A Lovely Bullet



I met her up in the mountains, which was rare.


She was tour guiding while I rebuilt the forest floor, in the middle of winter. Head-to-toe in mud. She didn’t care.

Come autumn, the girls from down in the Bay had arranged a female footy match to raise money for something.

You beauty.

She leapt at it. Her father had played AFL, and, all tiny 5ft 2” of her was so damn keen!

We had our moments, but she was always superb.

I agreed to umpire, for some damn reason. To help. To join in.  We were newly engaged and I loved showing the healthy weight of that off.


The game was great. Some of the women really had a dip. She was the terrier I knew she would be. Hunching her shoulders, charging. Always determined or smiling.

Barry’s wife was an image of Barry. In my face. Full of abuse. Playing a train wreck of a game. One of the girls, blonde, solid, reminded me of a few footballers I’d played with. She had no expression. No emotion. Just focus. When the ball was down the other end, she prowled it, shoulders facing the action, her legs strolling left and right, always keeping in line with the ball.


Deep in the third a big pack formed. A few of the girls cannonballed into it, everything legs and arms.

I blew the whistle.


Everybody stopped.


All heads turned.


The large crowd and their chatter went silent.


Dogs stopped barking, the surf, just across the road, paused.


“It’s against….” I boomed, thrusting my arm out, “,,,THE MISSUS!”

She let out the largest, open-mouthed gasp.

The girls all chuckled wryly as they slotted into the decision, pushing back, or spreading. They knew I’d be copping it after the game,

She gave me the dirtiest, cutest glare, hunched her shoulders and ran, like a lovely bullet, after the pill.



  1. I bet ‘the Tribunal’ gave you a 4 week ‘no play’ suspension when you got home, Matt.
    Low contact; reckless fun; high impact – not that week.

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