Read Online Naked Hero - The Journey Away by J. K. Brighton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. K. Brighton
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it into words. “It could get ugly.”
“There’s going to be some arseholes shouting out abuse, whoever I get, Jim.”
Lewis heard a tutting sound emanating from the kitchen area. Reproached for his bad language, he decided to continue the conversation with his coach next to him at the table so that sensitive ears would not be offended by any further remarks on the merits of a hostile crowd.
“There’ll be more of a reaction for a local boy,” replied Jim, lowering his voice as Lewis joined him. His eyes twinkled all the more, the coach well aware that the conversation was now turning serious.
“Well, not too much - it’s bound to be on an outside court, do you not think? They’ll not want it televised.”
Jim heard a thickening of the accent, and with it he knew that his boy was coming back to him, if only for a few moments. Even after ten years away from his homeland, Lewis would still revert to his native Ayrshire brogue when defences were lowered through either trust or alcohol.
“Let’s hope so,” agreed Jim with a nod of his head. “But that’s what you’re up against anyway... and you know what a crowd can do.”
“Okay! I’m prepared… So what’s the crystal ball telling you?”
Jim was in his domain now. He loved these sessions, when he would sit and speculate with Lewis whom the likely opponents might be. He rarely guessed wrong, and knew that his boy rightly trusted his judgement. “Well, in theory you’ll get past the crowd, because let’s face it, that’s who you’ll really have to beat in the first round, then get a Spaniard in the second. It shouldn’t matter which one, they’re clay-courters the pair of them... you’ll be okay. The seeding then puts you up against the Czech boy, Navrotil, but I think you’re more likely to face Mierskoff.”
“He blows hot and cold,” said Lewis nonchalantly.
“Aye, but it’s been more ‘hot’ of late, and if that serve of his is in gear then you’re in trouble.”
“I can serve as well you know,” claimed an indignant Macleod.
Jim let out a sneer, which was a tad unfair, but that was his way and he was too old to change now. “Your serve’s come along, but it’s not as good as his... so you can’t try to blast him off the court like that. You need to slow things down for him.”
“That’s not my game. I don’t run away. I take it to them.”
A friendly nudge was given, just like old times. “It’s even less his game. And it’s not you I want to see running, it’s him! Anyway, that’s all speculation.”
“You usually get it right, so carry on.”
“Huh… I’m speculating that it’ll be YOU that gets there, not the other way round!”
Sure that he was joking, Lewis leaned over and whispered in Jim’s ear. “You can be a right sour cunt when you put your mind to it, Jim Murdoch… but one that I lap up, and that’s a rarity - I can assure you! Now who does Mystic Meg see in the forth. That’s where I get knocked out according to the seeding committee.”
“And the rankings – they’re one and the same here in Australia.”
“So who does the deed then - my old friend Tommy Jackson?”
“No, you’re lucky. He’s in the other half of the draw. If you get there, then you’re seeded to meet Roberts, another Aussie, so you’ll get more of the same... and it would be a show court this time.”
Lewis was pleased nonetheless. He fancied his chances against this higher ranked player. “That’ll do nicely. The Aussies always blow up in Melbourne - they can’t cope with playing at home – a bit like the English at Wimbledon.”
Jim let out a grunt which Lewis knew well. “Oh, I see. So you think he’ll blow up before he gets to me. All right - who do you really think I’ll end up facing?” Lewis gave his coach a return nudge with his elbow, egging him on. They were a pair of old hands at this particular game.
Jim lowered his voice further to a conspirator’s whisper, almost afraid to
“There’s going to be some arseholes shouting out abuse, whoever I get, Jim.”
Lewis heard a tutting sound emanating from the kitchen area. Reproached for his bad language, he decided to continue the conversation with his coach next to him at the table so that sensitive ears would not be offended by any further remarks on the merits of a hostile crowd.
“There’ll be more of a reaction for a local boy,” replied Jim, lowering his voice as Lewis joined him. His eyes twinkled all the more, the coach well aware that the conversation was now turning serious.
“Well, not too much - it’s bound to be on an outside court, do you not think? They’ll not want it televised.”
Jim heard a thickening of the accent, and with it he knew that his boy was coming back to him, if only for a few moments. Even after ten years away from his homeland, Lewis would still revert to his native Ayrshire brogue when defences were lowered through either trust or alcohol.
“Let’s hope so,” agreed Jim with a nod of his head. “But that’s what you’re up against anyway... and you know what a crowd can do.”
“Okay! I’m prepared… So what’s the crystal ball telling you?”
Jim was in his domain now. He loved these sessions, when he would sit and speculate with Lewis whom the likely opponents might be. He rarely guessed wrong, and knew that his boy rightly trusted his judgement. “Well, in theory you’ll get past the crowd, because let’s face it, that’s who you’ll really have to beat in the first round, then get a Spaniard in the second. It shouldn’t matter which one, they’re clay-courters the pair of them... you’ll be okay. The seeding then puts you up against the Czech boy, Navrotil, but I think you’re more likely to face Mierskoff.”
“He blows hot and cold,” said Lewis nonchalantly.
“Aye, but it’s been more ‘hot’ of late, and if that serve of his is in gear then you’re in trouble.”
“I can serve as well you know,” claimed an indignant Macleod.
Jim let out a sneer, which was a tad unfair, but that was his way and he was too old to change now. “Your serve’s come along, but it’s not as good as his... so you can’t try to blast him off the court like that. You need to slow things down for him.”
“That’s not my game. I don’t run away. I take it to them.”
A friendly nudge was given, just like old times. “It’s even less his game. And it’s not you I want to see running, it’s him! Anyway, that’s all speculation.”
“You usually get it right, so carry on.”
“Huh… I’m speculating that it’ll be YOU that gets there, not the other way round!”
Sure that he was joking, Lewis leaned over and whispered in Jim’s ear. “You can be a right sour cunt when you put your mind to it, Jim Murdoch… but one that I lap up, and that’s a rarity - I can assure you! Now who does Mystic Meg see in the forth. That’s where I get knocked out according to the seeding committee.”
“And the rankings – they’re one and the same here in Australia.”
“So who does the deed then - my old friend Tommy Jackson?”
“No, you’re lucky. He’s in the other half of the draw. If you get there, then you’re seeded to meet Roberts, another Aussie, so you’ll get more of the same... and it would be a show court this time.”
Lewis was pleased nonetheless. He fancied his chances against this higher ranked player. “That’ll do nicely. The Aussies always blow up in Melbourne - they can’t cope with playing at home – a bit like the English at Wimbledon.”
Jim let out a grunt which Lewis knew well. “Oh, I see. So you think he’ll blow up before he gets to me. All right - who do you really think I’ll end up facing?” Lewis gave his coach a return nudge with his elbow, egging him on. They were a pair of old hands at this particular game.
Jim lowered his voice further to a conspirator’s whisper, almost afraid to
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