Page 14 of What Are The Odds?
“I haven’t gotten around to getting an American sim yet.” She kicked off her shoes, then propped her feet on the coffee table. “I used my friend’s phone to message you and Ryker.”
Hence why she hadn’t got the change of plans today.
“So you walk around with a phone you can’t use?”
Grace shrugged. “There’s WiFi, like, everywhere on campus.”
The moment Grace’s phone connected to our internet, it started going manic with alerts. She ignored them all and found the video she was looking for. After a bit more set up, including connecting to our tv with – thankfully – a normal name, the football overtook the large screen. The oval the game was being played on was huge. So was the stadium. To be honest, it was a lot grander than I was expecting.
“This is one of last year’s Showdowns,” Grace explained. “It’s South Australia’s two home teams. They have a huge rivalry.”
One team, Adelaide, were wearing red, yellow and blue uniforms. The other, Port Adelaide, were wearing teal, white and black. I propped my feet beside Grace’s.
“Are you from South Australia?” I guessed.
She nodded.
“Which team do you go for?”
“It’s too easy if I tell you. You’ve got to pick your own.” She held my gaze for a moment, her blue eyes narrowing in challenge. “Just don’t choose wrong.”
I’d never liked teams in teal. That’d been the main colour of my high school rivals.
“I’m backing Adelaide,” I said.
Grace’s lip quirked, but I couldn’t tell whether that was because I’d picked the right team or struck out.
Tripp sat down on Grace’s other side. “I guess I’ll go for the other guys. What do I get if they win?”
“What do you want?” Grace asked.
That was a loaded question. And a dangerous one too. Before Tripp could say something absurd, I stole the conversation back.
“We have a countdown to puck drop. What’s the equivalent in this?”
“First bounce.”
“Bounce?”
Nodding, Grace fast-forwarded all the pregame commentary. She stopped when the players were ambling onto the field. Some shook their opponents’ hands, others began shouldering each other, and some players jumped around, shaking off the pregame jitters. A man dressed in a bright yellow polo, matching knee-high-socks and grey shorts stood between two players with a ball. I assumed this was the ref. Just as I prepared for him to throw the ball into the air, he slammed it into the ground.
“What the fuck?” Tripp gawked.
It’s like he’d taken the words out of my mouth. The ball bounced high. Two players jumped for it, the Adelaide player getting his hand slightly higher. The player who secured the ball from the scrimmage took off. The Australian commentators talked at a rapid speed, saying names and things that meant absolutely nothing to me. They may as well have been speaking a different language. The crowd erupted as a player dropped the ball to his foot, firing at the goals. It was a huge kick. Impressive as hell. No way would I be able to make that distance. Though rather than cheer when the ball sailed between two white poles, the crowd sighed.
“I’m confused,” I admitted.
“It was a behind,” Grace explained. “It’s only a goal when the ball is kicked between the two middle posts. Anything else, like handballing or punching the ball through the goals, is considered a point.”
“Right. How much is a goal worth then?”
“Six points.”
“What about if a player kicks the ball into the poles?” Tripp questioned.
“It’s a behind if it hits either of the middle posts, and out on the full if it hits either of the outer posts.”
“Which means?”
