The doc was sitting in shadows behind the desk when Wayne walked into the cool, dim office. The door shut quietly. Though the doc had read the report his surprise was obvious.
‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he said, getting up and offering his hand. ‘You look ridiculous.’
Wayne shrugged. ‘So do you,’ he said. They tried shaking hands.
The doc smiled and took a glance at his black slacks and the white shirt. ‘No one can love sport as much as you do,’ he said softly.
‘That’s why I’m here,’ Wayne said. ‘I want to take all this shit off. I don’t want to wear it anymore.’
‘Maybe you’ve just developed dress sense,’ the doc said, smiling through the sport fan’s frown. ‘I see you’ve been earning money in the Queen Street Mall, posing for tourists.’
The sport fan nodded. ‘How do you know that?’
There was a moment of silence. ‘I have a friend who works for the police.’
‘What else did he say,’ Warne said.
‘He said you’re known by various nicknames,’ the doc said, smirking.
Wayne smiled. ‘It depends on the sport.’
‘What’s your most common nickname?’
‘Guilty.’
The doc frowned. ‘And why is that?’
‘Because of what happens off the field.’
‘I should’ve guessed.’ The doc smiled gently. ‘Strip off all that stuff and sit down. I can’t talk to you when you look ridiculous.’ The doc sat in the armchair opposite the couch.
Wayne undressed slowly, taking care with the accessories, setting the boxing glove and cricket glove on the coffee table. The box and pads went on the couch, beside the motorbike helmet and leather jacket.
He sat, undid laces and slipped off the boxing shoes. Standing, he stripped off the cricket whites, revealing blue football shorts, blue and white footy socks and a football jumper. The doc watched impassively as Wayne took them off and finally stood before him in a pair of casual shorts and a tight t-shirt.
‘Feel better,’ the doc said.
Wayne sat, his face red.
‘You still look ridiculous,’ the doc said. ‘How many autographs have you got on that t-shirt?’
‘About a hundred.’ Wayne smiled. ‘I’ve never washed it.’
‘I can smell it. Ever taken it off?’
Wayne nodded. ‘I’m not taking it off now.’
The doc held his hands up. ‘Please, keep it on. I can see why you’re here. Tell me what happened.’
‘I was just a kid,’ Wayne said. ‘I didn’t know any better.’ He gawked at the doc with desperate eyes. ‘I was about seven when I discovered footy. By the time I was eight I loved cricket. My family has a pool table, so I loved that too. When I was ten I was playing golf and tennis. In 1982 I watched my first heavyweight title fight between Larry Holmes and Gerry Cooney.’
The doc’s eyes widened slightly. He remembered the fight. It’d been a good one.
Wayne closed his eyes and laid his head back. ‘There was no turning back. I was just twelve years old. My parents thought it was cute. At least he’s got an interest they said.’
‘Kids are targeted and conditioned to love sport,’ the doc said. ‘I was the same. So was my dad. Loving sport is nothing to be worried about.’
‘I know all that,’ Wayne said, thumbing his chest. ‘When I was a kid all that mattered was the results. Your team either won or lost. He sighed and reached for the boxing glove, fondling it. He dropped the boxing glove to the table and sat back. ‘It’s not about the result anymore. The result is just a small part of sport now.’
The doc shook his head. ‘I disagree,’ he said. ‘Winning is more important than anything else.’
Wayne drew an impatient breath and jutted his chin at the doc. ‘You’re not thinking beyond the brief. The past six months have been appalling. It’s all about tanking, drugs, booze and betting. It’s about draft tampering, doping, mental breakdowns and sackings. Sport is out of control.’
The doc wondered briefly about how much money he’d paid on memberships in his life. He’d never added it up. ‘You’re thinking too hard about this,’ he said.
‘No,’ Wayne said. ‘Everyone is blind to it but I get it.’ He tapped his temple and grinned madly. ‘Footballers have been linked to bikie gangs and other criminals. Sport has become the new organised crime. People are getting rich from sport like the Mafia got rich from garbage.’
The doc smiled. ‘It’s the same as always. Criminals have always been drawn to sport. They always will be. It used to be gambling but now it is supplements.’
‘It just proves you don’t need to think or learn from history if you can play sport.’
‘You are proof that people don’t need to think and learn to watch sport.’
Wayne narrowed his eyes. ‘I told you what happened when I was a kid.’
‘You’re a big boy now.’
Wayne shook his head then bawled.
The doc pushed the tissue box across the coffee table. ‘Stop crying.’
Red eyes glared at him. Wayne sniffed. ‘You think this is easy, crying like a baby in front of a stranger?’
‘No, but I see it every day. It’s getting dull.’
‘You’re a son of a bitch.’
‘You’re a sook, so talk to me.’
Wayne’s hands shook as he blew his nose and wiped his eyes. He dumped the tissues on the coffee table.
The doc quit with the smart mouth. ‘Sport stars are no different to us,’ he said. ‘They go through the same emotions. They often have the same issues. Their life isn’t automatically better because they get paid to play sport.’
‘They’re well paid because of people like me.’ Wayne sneered through his words, absently scratching his chin through the brown goatee. ‘I am paying for their privilege. As long as they get my money I am offering no moral guidance to their life.’
‘What makes you so wise to offer guidance?’ the doc said, his voice tight.
‘I’m not wise,’ Wayne said. ‘I’m just valuable. I’ve been funding sport for decades.’
‘Were the good times worth the money?’
Wayne nodded once and stared at his clobber.
‘So don’t complain about the cost.’ The doc did a quick calculation. ‘I reckon I’ve spent 20 grand on sport in the past fifteen years. I’ve got memberships, I fly around the country on occasion and I love to buy memorabilia.’
Wayne glared at the doc.
‘I spend the money because I enjoy it, and what happens on the field is what matters, right?’
Wayne sighed and slumped into the couch. ‘That’s how it should be,’ he said softly. ‘But I am so tired of being disgusted.’
‘Again, you are no different to any sport fan.’ The doc felt sweat slip from his right armpit and run down his flank. The sweat was a bad sign, a symptom of frustration and nerves. Wayne was hard work.
‘When I was a kid I divided the year into two seasons, football and cricket,’ Wayne said. ‘I know you’ve heard than plenty of times but that’s what kids do. I still play footy and cricket. I’m a club member. My house is decorated with memorabilia. You should see my garage.’
The doc smirked. He could imagine. ‘So you love sport.’ He shrugged. ‘So what.’
‘I can’t take it anymore.’ Wayne sighed and dropped his eyes to the floor. ‘It’s not about the game anymore. What happens off the field has become more important.’
The doc drew a slow breath and decided to unsettle his patient. ‘So what are you going to do? Cancel your membership and watch cooking shows?’
Wayne couldn’t look up. ‘No. It’s all about blind faith, isn’t it.’
‘Just like religion.’
‘Yeah, but this is real.’ Wayne looked up through defeated eyes.
‘That depends on your perspective.’
‘We treat them like stars because they can play sport,’ Wayne said. ‘No one treats me like a star because I learned how to get a degree.’
‘So what are you going to do? Send an angry email? You’ve already said you won’t cancel your membership.’
Wayne shook his head.
‘You’re not going to do anything, are you?’
Wayne scratched his nose and shrugged.
‘You’re just going to ignore it, because poor behaviour off the field is forgiven by good behaviour on the field.’
‘Something like that.’
‘What off-field behaviour can you tolerate?’ the doc asked.
Wayne’s eyes widened. He went to speak and clamped his mouth shut, eyes to the floor.
‘Come on,’ the doc said. ‘There’s a lot to choose from.’ He held up his right fist, ejecting a finger as he rattled off the points. ‘Drugs, gambling, assault, doping, adultery, sexual assault, ignorance, arrogance and blatant stupidity.’
Wayne looked at the floor.
‘You don’t care about scandal, do you,’ the doc said softly.
‘Not true,’ Wayne said, raising his eyes briefly. He rubbed them red and sniffed. ‘Every time there’s a fuck up I hope it isn’t my club. And you know someone’s always going to start an email fight.’
Wayne raised his voice in parody of two mates fighting by email.
Your golden boy has turned into a golden turd.
Your team is shit get fucked.
You wouldn’t know shit if you ate it.
Your team tanked.
Your team cheated the salary cap.
Your captain had sex with a sheep underwater in a bathtub
Your team’s most common injury is collapsed veins
Wayne took a deep breath and looked at the doc. ‘It’s not about the game anymore. Sport has become illegal and illegitimate.’
The doc had listened to enough crap. Despite the chill his armpits were wet. He always struggled to give advice when he was suffering from the same mental ills as his patients, which is why he no longer offered marriage counselling.
‘There has been months of scandal,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t know why you’re so upset about it.
‘Then you’re not listening,’ Wayne sulked.
The doc lifted the glass and sipped cool water. ‘Neither are you. Poor behaviour hasn’t been tolerated for years. Sport stars are always live. They can’t escape public fascination and a lot of them are silly.’
Wayne sighed impatiently. This was a waste of time. He glanced at his watch.
The doc noticed the impatience and ignored it. ‘The new season brings promise. The opening round will be exciting. It’ll be much needed rehab for six months of withdrawal and your addiction to infamy. The horror must end, but don’t expect the arrests, assaults or sackings to stop.’
Wayne’s eyes were wide.
‘Sport is like love. It doesn’t always treat us as it should.’ The doc pointed at Wayne. ‘You don’t treat sport like you should. You’ve told me how disgusted you are, how I’m missing the point. But you won’t do anything about it.’
Wayne stared at the doc.
‘You’re not ill,’ the doc said. ‘And you don’t have a problem with sport. All you want is the season to start. As you said, life is defined by two seasons. You had cricket, now we are getting thrashed in India. So you want football.’
Wayne nodded.
‘You’re a lucky addict,’ the doc said. ‘You don’t have to do anything to get a fix, so put on all your clothes and get out of here. You’re never going to change, and you don’t have to. Love it all, I say.’
‘I do.’ Wayne sighed. ‘They wouldn’t miss me if I quit my membership.’
The doc shook his head. Wayne stood up and started dressing.
‘You don’t need to come back,’ the doc said. ‘Next time you feel like this talk to your mates.’
‘They’re just like me.’
The doc laughed. ‘Then their advice will be easy to accept and understand.’
Wayne was grinning as he put the motorbike helmet on.
The doc was grinning too. ‘It’s all about what happens on the field, winning and losing. Everything else just crashes by. By Friday night this will all be over.’
