stadium is awash in competing patches of the Fever’s navy and silver and the Dragon’s black and blue.
It's the biggest club in the league versus the smallest but you wouldn’t know it with the hype surrounding this game. We have the primetime slot with the national broadcaster, something that rarely happens for the Fever. This game is huge, and we all know it.
Casey’s face flashes up on the big screen and the boos from the Dragon’s supporters are swiftly drowned out by the cheers from the local fans. Casey barely notices, eyes only for the pre-match drill with the midfield line.
My heart is in my throat as the siren blares for the start of the game. I can’t take my eyes off Casey as he jogs out to the centre square. Our first indication of how this game is about to play out comes when two Dragons players shoulder-check him on his way to his position. He doesn't flinch, completely unphased as he settles into place.
The game starts and several things become immediately apparent. One, this crowd is louder than I have ever heard at the Fever Pitch. Two, Casey is on song. And three, the Dragons are out for blood. I have to turn away from the game after Casey is checked to the ground for the fourth time in as many minutes,a chorus of boos from the Dragon’s supporters resounding the stadium every time he goes near the ball. They’re clearly here to remind Casey of the perceived betrayal when he left the club.
The only upshot to the game is that the Dragons seem more focused on extracting revenge on Casey, and as a result their game is sloppy and undisciplined, creating opportunities for their public enemy to create something out of nothing. And because Casey has committed his entire week to working with Coach on shaking the tagger that is trailing after him, he becomes almost unstoppable out there. If the game wasn’t so violent, and Casey wasn’t their prime target, I’d be loving every second of it.
But there are so many off the ball hits on Casey that I feel patently sick watching it all unfold. His Fever teammates have his back though and it is encouraging to see the way they rally around him.
The game becomes an ugly defensive stoush, saved only by moments of Casey Calloway brilliance as he grabs the game by the scruff of the neck and drags his teammates along with him.
The hit comes at the start of the third quarter. The Dragons are up by a measly four points, but the Fever are holding on and it’s mostly due to Casey. He has the ball on the left flank. He takes one bounce, then two as he eyes up the leads in the forward line. He sees Izak and he launches the ball his way. The kick is perfect but the late hip and shoulder from a wayward Dragon takes Casey out and he hits the ground.
I am on my feet in an instant, heart plunging to the ground as the crowd responds to the late hit, boos resounding around the stadium. The umpire signals a fifty-metre penalty, but Casey hasn’t moved. I feel the world stop spinning as I watch on helplessly, unable to respond the way I should as Tim and Ben rush onto the ground. I am frozen, time suspended as dread claws at my stomach.
I feel movement at my side, a hand on my elbow as I try to remember how to breathe.
“He’s alright,” Sonny says, voice soothing. I barely notice him, didn’t even realise he was on the bench. “See? He’s moving.”
Sonny’s right. Casey is moving on the ground, pulling himself up to sitting as Ben and Tim work on him. Something unclenches in my chest, and I take in a breath of air. There’s no way he’s playing on after a hit like that. The medics get him to his feet and Casey accepts their help to walk off the field. The crowd cheers and claps for him as he comes from the ground, the fallen hero. Even the Dragon’s supporters have fallen silent. They know that was an unsportsmanlike late hit to take out the game’s best player.
Casey makes it to the sideline, and I can see for myself that he is okay. Well, he’s standing at least but I still feel cast adrift, untethered.
“Thornfield,” Tim calls, nodding his head to follow as he and Ben lead Casey straight down to the rooms. I don’t hesitate, rushing after him as the play slowly starts up again on the oval.
I follow behind, watching as Tim sits Casey up on a treatment bed. It’s like all my years of medical knowledge has been wiped clear from my mind. I’m helpless as I hover beside Tim, eyes on Casey and a pounding deep in my chest that won’t go away.
Ben has the monitor up, watching the hit in slow motion, checking for signs of impact to the head. I can’t watch. I feel sick.
“No impact seizure,” Ben is saying as he hits the replay on the hit, viewing it from all available angles. I look away, attention on Casey to see him watching me, half smile on his face like he’s trying to comfortme.
“Protection action taken but lack of motion after the hit,” Ben adds.
“That’s because I was winded,” Casey tells him. “There was no knock to the head.”
