Page 15 of What Are The Odds?
“No score. The other team gets possession and kicks it back in.”
I considered myself a sports guy, but it was hard wrapping my head around these rules. Port Adelaide sailed the ball towards the opposite end. Between kicking, handballing – as Grace called it – and running, it got there quickly. A player kicked it towards their goal. It sailed through the two middle posts.
“Hell yeah,” Tripp cheered. His face fell when another ref tapped his arm and the scoreboard only went up by one point. “What the hell?”
“It was touched,” Grace said. “The Crows defender got a hand to it in the goal square.”
“Crows?”
“Sorry. Adelaide Crows and Port Adelaide Power.”
The game didn’t get any simpler. Though despite having to ask Grace question after question, I was enjoying watching it. Tripp was too. He hadn’t complained about being in pain once. And the smoothie was long gone. Halfway through the second quarter, Will and Ryan got home. Their conversation died off when they caught sight of the screen, and again when spotting Grace sitting between Tripp and me.
“Will Caufield and Ryan Murphy,” I introduced, keeping it quick.
I was invested in the game. Adelaide had the ball in their fifty. And by that I meant within fifty-metres – not yards – of their goal.
“Hi,” Grace smiled. “I’m Grace Hughes. How many of you live here?”
“That’s it now,” Tripp answered.
“Holy shit,” Ryan gasped. “What is this game? There were just, like, five drop punts.”
“Kinda the point, champ,” Tripp mocked. “Keep up.”
Ryan sat on the arm of the couch. He hadn’t even put his backpack down yet. We all gasped when an Adelaide player was tackled. It looked fucking brutal. But he got up without complaint and kept fighting for the ball that’d come loose. The players didn’t wear any safety gear, which was mind blowing to me. No padding. No helmets. Nothing.
“How far do these guys run?” Will asked.
“On average, around 12-14 kilometres,” Grace answered.
“Which is?”
Tripp clicked his fingers. “Already got the converter up.” He punched the numbers into his phone. “Seven to eight-and-a-half-ish miles.”
By the time the halftime break rolled around, both Will and Ryan had gotten comfortable. We were clearly all here to stay. Grace’s mouth must’ve been dry by now. She was having to answer questions coming from all four of us.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
She thought for a moment. “I could eat.”
“How long is the halftime break?”
Not that it mattered. The game wasn’t live. But it was a good segue.
“Twenty minutes.”
“Sweet.” I leant forward and began pulling on my shoes. “Let’s go grab something. What do you feel like? If you’re thinking classic American take out, you’ve got Five Guys, Shake Shack, Taco Bell.”
“Chick-fil-A,” Ryan added.
“Unless you’re after something healthier. There’s–”
“No thanks,” Grace interjected. “Let’s go with Taco Bell. It’s the only one I’ve heard of.”
Tripp groaned. “Not fair. I’m starving.”
Grace playfully tapped his chest. “I can make you another smoothie when we get back.”
