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“Oh yeah?” the TV man said, smirking. Joq got the feeling he was trying to act like he was lightening the mood but what he really wanted to do was make Finn look like a stupid boy.
“It’s about the team. We’re a team,” Finn said completely unruffled, undeterred. “George sees each of us as individuals and then puts us together like a single organism that works. Sure, I’m a valuable piece, but you’re playing to lose if you build an entire team around one player. George doesn’t do that favourites stuff like you do. He knows all of us, and he values all of us. We all feel it, and we all respect him because of it. It’s not fake, it’s real. He’s a bloody brilliant coach, and I’m honoured to play for him.”
Joq’s eyebrows went up. That was a bit much for a player to say on a coach. The presenters looked flabbergasted as well, but the old guy was nodding along.
“Finnegan makes a good point,” he began, like this was a normal way to talk, “it reminds me of Hawthorn in the eighties, and we really saw the truth of a great team versus a great player in that Grand Final against Geelong …”
Joq stopped listening. He was looking at Finn, who was nodding along to the old guy, but he was flushed, worked up. Players supported their coaches, nothing unusual in that if the team worked well. But Joq thought Finn’s little speech was bordering on uncomfortable; it came off like naïve devotion to a leader or something else.
It was the something else that really bothered Joq.
Joq barely slept, and he was sitting in the kitchen with a coffee the next morning when George came in before dawn.
“Oh, hey,” George said when he saw him. “You’re up early.”
George grabbed a smoothie from the fridge, a water, continued in his motions for starting the day while shooting Joq a smile.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Hmmm,” George said. “Thought you were gonna fall asleep in the cinema,” he smiled as he zipped up his training bag.
Joq huffed a laugh because he felt like he should.
“I caught the footy show, with Finn.”
George shouldered his bag and looked at Joq, frowned. “Did you come to bed at all?”
Joq ignored that. “Have you seen it?”
“Uh, yeah,” George replied and ran a hand through his hair. “Thought he did well. Those things always suck, you know that.”
“You didn’t think he was a bit, you know…”
George raised an eyebrow. “A bit what?”
Joq shook his head. “You know, George, come on,” he got up and refilled his coffee.
“I reckon you’re gonna have to tell me,” George replied.
Joq glanced at him. George was giving him a blank look. Joq couldn’t tell if it was deliberate obtuseness, or he genuinely didn’t see Finn declaring his devotion on TV as a problem.
Joq turned and leaned against the bench, sipped his coffee. “It was a bit much, he might want to tone it down.”
George looked at him with surprise. “After all the shit I’ve had thrown at me this season, I reckon having my star player come out in support is a good thing. I’d have thought you’d agree.”
Joq gave him an incredulous look. “I might if you weren’t fucking him.”
George’s lips parted. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really,” George hoisted his bag up his shoulder. “We can separate this stuff.”
“Really,” Joq heard the sarcasm and prepared for an argument.
But George just shook his head, smiled like he got something Joq didn’t. “Yeah, really. Look, I gotta go, I’ll call you when we get there.”
He came over and kissed Joq on the temple. “You’re reading too much into shit,” he said quietly.
