I Thought You Were A Cushion

Knacker and Shaun edged carefully through the door.

"Pleased to meet you Mr Ryan," said Jimmy in his best tone.

"You too son, glad to make your acquaintance," the gruff coach replied.

Shaun shook Jimmy's hand limply and muttered his hellos. He looked around the Commission flat. There was a tiny black and white telly perched on a milk crate in the corner of the living room. And a coffee table that looked it had come from out the back of the St Vinnies shop. Jesus.

"Come through guys, come through to my room, meet my best mate Ringo!" Jimmy urged.

The two men did as they were instructed.

Jimmy closed the door behind them quickly.

"Sorry about that but I needed to get you in here quickly before Mum tried to hit you up for money," he said.

Knacker looked around for somewhere to sit that wasn't the young bloke's bed. Never sit on another man's bed. It was a rule of his. You never knew what he'd been up to in it. Finally, he saw a beaten up old armchair in the corner and plumped for that.

He sat down on Ringo, who immediately let out a sharp yelp.

"Jesus, sorry son, didn't see you there. I thought you were a cushion!" Knacker exclaimed.

Ringo drew himself up to his full four foot four and reached for the enormous dragon shaped bong that was sitting on the windowsill and smoked the pot contained within with a flourish.

As he breathed the smoke out with force he said:

"No Knacker, I'm not a fucken cushion. I'm Ringo."

Shaun had taken a seat on the bed - obviously not following Ryan's dictum - on the bed next to Jimmy.

"Let's cut to the chase. Jimmy, you're a gun footballer. I know it, Knacker knows it, maybe even Ringo here knows it. We want you to get fit, we'll draft you, play for the Wombats next year."

There. He'd said it.

"What?" said Jimmy.

Knacker took up the cudgel, waving away the remnants of Ringo's bong.

"You. Play for the Wombats. For me. Inside outside mid. Your left foot. Hitting blokes tits high laces out."

Jimmy didn't look convinced. He shook his head, reached for the bong. Knacker intercepted and grabbed his wrist.

"Look son, I've got young fellas beating down my door for the sniff of a chance to try out for a hope of being drafted. In the big league. Now I'm giving you that chance here and now. Boys out there would bite off their left nut for this," he said with all the grandeur he could muster.

"How?"

Ringo.

"What?" said Knacker.

"How would they bite their nuts off?"

"They’re prime athletes son, they’re flexible. Now stop interrupting. Jimmy, yes or no. Do you want to do it. This is one night only offer."

Knacker let it hang.

Jimmy ummed and ahhed.

"Um, ah."

To the surprise of everyone in the room, it was Ringo who spoke.

"You should Jim! You should bloody listen to Mr. Ryan. Remember that time when your Mum’s boyfriend gave us that thousand bucks to piss off for the weekend and we went to Adelaide and watched the Wombats play? Remember that? And remember how we kicked that goal in the last minute and we beat the dirty bastards by a point and they all went mental and that bloke threw a golf ball at me? You could do that Jimmo, you could."

Jimmy considered then slowly said yes, like he'd always known he would.

"Good," said Shaun, "We'll be back with the forms tomorrow."

"Not so fast," said Knacker, "He has to pass a test first."

"What test?" asked Jimmy.

"Don't worry son, you'll pass it, I know you will. Now put this blindfold on."

Jimmy looked understandably hesitant.

"Come on son, its not like me and Shaun are gunna drive you down the docks and rape you."

Jimmy shot a glance at Shaun.

"He's right. We're not going to rape you."

It wasn't how he would have done it, but then, he'd said he'd leave the motivational stuff to Knacker.

"OK then."

Jimmy stood up and Knacker quickly wound an official Wombats tie around his eyes.

"Can I come too," squeaked Ringo, obviously only now feeling the full effect of the giant bong he'd just smoked.

Knacker looked at Shaun. Shaun looked at Jimmy. Jimmy looked at the back of the blindfold.

"If you must then," sighed Knacker.

And the four men, Wombats one and all, headed out the door and away through the living room, past Jimmy's mother who was licking a bit of tin foil, and out into the unutterable and mysterious Melbourne night.