‘Which is our goal?’ they asked. ‘Are you on our side?’
People expected the preliminary rounds to be a hard case. People cheerfully lost by 50 to nil to the better professional teams. I was losing my battle, too, to find three players.
Then Chantelle came up.
‘Uncle Pera says you’re looking for players,’ she said. ‘The women don’t want us in any of their teams.’
‘Well —’ I hesitated, dumbfounded.
‘Honey,’ Donna said kindly, ‘we may shave our legs but we’re your last resort. Take us or leave us.’
‘We can run faster than Uncle Pera too,’ Cindy said. ‘All that practice running away from the police, eh girls!’
‘And most of the time in high heels,’ Chantelle added. ‘Well?’
‘I’d love to have you,’ I said.
The Waituhi Rebels were born.
As expected the professional teams started to come through the ranks, and by Saturday afternoon bystanders were barracking for their favourites. In the women’s division it was clear from the beginning that the major battle would be between Mahana and Hukareka. Every time one of the Mahana women’s teams met a Hukareka team everybody in Nuhaka could hear it. At first people laughed off the intensity of the Mahana teams as excess energy. Then Aunt Miriam hit a raised ball at the goal and caught Agnes Poata in the stomach.
‘Hey! Mahana! Go easy there!’ bystanders called. People at the tournaments were quick to be put off by bad manners or lack of fair play.
However, when Aunt Sarah fell on the ball and was attacked by Poppaea, The Brute, while she was on the ground, sympathies swung our way again.
‘Hoi! Play the ball! Leave the old bag alone!’
Then Aunt Sarah made us all laugh. She jumped up from the ground and came running over to the sideline. ‘Who said that! Who called me an old bag!’ She didn’t mind being called a bag, but she hated being called old.
Mahana won the women’s division.
So far so good. But the men weren’t faring as well. All the Mahana teams got through the first round, but in the second round Mahana Three and Mahana Four were knocked out by Hauiti and Hukareka. In the third round, Mahana Two succumbed to Te Aowera. In the second round that afternoon, the frontrunners were Hukareka, with two teams still in the championship, Te Aowera and Mahana One. A ding-dong battle was fought between Mahana One and Hukareka and, to great scenes of storm and agony, Mahana lost. The finalists were Hukareka One and Two, Te Aowera and –
Did I forget to tell you that the Waituhi Rebels surprised everybody?
There were two playoffs. One between Hukareka One and Te Aowera and the other between Hukareka Two and the Waituhi Rebels. The winners from each playoff would compete against each other for the top trophy.
That’s when Grandfather Tamihana and I had a showdown.
Five minutes before Waituhi Rebels were due for the first playoff, he started to heavy the team.
‘Joshua,’ he said, ‘I want you to change the name of your team to Mahana and to sack some of your players.’
What? My father wasn’t captain of the team!
‘You haven’t a hope of winning against Hukareka. Not with those three takatapui among you.’
His voice was loud and carried to where Donna, Cindy and Chantelle were standing. Maori homophobia had always been the worst part of their lives. When they heard Grandfather’s words they changed and seemed to diminish.
‘I want them replaced,’ Grandfather said. ‘Ruka, Aperahama and Mohi will play for them.’
‘But —’ Dad began.
‘No buts,’ Grandfather continued.
My father stood his ground. ‘I’m just the halfback,’ he said. ‘My son’s captain.’
‘Then you tell him,’ Grandfather answered.
‘No.’
‘Joshua, I’m ordering you —’
‘You tell him yourself,’ Dad said.
Furious, Grandfather turned to me. ‘Did you hear me, Himiona? You change the name of your team and get rid of those three.’
A crowd had begun to collect around us and Grandfather, aware of the attention, wanted to get the matter over quickly.
Chantelle trotted over and whispered in my ear. ‘We don’t mind, honey,’ she said.
The trouble was, I did. ‘No change,’ I told Grandfather. My heart was thudding in my ears. My mouth was dry.
‘What did you say?’
‘There will be no change in either the name or the team.’
‘You will make a laughing stock of me,’ Grandfather said. ‘I am ordering you to —’
‘Have you ever taken the time to watch us, Grandfather? No, you’ve been too busy watching Mahana.’
‘This is your last chance, Himiona.’
Just then, Nani Mini Tupara, alerted to what was happening, came running over. The light of battle was in her eyes and her temper was up.
‘Are you trying to muscle in on my team?’ she asked. ‘They’re registered under me, Tamihana, not you.’ I could see Nani Mini was enjoying having Grandfather on. She loved to get her own back on him for splitting the valley with that Mormon angel of his. ‘Anyway, cuz, it’s all the same, isn’t it? We’re all Waituhi, aren’t we?’
Meantime, the ref had heard what the ruckus was about and hurried over to assert some authority.
‘Sorry, Bulibasha,’ he said. ‘Mini’s right. This is her team, not yours.’
Grandfather knew he had lost.
‘Himiona,’ he whispered. ‘Why did you register under your Nani Mini? Why not under me?’ His voice sounded so adrift, like an anchor that has failed to take on the sea bed. I felt ashamed. ‘One day,’ Grandfather said, ‘you and I —’
He walked away.
Ask anybody who has played seven-a-side hockey and they will tell you that it is a difficult and punishing game. With only seven players each, teams have to be fast and fit to last the distance — fifteen minutes first half and fifteen minutes second half and not just for one game, either. In a tournament you played eight games or more a day. No good pulling all the stops out at the beginning and running out of steam as the day progressed. The main secret to success was having and keeping possession of the ball. As long as you had possession, you could control the speed and the destiny of the game.
Over the preliminaries I had developed an enormous respect for Donna, Cindy and Chantelle’s abilities to keep possession. Although they were transvestites there was nothing feminine about the way they slammed that ball. They were massive — and they could run.
Could they what!
I had every reason to expect that Waituhi Rebels would give Hukareka Two a good run for their money. What I hadn’t anticipated, however, was that Donna, Cindy and Chantelle would be so devastated by Grandfather’s dismissal of them that they would give up. From the moment they walked on to the field they didn’t even try. They thought everybody was laughing at them.
The Hukareka Two team, led by Alexander Poata, swiftly took possession. Despite attempts by me, Andrew, Dad and Pani to stop the fast Hukareka Two men — Alexander, Tight Arse Senior, Tight Arse Junior, Bill, John and two others I didn’t know — Hukareka Two scored one runaway goal after another. By halftime Hukareka Two were ahead by 15 to nil — a goal a minute.
‘Chantelle,’ I pleaded. ‘We’ve got to turn this game around. Please —’
By now people were laughing at Donna, Cindy and Chantelle. All along the sidelines, men were beginning to heckle us. Some were making effeminate gestures and mincing along like women. Grandfather, having washed his hands of us, was standing like a monument to morality and righteousness.
Nani Mini came over. ‘Huh? What’s wrong with your players?’ she asked. ‘They better pull their stockings up.’