Sidelines, page 8
Katerina lies on the bed, arms folded behind her head, staring at the ceiling. Zorro springs onto her stomach and makes himself comfortable.
With five minutes to go, Katerina finally rises and gets dressed. Her hair is a crow’s nest, but she refuses to brush it.
On the way out of the house, Carmen grabs a sesame ring for her to eat in the car and stashes a hairbrush in her handbag.
The club is a rundown brown-brick building on a busy corner where roadworks to upgrade traffic lights are causing congestion. Carmen has to wait for a chance to turn into the car park. When an opening comes, she revs through the gap and Katerina’s head jerks. ‘What the fuck are you doing, Mama?’ Katerina yells. ‘You just gave me whiplash!’
Carmen holds the steering wheel tight. She would like to slap her daughter, but says nothing. She parks the car and offers Katerina the brush. Katerina takes it and scowls as she scrapes it through her hair.
It’s hot outside, but cool air wraps around them as they enter through the sliding doors and sign in. They walk past the games room where dazed-looking old people are staring at jangling poker machines, even though it’s only ten in the morning.
The door to the conference room is open so she peeks in. Chairs and boxes everywhere. Down the front, in club shirt and tracksuit pants, Dominik hunches over the audio-visual control panel. He’s shabby and unshaven, not lean and clean like Ilya always is.
He looks up as they come in, hitches up his tracksuit pants. ‘This thing’s so bloody complicated,’ he grunts. ‘I can’t get it working.’
‘I can help,’ Katerina says, bouncing down the aisle with long strides.
Carmen smiles to herself. Wasn’t Katerina complaining only half an hour ago that she didn’t need to be here? Seeing her bent over the podium with the coach gives Carmen a warm feeling. She starts lining up the chairs in neat rows.
When the technology is sorted, Katerina disappears to the bathroom, and Dominik lumbers down the aisle to help Carmen set up the trestle table for the tracksuits and playing strips. As he lifts the tabletop and sets it on the struts, arms spread like wings, she can’t help noticing damp patches under his armpits, the stink of sweat and deodorant. She’s glad Ilya doesn’t sweat so easily.
Next, she opens the large cardboard boxes that have been left on the floor and starts laying out the clothing for the players to try on after the briefing. Everything is a mess, all the sizes mixed together. Someone must have packed in a hurry last time.
Soon, players and parents begin to arrive and within minutes there’s a crowd. Carmen grabs her clipboard so she can tick off names. She’s met most of the parents already, but there are a few who haven’t been at training. She introduces herself, pleased at the way they hang on her words as she explains how things are done in this team. ‘If there’s anything you need, let me know,’ she tells them. ‘Don’t approach the coaches at training—they’re too busy. If you need to speak to them, wait until after, or email to organise a meeting. If your child is sick or injured, let me know and I’ll pass it on.’
She checks her list. Viktor hasn’t turned up yet and neither has Braedon. She looks around. Katerina is down the front with some of the boys, all sparky with excitement. The players have divided into their usual groups. Audrey’s the only one on her own, probably feeling a bit lost because she’s still only a train-on player. She’s over with Jonica, who is all decked out in a V-necked floral dress and high-heeled sandals. Doesn’t she know it’s not a fashion show?
Jonica is talking to Miles. Carmen often sees them together on the sidelines at training. Sometimes they walk laps of the field, deep in discussion. Carmen wonders what they talk about. Jonica likes to give the impression that she’s an intellectual, but they’re probably just chatting about kids and football, like all the other parents do.
While Carmen’s watching, Audrey wanders over and says hi to Katerina, who inspects her like an insect then turns back to the boys. It’s not very kind, but it makes Carmen laugh. Football is not the only game being played here.
Just then Viktor swings in, buzzing with energy. He pauses at the door and surveys the room with wild eyes, face lighting up when he sees the clothing table. He barges over and starts shuffling through piles of jerseys and shorts.
‘Oi,’ Carmen hollers. ‘Leave those alone. You can’t try them on till after the meeting.’
Viktor snatches some shorts and pulls them over his head, a hank of black hair showing through one of the leg holes. ‘Hey, everyone!’ he shouts. ‘How do I look?’
Carmen pulls the shorts off his head and he grins sheepishly. She slaps his wrist lightly, but inside she’s smiling.
Now Dominik steps up to the podium and taps the microphone with a finger: doomph, doomph, doomph. ‘Welcome everybody,’ his voice booms over the speakers. ‘Time to find a seat. Players down the front where I can see you.’
Everyone shuffles along the rows. Braedon still isn’t here, so Carmen sends a text to his father, Cody, then sits near the trestle table where she can guard the clothes.
Dominik stands with hands in pockets, waiting for everyone to settle. Carmen can tell from the glow in his eyes that he likes it up there. He fumbles with the controls and the first slide appears on the screen: Minotaurs: Our Program. Club Academy.
‘Thank you for coming,’ he says. ‘And congratulations to all you players on being selected. It’s a big thing, being chosen for this team. A real achievement. You should all be proud of yourselves. Parents too. It’s a great honour to play for the Minotaurs.’
Warmth floods Carmen’s chest. She glances at Katerina down in the front row, but she’s leaning close to Viktor, whispering and giggling while Audrey sits just behind, eyes intent, fixed on Dominik’s every word. Carmen wishes she could pinch Katerina to get her attention.
‘This is what you’ve all worked for,’ Dominik is saying. ‘It means you are top players, and one day you might play for Australia. I hope you’re ready to work hard. Because I’m here to take you to the top, if you want it. I will give you everything. But that means commitment. From all of you. If you work hard, you will be rewarded. The season starts in two weeks. Thirty games to mid-September. It’s going to be a big year. I also want to remind you that we have important rules at our club. We’re a team. Which means we work closely together and we look out for each other. Team spirit is treated very seriously.’
He switches to the next slide: a YouTube video of an enthusiastic young coach giving a psych-up talk to a team. There’s a lot of wisdom in it. Carmen types the best quotes into her phone to share with Katerina later.
Nothing works unless you do.
People get stuck on good, and you can’t be great if you get stuck on good.
You lose, you learn, you get over it, you get on with it.
‘Our program can be summed up in three words,’ Dominik says, flourishing the remote control as he flicks to the next slide. ‘E for excellence. R for resilience. A for achievement.’ He flashes the laser pointer on each letter, frowning at Katerina, who finally stops talking and starts listening. ‘We want our players to have excellent skills,’ he thunders into the microphone, mouth so close the sound warps and shrieks and everyone grabs their ears.
‘Don’t speak so loud,’ Santos calls.
‘He’s used to yelling at the kids on the field,’ someone says.
Everyone laughs.
Dominik clears his throat and goes on, but there’s another electronic screech and his face and neck go red. He tries again and it’s better this time. ‘We want our players to have excellent skills,’ he repeats. ‘We want them to be resilient so they can become superior footballers. And we want them to achieve their best—because there’s nothing greater you can do in life than play football. And there’s no better feeling than when you’re winning.’ He spreads his arms wide. ‘Australia needs more big football stars. And there have been international stars who came from this city. This is where it starts. Right here at club level. This is where we will find the next top players. It could be one of you.’ He raises his eyebrows at the kids down the front. ‘Who’s it going to be?’
Katerina’s arm shoots up. ‘Me!’
Carmen is pleased—her daughter will go far with that attitude.
‘Good! That’s what I want to hear,’ says Dominik. ‘I can work with you, Katerina. Who else? What about the rest of you?’
‘Me!’ Alex waves his hand.
‘Me, me, me!’ shouts Viktor, pumping his hand in the air.
Then there’s a whole chorus of kids shouting me, even Audrey, whose whole body seems to glow. Dominik notices her and smiles.
He moves on to the next slide and begins to elaborate on the specifics of the program, the various skills he wants to work on with the players. First touch. Running with the ball. One-v-one. Striking the ball. Positioning. Midfield play. Pressure. Decision-making.
He looks so powerful up there—a big shot in the football world. He’s aiming high. And why not? Katerina is lucky to have him as her coach. It will give her opportunities. Carmen wishes there had been something like this when she was young.
But down the front, Katerina is murmuring and sniggering with Viktor again, while Audrey sits, listening to Dominik, her face luminous.
Carmen grasps her crucifix so tight the edges dig into her fingers.
Midweek, after school, Carmen drives Katerina to the mall. They come every week for a girls’ talk over chocolate fondue or a waffle and ice cream from Oliver Brown. Usually they chat about football and school, but, lately, Katerina has been more interested in messages on her phone.
This afternoon, they also need to buy a new sports bra. For weeks now, Katerina had been complaining that she can’t breathe because her bras are too tight. In Rebel Sport, they ruffle through the racks. Katerina collects a handful of bras and takes them into a change room and closes the door.
Carmen feels shut out. ‘Show me when you find something you like,’ she says, hovering outside.
‘You don’t need to see.’
‘I do, if I’m paying.’
Carmen hears rustling from inside then Katerina opens the door a crack, and beckons. She peeps in. Her daughter is in a shapely, white, low-cut sports bra.
‘What do you think?’ Katerina says.
It doesn’t look much bigger than the old bras, the way it squashes her boobs together. ‘It’s an impractical colour,’ Carmen says. ‘And I think you need more support. I’ll see if someone can help us.’
Katerina’s cheeks turn pink. ‘Shush, Mama. No! I don’t need help. This one looks nice.’ She twirls in front of the mirror and pouts at herself, curving her shoulders forward to make her breasts look bigger.
‘There must be others you can try,’ Carmen says. ‘Let me see what I can find.’
The bras she offers are more modest. Katerina tries one on and her mouth droops. ‘I look like an old woman in this.’
‘That’s not even possible,’ Carmen says.
Katerina puts on puppy-dog eyes. ‘I like the white one best. It looks good on my skin. Can we get both, please? I promise I’ll help more at home.’ She casts Carmen a pleading look, picks up the white bra and holds it to her chest. ‘You said to do whatever it takes, and this bra will help me play better. It makes me feel good about myself.’
Carmen knows when she’s beaten.
On the day of the first game, mid-February, Carmen drives while Katerina sits in the passenger seat, headphones on, singing loudly and tunelessly.
‘Whose song is that?’ Carmen asks, raising her voice to be heard.
‘It’s “Wolves”, by Selena Gomez and Marshmello,’ Katerina yells.
‘I hope you’re going to run like a wolf today, not like a marshmallow.’
‘Marshmello is a DJ, Mama. Don’t you know anything?’
In the car park at the Stallions home grounds, Katerina rushes off to find the team while Carmen fetches the kitbag from the boot, slips the strap over her shoulder and heads across the car park. Ten o’clock and it’s already hot. Heat radiating from the tarmac. Sweat prickles under her armpits.
She pauses at the fence to take in the field. It’s a pity the first game has to be here. The kids hate synthetic: it’s good for grip but hard on joints, burns if you fall, causes injuries. And yet there are pitches like this going in all over Sydney because they’re cheaper to maintain than grass, and they hold up better in the wet. Nobody seems to care if kids wreck their bodies.
Even so, the sight of the field sends a shiver of anticipation running through her, stirring a flood of memories of her own excitement arriving at games. The neat rectangular field, a goal at each end with nets tensioned perfectly. The white sidelines. The centre-line and circle for kick-off. The technical area on the far sideline with its row of bench chairs.
The Under 16s had the early start and are already out on the field, midway through their game. They’re a couple of years older, taller and faster than the Under 14s. Carmen thought Katerina’s team was rough, but this is a whole other level.
The warm-up area is at the end of the field, so she lugs the bag down there and sets it on the ground, checks the contents to make sure nothing is missing. Bibs. Ball pump. Game sheet and clipboard. Esky with icepacks. First-aid kit. Strapping tape. Spare laces and socks. Electrical tape. Hair ties. Nail scissors. Everything is there.
She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. Dominik and Kyle have just come out from the change rooms with the Minotaurs. While the players begin their warm-up routine, the men watch like carbon copies of each other, arms folded, faces furrowed like gargoyles.
Carmen wanders over to join them. She wants to keep an eye on Katerina, who is gallivanting around with the boys, laughing and talking instead of concentrating. She stands beside the coaches, but they take no notice of her. Dominik gives instructions for a drill and the kids leap into it, bursting with energy. As they weave around, passing the ball, he tucks his chin and twists his mouth as if calculating a difficult maths problem. ‘Viktor, watch your touch,’ he calls. ‘Good, Alex, good. Noah, use your left foot. Come on Audrey, no hanging back. You too, Katerina. Get going.’
Carmen wills her daughter to engage. Why is she being so slow? She went to bed early last night—lights off before ten. And she didn’t overeat this morning. Carmen wishes she could poke her with a cattle prod.
‘Have you seen Braedon?’ Dominik asks her.
‘No. Not yet.’ She notices beads of sweat on his lip, tight lines around his eyes. The way he wipes his lip with his fingers and flicks the moisture away.
‘He was late for the briefing too. Can you find out where he is? I need him here.’
Carmen checks the change rooms, but there’s only piles of bags and discarded clothing, the smell of feet and sweat and sickly Lynx deodorant. It’s cool inside, so she sits on a bench and enjoys a brief escape from the humidity, wishing she wasn’t wearing tracksuit pants in this heat. She phones Braedon’s father, Cody. He’s short with her, says they’re on their way, stuck in traffic. It’s a poor excuse. Everyone knows you have to leave early on game day to dodge the Saturday traffic.
On the field, Dominik is shouting at Katerina again. The other kids look sharp, especially Audrey, who dances around the ball with her ponytail swishing, head up, light on her feet in a way that Katerina isn’t. Katerina rushes in and gives her a sly kick in the shins. Audrey misses the ball, and then Katerina has possession, all without Dominik noticing.
Good on you, girl, Carmen thinks. Whatever it takes.
Braedon arrives when the Minotaurs are out on the field completing their final preparations. Carmen spots him near the grandstand and hurries over. ‘Go straight to Dominik,’ she tells him. ‘He wants you on, and you haven’t even warmed up yet.’
‘I don’t need to warm up,’ he says, staring at her sullenly.
He’s much taller than her, muscular for his age, scruffy hair, blue eyes that are far too discerning for a thirteen-year-old. She wonders what his home life is like, the kind of role-modelling he gets from Cody.
‘Everyone needs to warm up,’ she says. ‘Hurry up and get your boots on.’
She holds the gate open while he extracts his boots and socks from his bag and puts them on slowly. Then he slouches through the gate and swaggers over to the team, high-fiving his mates.
Carmen sees Katerina give him a surly look. He’s been rough with her at training and never passes to her, making snide comments about useless girls. If Dominik notices, he checks him, but Braedon’s far too clever and often his behaviour goes under the radar. He ought to start on the bench for being so late today, but Dominik tells him to be on time next week and sends him for a quick warm-up jog.
When the teams file onto the field and line up along the centre, facing the stands, Katerina is between Viktor and Alex. It’s a thrill to see her out there. They look so professional. The Minotaurs are in their blue-and-white stripes, and the Stallions wear black and green. All those sets of legs—tall and small, thick and skinny, straight-legged, duck-footed, knock-kneed. Different-coloured boots, mostly fluoro. Katerina’s are bright purple, her silvery name catching the sunlight.
Viktor is captain today. He steps forward for the toss, then the teams shake hands with the young dark-haired ref, and then with each other, before breaking apart for their chants. When the players take their positions for kick-off, Katerina is on the right wing. She jumps up and down on the centre-line, waiting for the whistle. Carmen knows how she feels. The dry mouth. The jittery legs.
The whistle shrills and the players dash forward like racehorses, surging and swerving, bumping into each other as they try to get the ball. Carmen’s heart is in her mouth. She wants Katerina to show everyone how good she is. Beside her in the technical area, Dominik yells constantly. ‘Come on, Minotaurs. Think about what I’ve taught you … Alex, pass down the centre to Braedon! … Katerina—make sure you go wide … Noah, hold! Now push wide … Viktor, drop back to the midfield. You can’t just wait for the ball … Everyone, mark up! … Go, go, Katerina. Attack!’
