‘We’ve written one already,’ Tessa says, sliding a piece of paper across the table.
Wookie immediately gets out a pen and starts taking out his aggression at this situation by vigorously crossing words out for me.
‘Fine, I’ll apologise,’ I say hoarsely. ‘But I’m still not wearing the Pride Jumper.’
‘Fucksakes, Hammer, know when to shut your mouth,’ Wookie mutters.
Tessa records me speaking for fifty-nine seconds. I say all the stuff every homophobe has to say in a public apology video, including the phrases ‘listen and learn’ and ‘educate myself’, and excluding the word ‘sorry’.
Thanks to Wookie, I don’t have to say I’ll commit to wearing the Pride Guernsey in next year’s Pride Game. I just say, ‘I apologise for any hurt I caused – it was never my intention to upset anyone.’
Which is true. I wasn’t trying to upset anyone. I was trying to say I personally don’t want to be forced to wear a rainbow, ever.
And I’d say it again, no matter who it offends.
Wednesday’s training ends up being called off due to a protest against me; my apology video hasn’t gone out yet.
Tessa arranges for me to be visibly whisked away by a club staffer and escorted by the cops, in the hopes this will dissolve the protest and make the losers go home.
When I’m walked out the front of the club, I see them all gathered on the grass. There’s a collective boo as I appear, then angry shouting and chanting through a megaphone. My sense of hearing fuzzes out once I see a familiar face in the protest crowd.
It’s him. Charlie Goth. Skinny little emo bitch with not a pound of muscle on him. Right there at the front of the pack of protestors.
I knew it. He sent those DMs. He’s using what he knows to torture me. Probably thinks he’s getting me back for how I treated him at school.
‘You …’ I start to say, but then I get shunted into the car and lose sight of him.
As the car speeds away, I peer behind me through the tintedwindows. Charlie is in a black band T-shirt watching me leave. Unlike the other protestors, he’s not shouting, just watching. Does he feel bad for me, because he knows the truth?
Or is he gonna send me another DM tonight?
When I get home, I do the one thing I never do during footy season. I crack open a bottle of hard liquor – Jack Daniel’s – and pour a triple serve into a bigCU in the NTpint glass I got on a footy trip to Darwin. I splash full-sugar Coke on top and knock the entire thing back in one go. Forget my physique. Forget discipline. Forget everything.
I pour another drink and take it out on the balcony to look out over the Perth CBD skyscrapers and the Swan River. It’s glistening in the arvo sun, which is nice until it becomes too bright and hurts my eyes.
I try not to look at my socials, but after a few drinks it’s hard to resist. There’s a pulsating artery of hatred out there and my name is its lifeblood. I need to know what’s being said about me, how bad it is.
It’s pretty fucken bad.
Firstly, my apology video has dropped via the club’s social accounts, with the comments turned off, but people are sharing it everywhere and tagging me in their posts. The apology seems to not be enough; everyone’s now demanding why it took so many days for me to say it, and dissecting every part of it as being insincere. What do they expect when you’re forced to say stuff you don’t believe with a gun to your head?
Some famous dude called Xander Sullivan makes an angry video ‘calling me out’. It’s got tens of thousands of likes. The commenters hate me.
Lots of activists and journalists – and even a few fellow players – have tagged me in similar posts. One St Kilda playerdenounces me. That post has a lot of aggro comments about how I’m a grub who should be sacked.
There are also people gently defending me. Some more old-school footy journos, some Liberal Party MPs. They say free speech has been attacked, the AFL is too woke, and I am an innocent victim of hardcore activists.
Then there are some others who are fiery in my defence, full-on standing up for me. I feel better each time I see one like this, but worse when I check their feed and it’s extreme posts about Christian values being under siege from sodomites. Cooked cunts. The only people left supporting me would burn me at the stake if they knew the truth.
I focus on my DMs instead.
Tank messages me and Kingy in our group chat:Bro these protestors are a legit bunch of unfuckables. Sorry they’re coming after ya. It’ll blow over.
Kingy adds:I told my manager I wanna boycott the pride jumper too, but my contract is under negotiation so we can’t risk it. But good on ya man. Sniper’s pissed at u tho.
I send a message to Sniper.Sorry skip. Never wanted to hurt the team.
Sniper leaves me on read for ten minutes, then comes back with:You got some real growing up to do. Selfish prick.
